Leaving Vermosh

A view above Kelmend Province from Hoxha's Balcony

After nearly twenty days in the Vermosh valley, it was time to leave, and although I was ready to move on to the next adventure, I was ambivalent about leaving a place that had offered me some respite from the craziness that had preceded my coming. The area is not only relaxing, but the combination of open-armed hospitality and regular home-cooked meals left me in no shape to take on the road again. But, like all things, my time in Vermosh had to come to an end, and I headed back towards Shkodra with the group.

The valley

The trip back started fairly early, but not uncomfortably so, and my injury and size allowed me to claim the much prized front seat, which was the only one in the 3-over-capacity sprinter van with any space. The only disadvantage was that I had a front row view of the overindulgence that was going on between the driver and one of the passengers, the two of whom finished off a bottle of raki before we were halfway to Shkodra.

The road from the valley to Hoxha's Balcony

 

The halfway point, more or less, between Shkodra and Vermosh is what's known as "Hoxha's Balcony". Legend has it that the strong man never went further north than this point for fear of the northerners and their hatred of him. Whether or not this is true I can't say, but all the Albanians in our group attested to it. We did see several erstwhile army barracks and the area is still littered with bunkers, so there's no question that Hoxha had a presence in the region, whether or not he went there himself.

 

 

As I've written before, I was surprised by how many mountain bikers I saw in the area. During our climb, we passed a pair of bikers. Considering that on most of the roads there is barely enough room for one car, it's more than a little surprising that the bikers are willing to risk these roads.

 

When we got back to Shkodra, I had a decision to make. I'd decided earlier to book a return ticket out of Zadar, Croatia on the 2nd of September, but that gave me 8 days to kill. Originally, I'd seen this as an opportunity to explore a bit more of the Balkans, but I found myself in a bit of a financial squeeze. As a result, I decide to split my remaining time between Tirana, the capital, and Kosovo, where one of the other teachers was going for a conference and I had the possibility of obtaining a few nights free accommodation and a few days free meals.

It was hot as....

 

 

This plan turned out to be a brilliant one. Tirana doesn't look like much as you pull in on a southbound bus, but it is a fascinating a lively capital, full of cultural energy and social and political change. 

Mother Albania fresco with national symbols

To find this, you need go no further than the center, which is anchored by a massive statue of national hero Skanderbeg, who is flanked by a series of Italian-occupation era government buildings, a mosque, the national opera, and the Museum of National History, which features the amazing Hoxha-era fresco above. All of this is almost exactly the same as it was 30 years ago under Hoxha, except that his statue, which stood to Skanderbeg's left across from the National Museum and which supposedly towered over the other statue, was toppled during the riots in Tirana in 1992 that ultimately removed the Communists from power.

Skanderbeg

The museum features a story of Albanian history that I've grown accustomed to, along with some Communist, Materialist readings of history from the Hoxha era and some more recent additions. Most of the symbols of Albanian identity were co-opted by the Hoxha regime, including the ancient Illyrian history of the region, Skanderbeg and his revolt against the Ottoman occupiers, and the revolutionaries of the late 19th and early 20th century, including men like Ali Pasha who fit awkwardly into the Marxist narrative. Much of this is still the same, but the current curator's interpretation of history after World War One has changed, with the reintroduction of King Zog as a national hero. We even saw some pictures of his son, who launched a failed monarchist coup in the early 1990s after the collapse of the Hoxhaist regime. This was probably most surprising to me, less so was the fact that the section celebrating the Hoxha regime stopped with the exploits of communist partisans during World War Two, and had been replaced with a large memorial to victims of the Albanian gulag.

Bunker

Throughout the city, many Hoxha-era constructions still survive, including one of the bunkers that protected the area of the city that was reserved for the party elite. For decades, these blocks of Tirana were guarded by soldiers in bunkers like the one above, with orders to shoot any who tried to enter without authorization. This bunker is flanked by a piece of the Berlin Wall from Potsdamer Platz and the framework of a gulag mine shaft.

Bunkering Down

One of the things that I'm most thankful for is that I had someone knowledgeable about the city with me, otherwise I never would have known what this how is and what it is important. Enver Hoxha, the undisputed, autocratic tyrant who ruled Albania with an iron fist for five decades, lived here with his family. There is no information posted outside, but at the same time there is seemingly no effort to prevent people from looking at it or taking pictures. At one time, there was a guard, but he's gone too now. People do come to take care of the topiaries and the garden, as evidenced by the generally state of the property, but it doesn't seem to have any of the political flashpoint qualities that one might expect from the former home of a man who has a political ideology named after him. In fact, it seems to be almost forgotten, the neighboring café has colonized the sidewalk space in front of the house so far that you can enjoy a nice view of Hoxha's former abode while sipping your coffee. It's an altogether surreal experience, and one that I'm still not sure exactly how to interpret.

