Cinderella And The Storm

Last I posted I was about to enter mountain yellow roads in Albania. They proved to be beautiful and quiet. But the best part was that every time I went through a village the Albanians welcomed me with the widest open arms and hospitality. I had more more honks, hand-waves, ride offers, invites for beer, a coffee, food, a rest, water, conversation from the Albanians than from any other country thus far. They love Americans and they love to share their lives with others.

From Milot I went towards Burrell and that whole morning was hard to get anywhere because everyone wanted me to "come here". At one place in the mountains, a farmer and his son were bringing in an unbelievably overstuffed tractor of hay from the field. I went to make a picture and they invited me to the house for water. The son got me a glass then left me in the hands of the women while he and his dad went back to work. The mother and younger daughter spoke no english. But the older daughter did speak some and her name was Cinderella. I swear, that was her real name. CINDERELLA. They had me sit on the porch; it was very hot out. They got me cold juice. Then the mother brought out food: a bowl of fresh watermelon, grilled peppers, fresh yogurt, fresh tomatoes and cucumbers, homemade bread, and even a meat stew (of course I did not eat that). So sweet. And when I went to leave they packed up food for me to go.

At another point I passed a small roadside restaurant (the mountains are a summer refuge for folks living in the capital of Tirane) and had a plate of fresh caught river fish by a ten year old boy who served it to me. Small fish but delicious (with rice).

Water gushed everywhere so having fresh aqua was no problem in all that heat and climbing. The Albanians have made fountains along the road all throughout the mountains. And sleeping was peaceful.

Bulqize was not a very exciting place. It is nestled in a pretty valley but made ugly by strip mining and gravel pits. However, when I got to Shupenz things got really strange. Albania really is, in many ways (for lack of a better term. Not sure what the pc word is these days) a 3rd world country. In Shupenz I walked into town and everyone, and I mean everyone stopped what they were doing to watch me walk by. In the store the commotion stopped and all eyes were on me. The kids came out with  "how are you", "what is your name" (those that have been to 3rd world countries know how those questions are asked incessantly by the children). Then I was even asked for money.
Animals butchered and skinned roadside, dust and garbage all over the place (no trash pick up). In an eatery the owners' elderly mother came up to me. The older women have usually avoided contact with me but not this one. She reminded me of my Polish great grandmother, Bopche. It was relayed to me that she thought walking to Turkey was no good, I should take a "macina" (machine....it's what the mountain people call cars). And when I left she gave me a kiss on each cheek.

I crossed into Macedonia late on Monday. Another weird border. Then I slept at a gas station in Debar (they had beds above it for 6 Euros a night) and took off for Izvor in the AM. Izvor, I was told, was not possible to get to by car along my proposed route. Both my maps showed it as a small but viable road. I actually skirted Manrovo National Park part of the way up; it was so beautiful. Then the pavement stopped and I could not find my way so I walked to Gari, a small village way up in the nook of a mountain. No one came out when I called several times so I blew my whistle. No one. So I went to houses and then some folks came out but still no one spoke english so it was difficult for them to explain things to me. Eventually, a grandfather and his two small grandkids grabbed walking sticks and walked me up a mountain trail until it connected with a larger one. This would be my "road" to Izvor. OMG.

And so it was, like being on a Ntl. Park trail way up in the mountains. It was quiet and lonely. I got to a junction and did not know which way to go so I chose the one that looked more like a road. I chose wrong. But I did not go very far when an ancient, rumbling truck plodding thru the forest came by with a load of logs. The driver told me to take the other road. It did not look like a road at all. But I listened and climbed further up. moments later, after a morning of evil, wicked, thunder ruptures bellowing through the mountains, a big storm came by. All I could do was cover myself in plastic under some trees and wait it out. I got cold. I was wet. And my trail became a river of mud and bogs.

I was on that trail the rest of the day, it never ended. I thought I was lost for sure. I did panic. My descent took forever until I eventually hit a small road....but no village. I sat on the road deflated and confused. About 15 minutes later a truck came so I waved him down to get clarity on where I was and where I needed to go. When he realized how hungry I was he opened up the back of his truck to reveal its contents: food and drinks that he was delivering to a tiny village in the mountains. He let me purchase what I wanted and then pointed to the direction I needed to walk. I'm not sure what happened but about 3 km down this overgrown, rock-filled paved road was the very tiny, hicksville village of Izvor. I  do not know if I had been on the right "road" or not because in Izvor was a sign for Debar (40KM). But no one else knew of a paved road the whole way through the mountains and that sign looked ancient (as does most things in Macedonia so far. Talk about 3rd W! This place is falling apart. Crumbling. )

I have walked a yellow road through small places like Brod on my way to Prilep, where I am now. The walk through a valley of tobacco and wheat this morning was wild. It was 1910 all over again. Peasant workers in peasant-like clothing (women in babooshkas, aprons, skirts) hunched over picking tobacco leaves by hand and putting them in giant wicker baskets. I have learned these leaves are for Marlboro cigarettes. Yes, your Virginia tobacoo is grown in Macedonia....largest producer of tobacco for Marlboro.

Old homes are mud brick. Newer ones are red brick and all look half finished. Giant haystacks. Stray dogs in packs. Garbage, garbage everywhere. But lovely mountains. I have to say, Macedonia is not stacking up but Albania is a very tough act to follow. The folks here seem a bit colder and smile less. True, many do not speak english either which can make a difference.

From here I go to Kavadarci and then on another small road which connects to a red road down to Strumica and then the Bulgarian border. I have also been warned of the Bulgarian gypsies.

Three weeks left to walk. My body is holding up but I have to have conversations with it and promise it things to keep carrying on. I am growing tired but also maintaining myself even though I will admit feeling going in and out of THE ZONE. Now I really have my heart set on finishing and not too much else. Food is less appealing. But I am trying my hardest to not go over the edge or overdue things. I know the body is strong but also fragile. I am just recovering from blisters on both heals. A baby toenail has fallen off.

And I have passed the 100 day mark.

Not sure if Bulgaria will have email. Once I enter the rest of my roads (about 90 percent) to Istanbul will be white or yellow roads.

OK, I am ready to move on. Keep me in your thoughts. Until next time.