Il Autostrade

In Italy they have this really horrible thing. A horrible thing designed to fleece you of money while delivering you from metropolis to metropolis through the most barren of landscapes, ensuring you see as little as possible. It's called the Autostrade. After exiting the ferry in Bari we got on it. And drove. And drove. Until some time later when we took the exit to Rimini, a coastal city far north from where we started.

We took solace from the oppressive heat at an over-commercialised beach covered in thousands of people. We laid in the shallows under the blistering sun, watching the beach goers alternate between the sea of deck chairs blotting out the sand and the gentle gradient of the water. We didn't stay long. After an hour we had showers and headed inland, following signs to San Marino. We found camping right in the city, just before you start heading up Titano in earnest.

The next morning we followed the rest of the winding road to the historic hilltop capital, perched precariously on the edge of a sizeable cliff. We parked in a residential area in the usual ridiculously narrow streets. As we passed through the park leading to the ancient city fortifications we saw numerous groups in medieval dress practicing archery. Over the course of the day we saw so many, its almost like a good 50% of the country's population are members of said societies.

 I stepped over the wall by the far tower. The drop is respectable. I don't think anyone would have ever been stupid enough to mount an attack on the city from this angle.

I wandered slowly through the hilltop parkland, passing numerous other medieval archery groups. This country seems to be unique. Its citizens seem to live very differently to anywhere else I've visited in western Europe. San Marino really does seem to be very liveable.

One of the city's many medieval societies

We walked up a tower for a view and quickly discovered that you can actually walk on the city walls. Numerous walkers stared up at us walking on the narrow ledge that serves as a walkway, six odd metres above the ground.

We came to the main square and just wandered, separating every so often. I wanted to get a taste of what made this country historically distinct enough to still be its on country. I still don't know. It seems very Italian but the way of life seems very different at the same time. You have to be there to feel it. There's just something about it. The way of life seems so relaxed, so casual, despite the high number of banks and other financial businesses in the city. Its highly modern and functional yet strong to its roots at the same time.

 

Free camping!

After descending Monte Titano it was back onto the Autostradh. We wouldn't get off again until Genova, one of Italy's bigger cities and an important port and financial centre. The city itself would have to wait until the following day. After a huge ordeal we found perfect camping at nearly a thousand metres, in view of the sea and with the periodic sound of church bells echoing from the monastery above.

The following morning a man who introduced himself as the monastery's technical director, a job that probably only exists in Italy, came to say hello and invited us to come up and see the church and use their facilities. It was very kind but it was already late and we were in a hurry so we headed into the city.

The historic city encompasses a huge are in Genova and also seems to function as the central business district. The fusion of old and new is astonishing. It made me smile to see many in suits walking down renaissance era covered walkways with mosaic floors.

We found a cafe and got some WiFi before going looking for climbing shops. On the way to the shop that the cafe owner showed me on a map Dan suddenly asked, “Do you have the keys? Because I don't.”

The dense mess that is Genova

“Surely you do, check again!” I responded, brushing it off. He turned out his pockets. Nothing. He searched his backpack. Nothing there either. I did the same but had no luck finding them in my possessions either. We both swore loudly and began a very frantic, desperate search through the city. I had no idea what the outcome might be if we couldn't find them. The spare keys were sitting in the car. I could picture them in a cliplock bag with other essentials, tucked between the seats.

We retraced our steps to the car. “What the hell are we doing?!” I wondered aloud multiple times. We had almost nothing. Just a vague memory of me handing Dan the keys on a grand staircase by a church before dropping down to street level. There were gaps in both of our memories and what was worse they didn't match.

We returned to the place in both our memories. We scrutinised the stairs. No sign of them. Perplexed, we walked over to the railing we had taken photos from overlooking the tight facades of the city centre, aimlessly walking along looking everywhere. After 50m we found them. Sitting on the railing. We surmised I must have thought I handed them to Dan but really just put them on the railing next to him because he was taking a photo. I had taken them off him to go back to the car to get something and hence automatically wanted to return them when I came back.

The stone railing ringing the balcony is where we found the keys...

We were lucky. Very lucky. Feeling very relieved we drove out of the city towards Varazze, a small town between Genova and Finale Ligure.

The Albania the World Sees

We didn't think we'd be seeing Berat again...

