Buying snow Berat

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Buying snow Berat

Staring at a pair of feet next to my face, I tried to sleep. I put a sweater under my head because I loathed the stickiness of the sofa under my cheek. The deck bar of the Bari-Durres ferry filled with a cheerful crowd, getting drinks and laughing loudly. It felt like they all knew each other and were happy to return home. Some started preparing a place to sleep on one of the round sofas. As a result, I had to share a couch in a deck bar with an elderly Albanian lady. Our sofa looked like a fort, surrounded by my panniers and her bags, including a bulky cool box. Delayed by two hours, we entered the port in Durres when intense lightning cut the sky in half. The potholed streets turned into streams. Completely soaked, I arrived at my Airbnb on the outskirts and could finally recover after the exhausting boat ride. The rainy day gave me a perfect excuse to do nothing and prepare for the upcoming days filled with cycling and exploring. Durres was clearly not the award winner in the category Most charming city. In the middle of this concrete jungle, you could find an ancient Roman amphitheatre, discovered by pure chance in the 60s and a few columns that remained out of the Byzantine Market. I climbed one of the steep streets to look above the faded facades of socialist buildings and tangled electricity cables. White snow glistened on the mountains east of the city. I left the city and headed south, following a surprisingly decent cycling lane, which was unfortunately too often treated as a parking space or pedestrian sidewalk. After a few kilometres of a busy road and an absolutely unattractive industrial area, I entered a different world. My bike jumped on numerous potholes in a dirt road crossing some villages. Chickens shifted from foot to foot in panic and clucked to warn their mates from a weird creature on two wheels. The spring was already in full swing: the meadows were freakishly green, and the blossoming cherry trees added more colours to the landscape. The villages seemed vibrant. Elderly men in brown jackets rushed somewhere on their mopeds but always raised their hands to say hello. In the vast fields, I could spot some bent backs of people working with scythes and sickles and donkeys loaded with cumbersome packs of straws. It was easy to romanticise this landscape, seeing it as a return to the past. And 30 years after its fall, Albania was still facing poverty. Caught up in observing the novel reality around me, I completely forgot to eat. I only realised that when pedalling became fatiguing, even on a flat road. Despite the low sugar levels, I made it to the nearest town. Small cafes were crowded with men slowly sipping their coffees or engaging in conversations. One of them noticed me looking around, moved his hand next to his mouth and simulated eating. He gave me a questioning look. I nodded, and he showed me a way to a bakery where I got 2 pieces of delicious burek with spinach. After that, the straight road to Berat was just like a relaxing meditation. I set my focus on the snow-capped summits on the horizon and pedalled. White Ottoman houses set in straight lines covered the hills on both banks of the Osum Rivers. Berat looked like a museum. Despite the historical character, the city was pulsing with life. On the Gorica bridge, a man was selling old tools. I crossed to the other side of the river and entered a narrow cobble-stoned street to my hostel. I walked up the stone stairs feeling like entering a castle. The walls of this 17th-century house radiated the cold — air-conditioning was needless there. Poland is good — said Lorenc, the owner, when helping me carry the bike up the craggy stairs. His hair was grey, but his face looked fresh. Maybe it was his coy smile and warm glance that gave him the look of a youngster. What places did you visit in this country? People in this country are hospitable. He left the US 6 years earlier and had been travelling since, and as he said, the most important for him was to explore the culture. But he loved it anyway, he said. I politely told him that I had spent some time with refugees on the Polish-Ukrainian border, and their story was quite different. A bigger reason. Luckily, I had a valid excuse to leave the hostel and get out of this conversation: I wanted to see The City of Thousand Windows, as Berat is called. It looked mesmerising in the last rays of the sun. The castle overlooked the river and the old houses on both banks. One by one, the muezzins from all the mosques were starting the call to prayer. On the Boulevard Republika, people were enjoying the xhiro — as Albanians call the evening stroll. Everybody looked relaxed, enjoying the sunset, talking to friends, and getting a coffee in one of the outdoor cafes. Pancakes with fresh apples and a small cup of thick Turkish coffee had fueled me before a long way along the Osum river. The road was rising gradually. In the valley, the vineyards formed a green chessboard. Still undiscovered by the mass audience, the region of Berat is producing world-class wines praised by connoisseurs that somehow make it to this forgotten corner of Europe. Where are you going? The walls on the sides of the milky blue river grew bigger. I entered the largest canyon in Albania — The Osum Canyon. Small waterfalls flowed spreading the refreshing aroma of ice-cold water. Not sure how easily I would find a place to camp, I started looking around a good while before the sunset. Excited about spending a night close to this marvel of nature, I was still a bit cautious since it was the first night of wild camping in a new country. There was a big off-road truck parked on a big flat meadow. After a good