Thick in the Red

We wind through the gently rolling hills on a road cut into an obscure part of the Balkans mountains. “Look!” I exclaim, rounding a bend. I feel a sudden spur of excitement. I've wanted to visit this place since I've been a kid. A tower adorning a huge, saucer shaped construction can be seen crowning a hilltop perhaps 20km away. Yep, its big. The road takes a convoluted route, cut into the gentlest of the undulating terrain. The road sticks to ridges, taking us south before we can progress east. Every so often a glimpse of it emerges through the trees or just popping up from behind another hilltop, teasing. 

.

 As you're driving there it still feels somewhat illusive. It commands a high strategic knoll yet there's not too many places on the road where you can see it. Then you come round a hair pin and are suddenly confronted by two huge fists bearing torches, perfectly framing the building behind which is still two-hundred odd metres above. The place doesn't look as big as I said. But few things do when you're viewing them from below with a forty-five degree gradient between you and it.

Up until the collapse of Bulgarian communism this was a meeting house for party members, known as Buzludzha after the mountain it sits on, some 1441m high. Every part of this building was though out. How it sits in the landscape, the placement of the torches beneath it and most of all, its location. Bulgaria's communists liked the idea of alining themselves with symbols of their national identity, choosing the site where the Bulgarians ousted the last of the Ottomans from their country over one hundred years before. Buzludzha mountain was a profound choice, carrying both nationalistic sentiments and significance to Bulgarian communism. Socialism in Bulgaria, the precursor to the latter, was practically born on this mountain.

I got out of the car and walked across the road onto a square of sorts, sitting down right in the middle. The scene is like something out of a science fiction movie with Buzludzha's UFO-shaped main meeting hall. I felt overwhelmed by the sheer strength the building conveyed but at the same time slightly disturbed by the period it represents. No matter which way you look at it, its undeniable that too an extent it stands as a simple of oppression and suffering.

I gaze up for a while, at the building, at the industrial size sculpted works of art in front of me. The juxtaposition is striking. The colours and the lines interact with the landscape in a way that's almost hypnotic. Against the tinge of the grass the gray concrete so commonly associated with communist era architecture doesn't seem at all sterile. Somehow the metallic tones of the torches seem to be in the same tonal range as the landscape around it. Its uncanny. 

Before reaching the base of the structure itself the road doubles back once more, more than necessary considering the gradient you need to gain. I quickly put enclosed shoes on. There's no chance in hell that I'm entering a monument that has been through twenty five odd harsh winters without maitanence in thongs. Two strange concrete shapes with metal protruding mark the the base of the stairs, beckoning you on.

I stride slowly up the stairs, fixated by the Cyrillic covering each side of the once grand main entrance. Having previously read a translation of the archaic Bulgarian I feel the power of what this building represents. “On your feet despised comrades...” Its like being transported back to another era, an era where I shouldn't be standing where I am right now. Not necessarily shouldn't, rather couldn't. An era where everything east of Berlin and south to modern day Macedonia and Albania was red.

As Dan joins me we head round the right side of the building. The main entrance was boarded up long ago and the only way you can get in now, a smashed hole in the wall, is exactly where I expected it to be from prior reading. I poke my head in. It pops out onto stairs leading up from the main foyer, dark and ominous, covered in layers of god knows what. I squeeze through gracelessly, having to use a knee to easily push through the small gap. I'm inside.

I wait for Dan, grabbing his bag which wouldn't fit through the small squeeze hole while on his back. I walk a couple of steps to a Balcony. The once grand entrance hall lays shrouded in darkness, only a little light finding its way in, a shadow of what it once was. In places a foot of silt is built up in the corners. Some of the stairs have become impassable.

After a quick look I continue up the stairs, unable to contain the excitement. I walk slowly, not wanting to be rash and ruin it, savouring the mystique of the place. On the last landing I see it. A circle, decorated with the classic interconnection of the hammer and sickle, surrounded by a slogan. “Proletariats of the world unite,” or something similar. This sits in the dead centre of the main antechamber's ceiling. 