We popped out on the coast near the city of Vlorë. The e with the umlaut on top is a common feature in Albanian and seems to make the "a" sound as heard in Romance languages. The language is unique, sitting in a family of its own, its cognates with English supposedly coming from Latin as it was spoken almost 2000 years ago. As the Germans advised we returned to Berat, drove to Fiore then went to the coast, using only the best of Albania's roads, much more suitable for two-wheel drives but still confronting for anyone accustomed to the roads of the west.

We drove south under clear blue skies, wanting to put some distance behind us after the previous night's and that morning's “mishap”. It was hard to believe we got out of a situation like that, 30km from the nearest town and in a very mountainous landscape, so easily. By then we were almost laughing about it. Only in Albania.

Reminders of Albania's communist past

Later on someone we were talking to was able to make one very profound remark about his country. “Broken roads, broken car.”

We crossed a pass on a narrow road that was some 1500m high. The air at the top was a complete contrast to the stifling dryness of the coast. The clouds hung low. A breeze blowed. The air was slightly moist. I hadn't felt weather like that in weeks, probably since my solo mountaineering trip in Slovenia.

Small models of churches. A weird but ubiquitous feature in Macedonia and Albania

The ocean and the land were a jigsaw, a solid wall of ultramarine against the jagged cutout of ochres and sepias. We spent our first night camped out under the shelter of an olive grove, metres from the Adriatic. 

I won't say much about our remaining time in Albania. We spent a lot of time swimming, enjoying the piers and sheltered coves with deep water underneath. We camped in several wall-less buildings, an ubiquitous feature of the Albanian landscape due to lack of funds to finish them. Our driving skills improved dramatically. We learned new places where the hazard lights can be used and how the horn is a tool of polite, safe driving, not of anger like in most of the world. We just relaxed. Awaiting that day, the 17^th, where we would have to be in the northern port of Durres to catch an 11pm ferry to Bari, an overnight journey. 

The Albanian riviera, as the call the section of coast south of the aforementioned pass, is a beautiful but sterile place. Other than bunkers the only sign of history I saw between the pass and Sarandë was a fortress on a round strip of land at the end of an isthmus. The Albanian riviera is a playground, lined by almost solely modern apartments, eateries and beach resorts.

By European standards it's a well kept secret. And you can still find places few people go. But compared to Australian beached it feels very crowded. The place is fun and exciting for a short time but I think with more time I'd realise just how culturally deprived it is, how culture is being buried by the natural attractions of the area and the profit that can stem from it.

Yet more prime real estate going to waste. Well until we arrived...

We camped in a field on our last night in the country, a quick choice owing to the lateness of the hour. Despite it turning out to be private land the owners rewarded us with over three kilograms of peaches and plums the following morning, yet more testament to the warmness of Albanian hospitality.

Albania in one picture

On our last day we entered Durrës. Durrës is a bustling commercial hub, again lacking any kind of historic centre. It puzzles me as to why there seems to be so little history in coastal Albania. I drew out some money to fund a tank of fuel at Albania prices, having to ask permission from two stone-faced, machine gun clad guards to use the ATM. Crime is a major problem in Albania.

I felt sad to be leaving in a way. Sad to be leaving somewhere where the people and climate were so warm and everything is ridiculously affordable. A kebab costs all of about a euro to a euro and a half. As long as you don't eat near the water and hunt a round a little it'd be quite possible to eat out three times a day for five odd Australian dollars and still have some money left to buy fruit to snack on. 

I stood in the shallows of the main city beach, watching the sun form an orb, light up the ocean and sink into the sea. As eleven came closer we drove to the ferry, got our hard copy tickets and boarded well before departure. We found a very comfortable, isolated lounge and spread ourselves out.

I watched the lights of Albania disappear from the rear deck. I went back inside because it was after twelve at night and laid down to try and get some sleep. It seemed surreal knowing I was going to wake up in Italy.

 

So Bad it's Good

We exchanged glances, on the verge of laughter. “Is this really happening?” One of us said, chuckling. We were trying to get from Berat to the riviera city of Sarande in the far south, near the Greek border.

“Surely the whole 60km can't be like this...” I said, after 10km of what was possibly the worst road we had been on so far. “and this is what Google Maps labels as a yellow road.” Dan says. Darkness closed in long ago. The road climbed into the highlands before following a distinct ridge. Its features were quite unique. In a fast section you could go 40km an hour. Other stretches treated you to steep corners of large, sharp rocks. The most dominant style of the road though was sections where one wheel would be on cobblestones and the other on dirt. I think it was an old Roman road, gradually improved over the centuries but receiving little to know maintenance money in modern times.