hour of search, I found a field between dense thorny bushes with some litter left by previous campers, including a single shoe and a few beer cans. I refreshed myself in a small stream and started boiling the water. Instant noodles were the only thing I could force myself to cook after this long day. From the hill on the other side of the road, I heard goat bells and the shouting of the shepherd. After the sun hid behind the summits, there only sounds were the chirping of birds and the trickling of the stream. A sound of an engine interrupted this idyll and suddenly stopped. I heard manly voices. The muscles on my back got tense, and I tried to withhold any movement and not make any sound. Am I not visible from the road for sure? Finally, the engine started again, and they left. I could relax. Their conversation lasted maybe a minute, but it felt like ages. When I woke up in the morning, the humidity bit into my bones. I got out of the tent and walked down the stone steps closer to the river. Once the sun finally has emerged from behind the mountain, I put my tent so that the wet sides face the sun. It was getting hot again. I had a filter, but soon I found out that it was clogged. No water could run through it. It was useless. After a few kilometres on a rocky and sun-exposed road, dehydration gave me headaches. I took a risk and drank some of the water without a filter. The road is very bad! You get coffee, cinque minutes stop, mangiare and super super. He pointed at a small house on the side of the road. Cows and chickens were looking for something to chew on between the rumbling fences. Surprisingly many people lived in this skimpy house. Miro and his wife, their two daughters, grandparents, and a few other people somehow related to them. They asked me if I was hungry. Not wanting to cause my hosts too much work, I politely said no, but Miro refused to take it for an answer. They started debating if I should continue on the route through the mountains. What if the night falls? No one and nothing there. I told them I would try, and if the road turned out very bad, I would turn back and camp in their yard. I promised to send the daughter a message on Instagram so that they knew I survived. Quite soon, I encountered the first obstacle. The road became extremely soggy. There was no way to go around the mud and water. I tried to find the driest path. Pooch, pooch — my shoes got sucked by the mud, and I finally knew what Miro meant by making this sound when describing the road to me. My rear wheel almost got stuck. I gave a big push and managed to get it out. Behind the next swing, a white Suzuki was stranded in a big puddle. I asked if they were ok. Help was coming, they said, so I circled around the car and the mud and moved forward. I anticipated much worse things, like carrying the bike over rock blocks. Sure, the mud and the steep road made my life difficult, but it was bearable. It was hike-a-bike all the way up. But I felt strong and calm, not even in doubt if I could make it to Permet. The views were stunning. The mountain peaks were still covered with snow. I was trying to imagine what was the view from them. Miro told me you could see it all the way to Italy if you climb these peaks. The last stretch before the summit was steep. I could barely push my bike. Once the ground flattened, I felt euphoric. Sheep were flocking on the shore of an emerald lake, and the panorama was raw and pristine. It was one of the most amazing landscapes I have ever seen. And I was completely alone there, except for the sheep and an eagle soaring through the sky. His course was balanced and stable, untouched by the gusts of wind. Scabrous sandstones made the landscape seem rugged and unwelcoming. Particles of hot dust were irritating my nostrils. I felt like on Mars or another planet. I made it to the village of Pavar where I refilled my water bottles at a tap with colourful paintings. An older man came to me, alarmed by the barking of his dogs. He asked if I came from the canyon, and when I said yes, he raised his eyebrows. I showed him my muddy legs, and he laughed, shaking his hand in disbelief that I was crazy enough to go through that road. The descent to Ballaban was steep. I had to stop once because a dog was chasing me, running down the terraces of the vineyard. I stopped and started talking to him, and he just stayed where he was and let me slowly walk away. I made it to the main road and was surprised by how empty and smooth it was. The valley was wide and surrounded by majestic mountains. Leaving the sun behind me, I enjoyed pedalling on the flats and finally being able to go faster. I passed the town of Permet, got some snacks from the shop and headed to a campsite. Initially, I planned to wild camp, but I found a small campsite with great reviews on iOverlander. The promise of a warm shower was tempting too. An energetic woman in a beautiful hut rushed to show me everything, manoeuvring between chickens and dogs. Even my husband, an experienced offroad driver who knows the area very well, is exhausted when he comes from that road. I pitched my tent next to a small caravan and took a deep breath looking at the mountains. A big furry dog rubbed against my leg. I knew it would be one of the places on the road that felt like home. Pingback: Cycling Albania - practical bike touring guide - Wobbly Ride. Contents hide. Leave a Reply Cancel reply. We use cookies on our website to give you the most relevant experience by remembering your preferences and repeat visits. However, you may visit 'Cookie Settings' to provide a controlled consent. Cookie Settings Accept All. Manage consent. 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Berat, Albania: Best Things to Do & See in One Day