As I progress up the stairs I make out more and more. Light filters through the broken ceiling, shingles and pieces of insulation hanging precariously from the roof. And then there's the murals, outstanding works by the collective efforts of sixty artists. Quite possibly “volunteers”, like most of the people “commissioned” to help in this building's construction, but stunning works of art all the same. Slightly to the right on the opposite side of the room stands three easily recognisable faces. Engels, Marx and Lenin.

I am standing on the chamber floor now. Puddles sit in the depressions in the ornate limestone floor, slightly reflecting the bright colours from the mosaics around the room. I move a couple of metres more, emerging from the small tunnel in the ampitheatre like seating that delivers you from the stairs into the meeting room.

Mosaics line every inch of the circular wall above the seating, some now in a pretty bad state, prized apart by the tendrils of central Bulgaria's bitterly cold winters. Opposite the faces of Engels, Marx and Lenin sit three more faces, one of them curiously having been removed. With utmost precision too. It used to be the face of the man that ruled Bulgaria for a pretty solid chunk of the 20^th century, thirty years or thereabouts. It's not certain why his face was removed or by whom but its not hard to come up with theories considering the forced labour he initiated and the fact that he drove Bulgaria into economic depression. 

 Over the two days we stayed in and around Buzludzha I probably spent a total of three hours in the main antechamber. The place is fascinating with its side by side depiction of the ousting of the Ottomans with symbols of Communism and memorials to Bulgarian- Soviet friendship. Each time I went in I realised more and more that I hadn't noticed before, learning a little more about what exactly drove Bulgarian communism.

Mosaics also cover the wall of the balcony

After our first visit to the chamber we went up the tower with three Bulgarians. To get to the tower you drop down into the foyer and walk through a very dark, narrow passage way to find a heavy steel door that's been bent open. Beyond this are the stairs. Well more like ladders. You're not walking on rungs but they'd probably be at an eighty degree angle and the use of hands is definitely necessary. We climbed up many flights of theses in complete darkness because for some strange reason the power wasn't on to use the elevator.

We climbed some twenty two of these ladders then two proper ladders before entering the space behind the star. The star is huge, some four stories high on its own. The light filters through the red plastic, most of it long gone, bathing the space within in red light. After the star two ladders delivered us and our new found Bulgarians on top of the tower. We climbed up the rusty Soviet era scaffolding. Now above the concrete walls that guard two sides I can tell you the tower is well and truly the claimed 107m. Standing above the wall on old scaffolding definitely felt a little “airy”.

After talking to one of the Bulgarians for a while I asked him what he thought of this monument. “This monument to communism?” he asked, straight away catching on to what I was getting at. “Yes.” I replied simply. It turned out that he actually sympathises with his past. Don't take this to mean that he's a communist. No. Simply he looks at the wealth disparity in Bulgaria today and the employment rates and sees that welfare was better when everyone was equal. And fair enough. I don 't blame him. He basically suggested that both are poor ways to live.

Looking down on the main antechamber

Earlier in the day we were worried about descending the tower in the dark but now we know that it doesn't matter because most of the way is in pitch darkness anyway. We watched the sunset from the top and carefully made our way down through what is essentially just a concrete shaft with a series of metal ladders and platforms to get you up and down. Thankfully this part of the building felt completely structurally sound. 

Five Countries; Two Days

In order to utilise what little time we have in the Balkans and see the places I had designated we continued from Prizren early that morning. A 4am start saw us at the fortress above the city a little before 5am. This fortress is pretty much undeveloped with only a small amount of restoration work having been done. The city took on a completely different feel in the early morning light, the red roof tops almost glowing, stretching out over much of the vast plain beneath me.

 

.

One the way down I went into a mostly ruined church with only the bit surrounding the altar still intact. Some artwork remains relatively unaffected by the elements, showing biblical scenes in a style that seemed quite different from the Eastern Orthodox style I would have expected. At the bottom we had a coffee in the city as locals just begun to start their day. For the time I was there I felt like I got a reasonable insight into what Kosovo is really like. 