It had been extended to a reasonable width but other than that I'm not really sure if the surface was any better than what it would have been like five centuries ago.

“God the clearance on this car is horrible!!” One of us would say every couple of minutes as another rock menacingly slammed against the bottom of our car.

“Maybe we should pull over and take a look...” we slowed down from all of about 30km and hour to a complete stop.

Dan saw it first. “Shit!” he exclaimed loudly. The back right tire was completely flat and judging from our experiences with unusually bad clearance had been for at least fifteen minutes. I walked over to take a look.

“Did you throw any water on the brakes again?” I asked, half jokingly given the situation. “No.” Dan said flatly. “What's that hissing sound?”

I knelt down, moving my ear towards the wheel. Air was suddenly blowing softly on my face. It was a completely still night. I cursed.

Air was escaping from the front right tire. Not only did we have one flat but another was on the way. I put my finger over the hole to stop any air escaping until we were ready to continue driving. I could hear Dan rummaging in the back of the car. I had him say something under his breath. “What?!” I inquired.

“Goddam Michael gave us the wrong tool!” he was referring to the Nigerian in the Czech Republic that sold us the car. Perhaps it was the world punishing us for making so many jokes about his emphasis of the need of the big technician paper or his pronunciation of the word “fuel”. “Are you #!?*# serious?!” I retorted in shock. “Yep.” he said with finality. “Check in the passenger door, there's some kind of tool in there.” he did. Also not the right tool. Not only did we have two flat tires but we had nothing capable of changing the one of them that we had a replacement for.

Sometimes things in Albania get so bad that their laughable. They're the kind of things you may joke about happening, making reference to all the stereotypes but never do. But then you go to Albania. Things become real very fast. Feeling very flat and worried we drove on slowly through the darkness, councious that we were doing even more damage.

We found a bend with a driveway. We stopped here and camped the night. Dan slept in the car worried at the sound of some dogs on the hill. I wanted to get a good nights sleep so I put up my tent. I struggled to sleep. Majorly. Next, to make things worse I had a very aggressive dog barking outside my tent that kept me up and on edge well past 2am, giving me more time to think about the predicament in my worn down, paranoid state.

The sun forced me from my tent by 8am. It felt more like 12 but as per normal, it never is. Before we got the chance to walk down the driveway to the house the owner's son turned up on a motorbike. As expected they spoke no English whatsoever. We gestured towards our car and demonstrated the fact that we had no tool. He left and returned half an hour later. No luck.

We sat on the crash pads in the intensity of the midday sun, awaiting a miracle. Hours passed. We flagged down six other motorists that were crazy, or needy enough to need to drive this poor excuse for a road. Around 2pm that miracle came. We saw it from a distance. A fully equipped four wheel drive. As it rounded the bend near our current residence I saw French plates. My heart raced. We flagged them down to discover they were Germans living in France with good English skills.

“Oh wow.” One of them said, literally open mouthed, upon seeing not one, but two flat tires. They produced the correct tool and helped us put on the spare which happened to be as good as the normal tires. Thank god. We were going to need it. We discussed Albanian experiences, joking about the roads, exchanging hospitality stories. My spirits were lifting now that we were getting somewhere.

After an hour or so we said goodbye, promising not to continue and return to Berat to get a new tire and probably wheel. They said if we were ever in there area to give them a call and come visit. If I ever am I will definitely take them up on the offer.

We began driving, the flapping, crinkling sound of the remaining redundant tire a reminder that the ordeal was far from over. After about 200m we saw around ten Albanians men standing on the right of the road, taking a break from tending the fields. They flagged us down, clearly telling us to stop. It was obvious the whole community knew about our predicament. The guy from the farmhouse we spent the night near had ridden around the whole neighbourhood attempting to source a tool.

One of the guys had spent a bit of time in Italy and did most of the talking, perhaps due to perceived common linguistic ground. I played around with vocabulary from various languages, struggling to explaining the most basic of things that couldn't be explained with hand gestures. After 10 odd minutes of deliberation to little gain he said something that I clearly understood to mean “Wait twenty minutes.”