Buying snow Berat

The Osum River runs through the town with buildings hugging the slopes. A green ridged range covers its north side. South of the valley are snow-capped peaks. It is gorgeous. If you are coming from Tirana, as we were, it is a vacation from air pollution, and a chance to commune with nature. Getting off the Van from the Capital City, there were other differences I appreciated. These have to do with infrastructure, not geography. A real bus station—not just a chaotic parking lot, like in Tirana. Wide, solid sidewalks made the 1. In the old town there were plenty of places to walk separated from cars. On our walk, we passed a food coop, In the new and old sections of town, monuments celebrating anti-fascists still had red stars on them. Berat is one of those towns with an equal number of mosques and churches and the mountains ring with occasional calls to prayer and church bells. I saw this graffiti: , Berat. Fuck Police. Like big cities, Berat was a place of chaos and revolt in after a rush to privatize and invest led to a ponzi crash. Sixty percent of the population lost everything they owned. Like the rest of Albania, there are no places other than occasional graffiti, where an outsider gets a hint of the meaning of this recent history. We hiked mountains, breathed fresh air, and ate sumptuous restaurant meals. We stayed two nights, giving us a full day to explore. On our full day, we hiked the mountain twice. The first time we hiked up to the chapel which, from the bottom looks like it is perched precariously on the ridge. Inside was a man who invited us in to look at the ancient frescos. After the last name, he hooked his thumbs together and said. On our way up to the chapel we were on a tiny pedestrian mountain path big enough for one person, strewn with early spring mountain blossoms. A small black dog led us part of the way. Our second climb to the castle was a happy mistake. We were trying to go to the ethnographic museum halfway up on the road. A that juncture, road signs beckoned us to keep climbing to the castle at the top. There were a few pedestrian staircases and passageways, but mostly we had to share the narrow mountain road with the cars and vans. At the top, in addition to people, most of whom rode up to see the wonders, there were also dogs sleeping in the road, a herd of sheep, a donkey carrying a load, and a horse awaiting a paid rider. There was another chapel with even more ancient frescos. We did not know about this ancient city on top of a mountain in Albania. For me, the real draw was the view of the river valley with the village below and neighboring peaks on either side. On the way down we stopped for tea at a place with seats that perch you on the edge of the world. We treated ourselves in Berat. The second night we were in a cellar by ourselves with a prix fix no-choice menu. We stuffed ourselves with all kinds of things our diets usually preclude: meats, cheeses, breaded vegetables, everything delicious and enough to loosen belts. The next morning, before we left, we visited the Jewish Museum. While Albania prides itself rightly in being the country that saved the most Jews—citizens and refugees— during the Nazi era, Berat prides itself in being the city in Albania that saved the most people. Berat Muslims and Christians, Communist and non-Communist partisans, worked as a community, to provide sanctuary for 60 Jewish families. A Mosque erected a Star of David and provided space for Jews to worship. Now a woman—not Jewish herself but married to a Jew who recently passed away—keeps the memory of this virtuous past alive in a one-room museum. I knew the story before we went. We almost skipped the museum after seeing what we could learn online. We were concerned about time. I am so glad we went. The material online did not stir me. Being in the museum and talking to the caretaker, unleashed something. I swallowed sobs but was unable to control the flow of tears. I was thinking about our time. Who is that kind of hero today? Refusniks in Israel, who choose five-year jail sentences rather than participate in a genocide of Palestinians are one example. May there be a museum, someday in Jerusalem, documenting their heroism. One might also call it radical hospitality. We had a sweet, relaxed, emotionally fulfilling, and mentally stimulating time in Berat. From the outside, we admired its 1, windows, and glimpsed eras ancient and recent. We left dazzled and full of questions about the view from the inside. The ride home, especially the transition from the regional bus to the city bus, was exhausting. Strangely, it felt so good to be home, to our fifth-floor apartment in Tirana. Visit the book page to read more.

Buying snow Berat