By 8am we were on the road again, quickly ascending into the mountains in the southern part of the country which gave way to hay harvesting valleys. By 9:15 we were clearing Macedonian customs. By the now the day was hot and hazy, dust filling the air. I had read that Kosovo is an incredibly dusty country but this is far from the case when compared to the rural dust bowl surrounding the Macedonian capital, Skopje.

Dan wanted to watch the European Championships and meet up with a few friends on the outskirts of the city so after finding the slalom course I set off on my own to head into the Macedonian capiatal, one of the most interesting driving experiences I've had so far. Aggressive merging is needed to get anywhere but more often than not you're either sitting at red lights or stuck behind trucks on narrow roads. On the way in it took 30mins to cover the 10km distance the city, miniscule compared to the 55mins on the way back where I waited at a single traffic light for 15mins.

I found parking for a reasonable price on the southern side of the river and headed in to explore the city on foot. The first thing I noticed was the huge statues, everywhere I looked, depicting various important figures and encouraging nationalism in the local population. The city centre is grand. Everything from the statues to the columns of the neoclassical buildings around the twin squares is built on a large scale. The city spans the banks of the Vardar river, linking two impressive main squares with a historic bridge. 

 

I wandered around, trying not to miss any detail in this architectural incredible city. After crossing the river I sat down to have a meal in one of the squares. From the service I knew straight away that I'd sat down at a top notch restaurant, despite it looking almost cafe like. Being Macedonia, this didn't matter. A large glass of wine and a sizeable bowl of gourmet carbonara with fresh mushrooms on top set me back all of about eight Australian dollars. 

I enjoyed the city for a half hour more after finishing my meal before heading back to the car and driving to pick up Dan. It wasn't late but I'd already been up ten hours, aggravating my impatience at Macedonian driving. There's nothing worse than having to let taxis in that cruise to the front of the queue down the opposite side of the road.  

By two thirty we were headed out of the city, confused by how signs would direct you onto certain roads then give you no indication whatsoever of if you were heading in the right direction. As the roads deviated we ascertained, with the help of location services that we were in fact heading for Sofia, the Bulgarian capital and one of the Balkan's biggest cities.

The currencies you accumulate going through five countries in two days- in Bulgaria fifteen notes were added to this stash

A good autobahn got us most of the way to the border from where it degraded into narrow roads through the mountains. I hadn't expected anything more. We were constantly stuck behind big trucks and the terrain made overtaking a task requiring immense patience. Again in typical Balkans style the distance took much longer to cover than Google Maps suggested, some five plus hours. Only on the outskirts of Sofia did the road improve and advertise speed limits of 120.

Sofia's main streets offered the usual big city experience of cobblestones with tram tracks, teaming up to minimise your grip on the road as best as possible. Soon, despite having an address and location services we were stumped once again about the location of our accommodation. But here I opened the door literally to be greeted by a Bulgarian asking “Can I help you?” in perfect English. He gave directions and it turned out to be an easily missed, small door a mere 200m away.

Perhaps Bulgarian Communism's interpretation of  social classes?

We checked in and were disappointed to find out we'd missed the complementary nighty beer and pasta. We headed out into the city to check out a few of its monuments and find some food. At Balkans prices it's not at all hard to find a place that pleases. Five Euro, or around $7:50 AUD is plenty to buy a reasonable meal and a drink, even in the centre of Sofia. Like Skopje, the buildings absolutely tower over the streets around them, built in the classical style. Sofia has few overly impressive attractions compared to Skopje but its centre definitely still holds a lot of appeal, official buildings taking up whole blocks with their unbroken walls of high columns. 

We got to the mammoth Orthodox church in the middle of the road and admired it before heading back to the accommodation. A better look at this and the statues in the nearby square would have to wait for tomorrow. I was particularly curious about the statue of Ivan the Terrible and the quote underneath. What piece of his writing was so admirable to Bulgarian officials?

Did I mention they love their statues?

The next day we relaxed in the hostel lounge on the WiFi before leaving at a leisurely time of 2pm or so for a walk around the city. Relaxation was overdue, this being our fifth country in two days with 4am starts on two consecutive mornings. By 5pm we were back in the car, headed east for the central city of Veliko Tarnovo. The drive to this city is completely unexciting. We camped midway by a wheat field and were treated to having a herd of sheep and a group of gypsies pass through our campsite in the morning. The gypsies were off to raid free food from the surrounding orchards and invited us to do the same.