Note the wheel sitting on a rock propping the car up!

We did. In another twenty minutes time and old guy turned up. We had met him before. We flagged him down by the side of the road but he didn't have a tool. In this instance he appeared to be shouting, chastising us and the others for blocking the road.

Homemade Vodka

Then all of a sudden he put some music on, grabbed Dan and began dancing in a joking kind of way. A bottle of colourless home-made liquid was offered around. They started writing numbers on a piece of paper. For what I didn't know. I said two words. “Mas tarde.” Later. I had no idea what we were negotiating over as nothing had happened yet.

First they tried to install the wheel from their car. To no avail. When that didn't work they removed the tire from our car before removing their own. In possibly the most interesting way one could possibly imagine they managed to remove and put on a car tire and seal it professionally with farm tools. I've never been so pleasantly surprised. The process appeared brutal but calculated. They bashed at it. They stood on it. Then did some rural trick with water to ensure it was airtight. And we were on the road. 

We gave them 4000 Leke for their efforts, a hell of a lot of money in Albania but a mere 28 Euros or approximately 42 Australian dollars. I don't think I've ever felt like I did that day. The transition from total despair, to some hope to being entirely in the clear. The backyard repair job from the Albanian highlands is still going strong well over a month later in Spain, over a 2000km drive away. Albania goes to show that the world is still a warm place to be. 

Negotiations

The Country That Wears Its Heart on Its Sleeve

The roads to reach Macedonia's popular lakeside city of Ohrid were more than reasonable. As expected, things changed as soon as we entered Albania. First, a sealed road we were going eighty on suddenly rounded a bend and dropped to gravel and potholes. These kind of breaks in the “premier” road consumed well over half the total distance traveled.

Next, small concrete bunkers lined the shore, spaced a mere 50m or so apart, testimony to the efforts of Albania's paranoid former dictator. Money that was practically stolen from the people went straight into building fortifications for an invasion that was unlikely to happen. For some reason the cloud base always seems to be low over Lake Ohrid and the weather seems to be fickle and cold compared to surrounding regions. At least from our experience and the limited testimony of others.

Gifts from Albania's ex-regime are everywhere

We found spectacular lakeside camping on the Macedonian side of the border the night before but the weather was too chilly both in the evening and the morning to entice me into the lake's clear waters. Despite the cool temperatures the sun still somehow managed to heat my tent up so much that it was unpleasant before I was ready to get up. Again. Its not bad in the way that it interrupts sleep, it usually doesn't. It's just a bad start to the day.

We stopped for an hour at a cafe on the Albania side before heading on. The main road was full of the usual, stereotypical Albanian excitement. Relative highways suddenly change to gravel, causing the local population to meander all over the roads and drive incredibly slow out of fear for their cars. In reality these sections weren't too bad but constantly driving on these roads would be enough to test even the hardiest cars.

The unsealed sections are particularly wide which makes them great for overtakes. I soon learned how to use the horn. In Albania the horn is not an instrument of anger but rather a polite prompt to say, “Hey, I'm here, stay in your own lane and deal with a pot hole or two!” There are all kinds of customs to do with using the horn that are universally respected in this small Balkans country. Many would not be the cup of tea of conservative westerners.

We were heading for the central UNESCO listed city of Berat, hidden deep in a web of roads that deter all but the most curious tourists. The road Google Maps instructed us to take included a sixty-something kilometre section of unsealed road that traversed several towns of at least 5000 people where only the main street was sealed. Albania is an eye-opener. Its the one place I can safely say the stories are true.

Berat is broken into two cities of a sort. First we entered a modern area on flats by the river before continuing through the gorge where the old city is situated. On the otherside of this river gouged valley lies the other, bigger half. Curiously this half contains a huge, neo-classical capitol building like those in America's national and state capitals. I'd be interested to know the history of this. It really doesn't look that new. If it was actually built prior to 1997, during Communist rule, it would be rather ironic. The capitol building stands to me as a symbol of democracy, a symbol of romanticised aspiration towards the world's first test pieces of democracy. 

We stopped in the old city for two odd hours. I love Berat. It lacks any particularly grand buildings, aside from a few intriguing mosques, but the old town has so much intricate detail its hard not to let it intrigue you. The buildings give a little insight into a time long past. They are distinctly Ottoman. When you look around a little more you notice there are both churches and mosques, testimony to the fusion that existed, and still exists here. 