Enver Hoxha's House

A less surreal experience can be had at a much more surreal building, the massive pyramid that was to be Enver Hoxha's Museum before the collapse of communism in the country led to its being first used as a conference center and then, ironically, as a NATO base. The building seems like the appropriate tribute to Hoxha's legacy that his home isn't; it's big, ugly, dilapidated and in a mortal state of decline. When it was built by his daughter in the late 1980s, I can see how it would have seemed a grand tribute to the man, but that initial prestige makes the ultimate outcome all the more powerful.

Enver Hoxha's Museum

A few days had gone by at this point, and I had to make a decision. I had an offer to try to go to Kosovo, where I potentially could obtain free lodging and food during the tail end of a conference that we had all been invited to. I was a little apprehensive about going, because I wasn't able to find alternative accommodation beforehand, and I hadn't contacted anyone at the conference before I left for Albania. Fortunately, when we arrived, out fears were allayed (my travel companion, even though he was presenting at the conference, was less than confident that anyone would be there to greet us).

Quote on the side of University building

Pristina, the capital of Kosovo, felt relatively familiar after Tirana, but much more confused and dirtier. This is nothing against the city; the smog and so forth is a consequence of Yugoslav planning, which has made the city one of the dirtiest in Europe for years running. Coming in, I was mostly happy to arrive at a proper bus station, which I'd grown to appreciate in station-less Albania. The town is center on one main street, nearby which run Bill Clinton and George W Bush streets, the corner of which is very close to the local university, which features a large quote from John F. Kennedy on the side. As much as I felt at home in Albania, this was a place that felt even more welcoming.

The Pristina Library

 

The warm vibes out of Kosovo, though, are dramatically different than the feelings out of Serbia, which I thankfully only experienced briefly. It's easy with the speed of change in the Kosovo conflict to forget that there is still a conflict, and the area is still contested by both sides, Albanian and Serb. It's also easy to forget that, ultimately, the responsibility for verifying advice and for knowing the situation on the ground is on you, and when a situation start to turn pear-shaped, sometimes there's nobody else to blame but yourself.

 

At the corner of George Bush and Bill Clinton streets

I decided to leave Pristina a bit early, so that I could take my time in getting to Croatia, which I knew was a bit of a hike through Serbia and Bosnia. I ate my free breakfast, watched my friend give his presentation, and then packed up my stuff and headed off.

I know it means something else in Albanian, but its still jarring

About an hour out of Pristina, I started to see the surroundings change. Whereas I had been seeing a lot of Albanian and Kosovar flags, all of a sudden every flag was Serbian, and there were a lot of them. I assumed that we must have crossed the border, since there wasn't really a border to cross anyway, and the sighting of a series of NATO soldiers confirmed my suspicion. So, I went to sleep, knowing I had about 3 hours before my destination. About an hour later, I was roused awake by a soldier or police officer, in this part of the world it can be difficult to tell which is which sometimes. He said something in Serbian, and when I shook my head and told him I didn't speak Serbian, he asked for my passport in English. I gave it to him, and he looked at it. He then asked me where I was going. I told him Novi Pazar, then onto Croatia. The he asked where I was coming from. I said Pristina, which should have been obvious from the route on the front of the bus. Finally, he asked me where I was before that.

Big Bill

Now, if I had had time to plan, which I would have had I been awake, then I would have said somewhere in Montenegro or Macedonia, and I would have said I took the overnight bus from there to Prishtina, and was now going back to Croatia. But I didn't have time to think, so I was honest, and told him that I came from Tirana. He knew he had me as soon as I said that. He said, "Do you know that Kosovo is part of the territory of Serbia?" I didn't answer, but I knew the implication: I had crossed the border illegally, and was in effect breaking the law. He told me to get off the bus, and when we got to the "Control Station" (it wasn't a border) I asked if he could still let me through by stamping my passport. "No," he said, "this isn't a border, this is only a control". Even though Kosovar border agents were standing 10 feet away from me, he was denying reality (and the opinion of the more than 100 countries in the world who have recognized Kosovar sovereignty) and telling me that I had to go back because I had entered Serbia several days ago illegally. Fortunately, on the other side, I found a very helpful and friendly border guard who promised to find me a ride back to Pristina, which he did after 20 minutes or so.

The Mujanovics, my saviors in Serbia

They turned out to be an interesting family, and in broken English I found out where I'd made my mistake. The "border" was actually Mitrovice, a town that is divided down the middle between a Serb north and Albanian south, but which actually lies within Kosovar controlled territory. After a few hours, they dropped me off, no worse for wear, but about to embark upon an epic 35 hour multiple bus journey across four countries. It was an interesting end to an epic adventure in the Balkans.