Here's a link to the article I wrote for Travelhoppers about working while traveling. If you have any questions or need some more information regarding visas or the sites I reference, feel free to comment!
Monday, October 17, 2011
Saturday, October 15, 2011
Near Misses: Leaving Albania #1
One of the hardest things to get used to while in Albania was the transportation system; or I should say lack there of. While most countries choose the organized route with bus timetables and working bus stops, Albania's managed to take a much more rocky approach to the whole getting its people around and has scraped the whole timetable and bus stop idea. Instead, the country's replaced the Western World's idea of civilized travelling with beaten up white mini vans that may or may not make you feel like you're being kidnapped, gathering places for the vans that seems to change on a daily basis, and of course there's the issue of the unpaved roads. But what is traveling if you don't come home a little shaken up? So here's my story of the two day excursion to Montenegro.
The sun was already creeping its way onto my aching back when I managed to climb over the last of the crumbling steps. Ahead of me lay a last look at the beautiful town of Berat; an Ottoman city tiered into the mountainshide, white houses with brown roofs stacked neatly ontop of each other. I crossed the suspention bridge one last time before turning right down the main street to where the furgons were to meet that day. Greeted excitedly by one furgon owner I was told that the next bus was due to leave. So I lugged my pack into the back of the van, squeezed behind the seats, and plopped myself next to the only open window that allowed for a small breeze. When my bottom made contact with the seat, the cushions sank in and the entire seat bobbed on its spring. I ducked down between my legs for a closer look at the seat and found line after line of duct tape holding the seat to the rest of the van.
Slowly the furgon began to fill up with local Albanians and in no time the driver turned the key, awakening the gurgling, chugging, grinding monster under the hood. We were off to a rough start. As we left the city limits of Berat our poor little engine that could, couldn't. The engine huffed as the driver forced the pedal into the floor, swerving into oncoming traffic as to pass slower vehicles, parked cars, and bikers. Once we hit the "highway" I began to question whether or not the hot wheels tires that kept this beast rolling would hold out as the road ahead seemed unfinished. I guess in this case unfinished is a bit of an understatement; chunks of the highway had been ripped out or unfinished and as such, the driver became a game of cat and mouse with oncoming traffic.
The rain conitnued for nearly an hour until we broke through the mountain pass and were nearly in Tirane, the capital of Albania. The land outside the city was shockingly the opposite of the Berat I had fallen in love with. Half raised concrete buildings littered the flat bare lands, heaps of garbage ran alongside the highway, and community watering holes ran clean water into the ditch all day long. For the first time in this country, I felt a sense of guilt. I was no longer seeing the beautiful oasis of Berat's back country or hiking through its historical mountains. What I was seeing now was what a photographer would turn his back on. But something about the people walking along the road put me at ease. They weren't starving and they weren't begging at the van's window. They were simply living. This was life; without highrise apartment suites, 5-star restaurants, and shopping malls. And for some reason or another, I was okay with it.
The sun was already creeping its way onto my aching back when I managed to climb over the last of the crumbling steps. Ahead of me lay a last look at the beautiful town of Berat; an Ottoman city tiered into the mountainshide, white houses with brown roofs stacked neatly ontop of each other. I crossed the suspention bridge one last time before turning right down the main street to where the furgons were to meet that day. Greeted excitedly by one furgon owner I was told that the next bus was due to leave. So I lugged my pack into the back of the van, squeezed behind the seats, and plopped myself next to the only open window that allowed for a small breeze. When my bottom made contact with the seat, the cushions sank in and the entire seat bobbed on its spring. I ducked down between my legs for a closer look at the seat and found line after line of duct tape holding the seat to the rest of the van.
Slowly the furgon began to fill up with local Albanians and in no time the driver turned the key, awakening the gurgling, chugging, grinding monster under the hood. We were off to a rough start. As we left the city limits of Berat our poor little engine that could, couldn't. The engine huffed as the driver forced the pedal into the floor, swerving into oncoming traffic as to pass slower vehicles, parked cars, and bikers. Once we hit the "highway" I began to question whether or not the hot wheels tires that kept this beast rolling would hold out as the road ahead seemed unfinished. I guess in this case unfinished is a bit of an understatement; chunks of the highway had been ripped out or unfinished and as such, the driver became a game of cat and mouse with oncoming traffic.
By this point my stomach had already begun twisting and knotting itself thanks to my bobble head seat that sent me flying at every swerve, and the smell of sickly sweat was so dense I took to pressing my cheek against the only open window to breathe in another other than BO. Just as I began to drift asleep, a pinging noise shook me awake. SMACK, PING, SMACK. It had begun to hail and chucks of ice the size of golf balls were hitting the rusty white van at all angles. The rain added to the storm; the poor little van was taking quite a beating. Being the only foreigner on the bus, I was the only one in panic. The van was pelted left right and centre, pot holes the size of Texas were strewn throughout the highway, and to top it all off the front window was fogging up and the driver took to sticking his head out the window in the rain to keep us from drifting off course. Looking around at the other passengers I noticed a dark haired man in a worn suit picking at his nails, an elderly woman riffling through her purse, and a couple jabbering on about God knows what. No one seemed nearly as bothered as I was.
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