We wandered through the undulating alleyways between the white-washed homes, elderly women beaconing to us to buy jams and other preserved fruit derived foods. The city has almost no infrastructure for tourists. There's only a cafe or two, both part of hotels, amongst the entire maze of houses that I wandered through. Its a weird feeling to be in a place in Europe that has not yet managed to work out they have something unique that can be utilised for tourist dollars.

In the upper reaches of the town a dog suddenly charged us, bursting out of nowhere. We turned on our heels and sprinted, tripping and stumbling down the rough cobble stone streets in thongs. Thankfully the dog backed off once we were two-hundred odd metres clear of its home. Catching our breaths we slowly made our way back down, wanting to check out the fortress that stands sentinel above the city before the day started disintegrating in the lead up to sunset proper. 

You have to pay to get into the fortress. It costs a mere 100 Leke per person. One Australian dollar or thereabouts. The smallest note we had that was suitable to pay with was a 500. Instead of accepting more money the guy on the gate motioned to our wallets, asking if we had anything else. I pulled out a 100 Leke coin. He motioned towards it. So because he didn't have change we got in for half the cost of the already miniscule entry fee. Thus is the nature of Albanian hospitality.

The fortress complex has enjoyed barely any restorations. The ramparts around the entrance feel fairly well maintained and get visitors but other areas are overgrown with weeds and its easy to feel like your the first person that's been here in years.The fortress made me feel like a kid again, hopping from stone to stone along the broken walls, going places just to see where they lead. I'd go as far as to say this, Buzludzha and the like are the kind of places every parent should seek out and bring their kids.

 

 The far side of the fortress offers stunning views down into the valley of the old town and onto the capitol beyond. We sat here just as the light was dying, our time limited by our choice to have a meal once inside the fortress. There's still a whole village living inside. We could have driven into this 12^th century fortress if we wanted. Albania offers possibly the rawest travel experience in Europe. On finishing our meal the owners of the restaurant shook before our hands. Few places feel so warm to be an outsider with no knowledge of the language in. 

 

As darkness properly closed in we drove out of the city. I still couldn't believe that we had spent 6hrs here and I had only seen evidence that five people in the entire city were travelers. In many other locations that your average person would consider very obscure you hear a strong diversity of languages and accents. Not here.

Vicious Rock; Bouldering in Macedonia

On our way to the bouldering around the town of Prilep we spent an unexpected night in Veles. We were driving along and found a slalom course. Veles is a small, fairly obscure place, even by Macedonian standards. A few of the guys invited us for drinks. Once we had one drink with them the deal was sealed. It was expected we watch the world cup with them followed by drinking into the early hours of the morning and staying at one of their houses. Although the general hospitality of people in Macedonia doesn't seem to be up to that of people in Albania these guys certainly matched the pressure on a person vs. person basis.

The next morning we had breakfast out with them at what was more like lunch time and away from the noise of drink venues they told us a little about their lives. They don't get paid much more than 300 euros a month but with this they budget for five to ten euros a day which includes a pack of cigarettes, two coffees, several beers and some food out as well as the day to day basics. This group of men, ranging from around twenty odd to around fifty meet up several times each day to consume these things. Its certainly an interesting life. One of them also happens to have three phones which he keeps on himself constantly. When I asked about this it was explained by the simple statement; “he is very important person”. The Macedonian lifestyle also includes updating your profile picture on Facebook multiple times a day on certain occasions but definitely never dropping below the obligatory daily update. They refused to accept a cent for the bills they footed at bars and restaurants and their hospitality.

Prilep's central square

We managed to leave just before midday and drove the remaining 40mins to Prilep. The town, or city rather, is quite charming. It sits in a very arid landscape beneath rocky hills with clear influences from both Christian and Islamic settlers. Seeing as we arrived in the very peak of the day's heat we just went to a cafe and got WiFi and icecream. Later we called a contact one of the Macedonians from Veles had given us who was going to help us out with bouldering information. 

He came very promptly and took us to his house where we sat on his lawn and talked. He offered to take us bouldering a little later when the weather cooled down. Then things got interesting. Now I understood why one of the Macedonians the evening before had asked what “deal” we had with this guy. Poor English failed to express it was a paid service. Now we were roped into paying for at least some paid guiding, much to our disdain. It wasn't overly expensive and we were grateful for his information and guidance but still it wasn't really something we wanted.