We arrived in Veliko Tarnovo at about 11am, a beautiful city built around a steep, serpentine river valley. We explored the city very little really, only walking around one section of the spread out old town and getting a meal in the cool out of the heat. I regret a little not paying to explore Tsarevets, the iconic castle high above the river on the outskirts of the city. We weren't here for Veliko Tarnovo itself, but rather the monument hidden in the hills that had been lingering in the back of my mind since we first entered the Balkans. 

The cost of Bulgarian real estate....

Racking up the Odometer

We didn't leave Kotor as early as we should have. A 10:30 departure with obligatory stops simply doesn't cut it when you're driving through Albania, home to more excitement on the roads than you'll experience in the rest of Europe combined.

We left Kotor and drove up over a low pass, a shortcut to the coast which cuts off around 70km of driving. Here the coast changed character with very little of the terrain gently dropping into the ocean. More often than not the land gave way to the ocean in the form of extensive, chossy cliffs and bluffs. The road winds its way south, picking the easiest lines through the dramatic landscape.

A deserted beach by European standards

We stopped just south of the city of Budva after 45mins drive for a long swim, completely necessary when taking such a long break from the coast. At one point there's a sandy isthmus with a perfectly round island at the end, covered in historic buildings. We stopped to admire this but chose to back track to a different beach for its spectacular rocky coastline.

We quickly swam about 200m out from shore, looking for boats while examining the rocky islands with deep water underneath. We swam over to one and began to look for ways up. The rock was incredibly sharp. Steep (e.g. overhanging) climbing on rock like that is certainly a delicate task.

After basking in the sun floating in the impossibly warm water for a couple of hours it was time to move on. We headed south, deviating from the coast about 40km before Ulcinj and heading inland for the Albanian border. The roads quickly went from narrow but well maintained and quick to even narrower, potholed and used by herds or cattle. We were definitely getting close to Albania. 

The signs that you're getting closer to Albania

Near the border mosques were the focal point of towns, not churches, making the transition to Albanian culture and living standards even clearer. From the coast it took around an hour to the border crossing and we got through both Montenegrin departure processes and Albanian customs with no problem. We had heard stories that sometimes they will give you trouble so you will produce a bribe to make things go more smoothly but we encountered no such thing.

Things changed drastically once we were 10km past the border and towns began to emerge. Towns seemed much poorer. Every road was littered with many unsealed, potholed sections they seemed to have no intention of fixing. Herds of cattle randomly wandered on the roads. Over taking horse and carriages on the highway became a very normal situation.

After somehow driving down a very sketchy road through an equally sketchy neighbourhood we found our way to the northern city of Shkoder to draw out some local currency and buy food. This was an experience in itself. To draw money out it was necessary to approach the security guards guarding the banks for permission. Security was also positioned on electronic shops, gold exchanges and just about anything else selling items that are remotely valuable.

The city of Shkoder

How dogs sit in Albania

This city doesn't seem to have come too far since Albania shut down in 1997 and collapsed into an epoch of crime, lawlessness and lack of amenities. The power might be back on and supplies might be easy to find but the city at its heart seemed to be corrupt and in need of some serious cash injection. However, a large pizza cost all of about three Australian Dollars. I wasn't complaining about that. 

Albania is a majority Muslim country with a very distinct culture and language, making it an intriguing place to visit. The state of the roads seems laughable as do certain other aspects but the hospitality is unmatched. Within half an hour of being in Shkoder we had someone very persistently inviting us to stay in his home. We would have loved to do this but wanted to move into Kosovo that evening. When we refused he seemed rather offended, as if we had violated his pride. I had been warned previously about the guilt trips and plain expressions of dismay after turning down Albanian hospitality.

As we crossed the bridge leaving Shkoder kids hung off the adjacent rusty railway bridge and the road was laced in cattle faeces. At times Albania feels like a real third world country.

