Sunday 28 August 2011
We awoke with the mission to get better drops for Nicole's pink eye. After graciously letting us use his restroom, our friend Bruno assured us everything was open on Sunday (oh yeah, that's right, an emerging former godless Communist state) and we set out unsure of what we would find. What we found was a small pharmacy where the man first offered what seemed to be only contact wetting drops, but after more gesturing and a look at Nicole's eyes he seemed to understand, got on the phone for advice, then got out his ladder and climbed up to take a small package off the top shelf. He said we needed a prescription for it, then at least a passport (we usually had that, but didn't that time), then finally wrote the prescription himself and stamped it with something official-looking, and we were very grateful, though still not sure we had the right stuff. One of our pre-trip nightmares, getting sick somewhere where no one speaks each other's language and trying to get the right treatment, was a reality (but at least it wasn't something far worse).
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| Skinning sheep |
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| The recipients of Isabel and Mories' hats |
We took off from our privileged parking in front of Bruno's place for a long drive towards the Greek border where we traveled some scary high mountain roads (with little or no barrier) the rival of Croatia or Montenegro and pulled over for a coffee refresher at a restaurant with a great view.... of an industrial town way below. The more interesting view was across the street, where a local had three sheep carcasses strung up and proceeded to strip them of their wool coats by hand, then chop off spare parts like heads and testicles (probably for use in soups or something). We were kind of fascinated, but it turned out to Mories and the boys it was old hat because he used to do that when he was a boy on the farm, and his boys too. A wedding party pulled up at the restaurant -- we had seen a lot of them that day (again, so much for Albanian communism). Three young boys were hanging around the vans and Isabel asked them if they had caps. No, too expensive, came the reply. So she climbed up top and opened a big silver chest and pulled out Nike hats for all. (Nike was one of her flower shop accounts in Holland, and when they heard of her trip to Bhutan with her Magic Hares they gave a slew of promotional hats to hand out along the way). Photos and big smiles all around.
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| What the locals' faces looked like as we were parking |
A later stop for gas ended with large miscommunication (to put it kindly) about whether or not credit cards were accepted, and what the cash exchange rate would be for Albanian kuna. It resulted in wasted time finding an ATM in a very small town nearby, after leaving parts of the family as voluntary hostages. War avoided, we decided to stop for the night at a small town jutting out into a very big lake that we saw on the map; Lin, before deciding on our final route towards Greece, through Macedonia or dropping down further into Albania.
With the Dutch family in the lead, we drove down another of those streets that could lead to gold or to getting stuck when the street ran out. Where the street ran out... we found gold, room enough for two vans right by the water. (But Charles had to move the van four times that evening as trucks, big trucks, came in. But no problem, said the smiling locals. Do you think that would happen in the US? No -- Hey, what do you think you're doing, camping where we live and work? Get lost!) Just before we got there we were surprised to see a tour group marching along, even more surprised to see our lead car stop and talk with them -- they were Dutch, in this small out-of-the-way village, but as Mories later said, sun and cheap prices, that's what the Dutch like. Turns out this Macedonian-based company brings in groups from Netherlands twice a week, all the way through October. Both tour group leaders advised us to take the northern route through Macedonia, much better roads, so that clinched it.
We quickly made friends with our new local neighbors, learned names and some Albanian words, attracted kids, swam, hung out. This was a real deal village. Goats being milked, an old man bent half over and leaning heavily on his cane, two beautiful toothless old women named Olga and Georgina, Donika who offered us coffee and told us in a very loud voice more than once how she went to New Jersey when she was a young girl, and the genial older man who offered us his homemade raki as we started on our stroll (it was good, and strong). We walked all the way back to the town square, stopping in shops to buy cleanser, beer and food. We passed a small white church on the hill, then on the way back Dian and Nicole went up and were invited in by an older man sitting on the porch, who proudly showed them some fairly amazing artwork, icons and chandeliers, and a 4th Century mosaic on the floor. Fourth Century. Just past the square we saw a man lead his cow down to the lake to drink, gingerly avoiding smoldering fires, and when the old girl had enough he whistled her back to him.
After yet another great Mories dinner, Charles decided to take a late night stroll back up the same road. Just past 9, he encountered maybe seven or eight groups of two or three young people, talking, strolling, sitting in a doorway, and by the time he headed back from the square -- no one. He heard some voices coming from some lighted homes, but Lin was definitely done for the night by 9:30. Not Mories: he climbed to the top of the steep rocky hill just behind our vans, but had a bit of trouble getting down because he forgot to take a flashlight. How easily our adventures could turn to disaster, but hey, we were all there because we didn't think life was a spectator sport.
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| Obama jersey?? |
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| Another great dinner! |
We awoke with the mission to get better drops for Nicole's pink eye. After graciously letting us use his restroom, our friend Bruno assured us everything was open on Sunday (oh yeah, that's right, an emerging former godless Communist state) and we set out unsure of what we would find. What we found was a small pharmacy where the man first offered what seemed to be only contact wetting drops, but after more gesturing and a look at Nicole's eyes he seemed to understand, got on the phone for advice, then got out his ladder and climbed up to take a small package off the top shelf. He said we needed a prescription for it, then at least a passport (we usually had that, but didn't that time), then finally wrote the prescription himself and stamped it with something official-looking, and we were very grateful, though still not sure we had the right stuff. One of our pre-trip nightmares, getting sick somewhere where no one speaks each other's language and trying to get the right treatment, was a reality (but at least it wasn't something far worse).
A later stop for gas ended with large miscommunication (to put it kindly) about whether or not credit cards were accepted, and what the cash exchange rate would be for Albanian kuna. It resulted in wasted time finding an ATM in a very small town nearby, after leaving parts of the family as voluntary hostages. War avoided, we decided to stop for the night at a small town jutting out into a very big lake that we saw on the map; Lin, before deciding on our final route towards Greece, through Macedonia or dropping down further into Albania.
With the Dutch family in the lead, we drove down another of those streets that could lead to gold or to getting stuck when the street ran out. Where the street ran out... we found gold, room enough for two vans right by the water. (But Charles had to move the van four times that evening as trucks, big trucks, came in. But no problem, said the smiling locals. Do you think that would happen in the US? No -- Hey, what do you think you're doing, camping where we live and work? Get lost!) Just before we got there we were surprised to see a tour group marching along, even more surprised to see our lead car stop and talk with them -- they were Dutch, in this small out-of-the-way village, but as Mories later said, sun and cheap prices, that's what the Dutch like. Turns out this Macedonian-based company brings in groups from Netherlands twice a week, all the way through October. Both tour group leaders advised us to take the northern route through Macedonia, much better roads, so that clinched it.
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