This also means its history is poorly protected and little of it is developed for toutists. If we had more time we would have checked out the fortress that sits above the city in ruins, completely undeveloped, waiting for the curious traveler that appreciates a “raw” experience.

Albanian countryside

We drove south and then east towards Kosovo on a road that I'd describe as being a little worse than the midlands. But here's the catch. The speed limit ranges from 40- 60km/ hour, accounting for the numerous herds of cattle and horse and carts. Driving in Albania is an experience in itself. I overtook countless animal powered enterprises. And this is Albania's A1 that links Shkoder, which was a rather major city, and Tirana, the national capital.

For some strange reason as we turned east the road became an autobahn with a 120 speed limit and remained like this the whole distance to Kosovo and beyond. It was beyond strange to see a road like this linking points of little significance in this part of the world. The road was spectacular too, winding through an arid valley with a silty river lining its floor, perhaps the most spectacular two lane highway I've driven on in Europe. 

Autobahns in Albania?!

Within an hour and a half on this road we reached the Kosovo border where a herd of cows was blocking the checkpoint. We used this opportunity to get out and buy car insurance for the country. No car insurance company outside of Macedonia and Albania insures their customers for Kosovo with a regular European green card. This checkpoint had a large line in which we waited for fifteen or so minutes but once at the booth we had no problems. Australians are lucky because they do not need visas to visit Kosovo.

They handed our passports back and we drove towards Prizren, an attractive looking historic city deep in Kosovo. Checking our documents we were disappointed to see we hadn't gotten stamps. It would have been nice to have a record of entering this little visited nation.

Kosovo is a country that scares most people away, their only knowledge of it being limited to the western news coverage of the landlocked nation's past troubles. Nowadays it largely remains stable, except for ongoing border disputes in the north of the country with the "bellicose state", Serbia. Even this will likely change in the future as the EU takes measures to pacify friction between Kosovo and its ethnic Serbian population. I felt privileged to visit Kosovo when I did, in the thick of dynamic and rapid evolution following its conception in the very near past. Kosovo is at a crossroads and seems to wear its heart on its sleeve, leaving the culturally rich but rather impoverished lives of its citizens in plain sight.

In Kosovo!

As we entered Prizren we came to a large open air market selling a huge variety of local produce. We stocked up on fruit from here. Nothing seemed to sell for over a Euro a kilo. Kosovo uses the Euro, perhaps alluding to their strong support for both the European union itself and the strongly linked European Development Bank which funds practically all of Kosovo's major infrastructure in exchange for the fulfillment of certain conditions. 

 

We headed up into the hills to get a view over the city, driving up cobblestone streets under dangerously low hanging electricity lines. Locals sit on narrow porches, practically on the street, watching the day pass by. Others visit neighbours, sitting on intricately patterned couches or cushions visible outside every house. Some stare after us. It isn't the kind of place you simply end up, they'd know everyone in the neighbourhood and were probably wondering who the hell we were. 

Kosovo is a little different. You see anything at all that has a motor holding its own on the roads as well as the typical livestock. The wiring in the streets is well.... crude. It drapes everywhere. Garden fences are sometimes made out of razor wire, likely at a surplus in Kosovo after its troubled past. Children play in the streets, stopping and waving to you as you pass. Two westerners in a Czech car with a kayak on the roof would certainly be a weird site for a Kosovan child. The place overall feels warm and very safe but you definitely feel out of place as a tourist. The whole time we were in the country I didn't spot anyone that resembled a tourist in the slightest. 

Prizren is a typical Ottoman influenced, terracotta roofed city. The centre rivals some of the cities I've visited elsewhere in Europe that attract throngs of tourists. Its simply beautiful if you can look past how literally everything is emptied into the river. That's not a Kosovo problem though, its a Balkans problem. We walked amongst the narrow streets, towered over by minarets and lined with the Ottoman style lattice-like wood work before stopping to get a drink by the main square, not far from the bridge where we watched the building glow orange and the last of the light fade from the sky. We had been in three countries today alone. Montenegro, Albania and now Kosovo. 

With the creation of their country a mere six years ago Kosovans are a very proud people