The boulders around Prilep are plentiful and have pretty unique features. One of the most common is huge, skull sized pockets in the rock that form massive jugs. The main downside is the grain; the rock is granite with great friction but at high expense to the hands. After a mere two hours bouldering here I had sizeable blisters on six out of ten fingers. Its just the nature of the rock and I'd had a long absence from climbing, meaning my finger pads were weak. 

We bouldered until the sun went down, enjoying how spectacular the location was and finally being back on rock. Our Macedonian guide was extremely encouraging and good at picking problems to suit our abilities. Still, we both somewhat resented almost being deceived into this. We made sure to firmly wrap up any open business that night and pay him so it wouldn't be hanging over our heads that night. 

That night we got the car stuck looking for camping. It was about twelve at night and despite efforts to give the tires traction they just kept spinning and spinning. Sleep that night, by the town dam, was certainly well deserved. 

The following day we relaxed, partly due to the heat, partly due to my fingers. We swam in the lake and spent a considerable amount of time in the cool of a cafe. After a while of not doing much we went for a walk. I gazed up at the still in tact minaret of a ruined mosque. "Do you think that thing's climbable?" I said to Dan. 

Ten minutes later we were standing on a tiny balcony, hugging the wall for safety, the city far beneath our feet. To get there we followed a narrow, winding staircase that seemed to have received some kind of restoration judging by the state of the rest of the building. The minaret ended in a cylindrical ring of bricks and without a sketchy climb we couldn't quite see sideways out of the top. At the very top I could see nothing but a solid circle of deep blue sky. 

As the day wore on we went looking for a boulder we had seen in videos in a remote area but had no luck at all. We ended up doing a little four wheel driving and camping where we bouldered the previous night, a ten minute walk from the car. It was a great vantage point to watch the sun go down and camping in amongst the ancient blocks was simply an awesome experience.

When we started walking down the hill in the morning we saw two figures waiting by our car. As their shapes became clearer we began to wonder what those things pointing up from their backs were and why they were wearing identically strange clothes. The reason turned out to be that we had camped in a military zone. Sure, we parked 200m from the barrack fence, but there was nothing whatsoever to indicate that the surrounding area was included in the fenced area in effect. The soldiers interrogated us a little but when they found out we just wanted to camp near the climbing their tone switched entirely.

“You crazy kids!” They said. They didn't seem annoyed after that point and began making casual conversation while we packed the car. They waited for us to leave before disappearing through a hole in the barracks fence. Unfortunately neither of us got a photo, We didn't think they'd like it in the slightest and it was hard to be discreet.

There's one more thing to add to the list of curious beings we've had in our campsites. Numerous goats and sheep, gypsies and now soldiers.

Thank you Google

Did I mention Bulgarians love their statues?

Even while sitting in the main square of the central Bulgarian city of Kazanluk the distinctive saucer of Buzludzha is visible. We were getting some respite from the heat after descending from the mountains where Buzludzha lies, a rather meandering and intricate journey. We left a completely different way to the way we came, descending to the south. An imposing statue stands on the plain shortly after the very base of the mountains, beaconing, or threatening the prospective traveler in the style typical of Bulgarian Communist architecture. The statue is grey and austere but at the same time artistically striking. Juxtaposed against the bright purple of the lavender crops this makes for quite the stunning sight.

Leaving Kazanluk we headed towards the ancient city of Plovdiv, known for its Roman centre. Curiously we saw at least five huge bird's nests, at least one metre in diameter, constructed on top of power poles of all places. Only in Bulgaria. Nowhere else in the world have I seen Pelican size sea birds balancing a nest of that size on top of a tiny pole. It seems to be such a common phenomenon that someone has actually mounted rings of wire on the summit of the pole to assist the birds in their efforts. 

We got into Plovdiv as the sun was going down, luckily still leaving plenty of twilight to explore the city. To get there we took a collection of narrow, poorly maintained roads that wind through the hills and you supposedly need a Vignette, a highway ticket, for. I didn't see any vignettes on other cars, perhaps because people see no reason to buy one when the government obviously does nothing to improve the roads with the money they receive.

Plovdiv is a sprawling mess with few signs. We parked, supposedly in the old town and assumed that we'd easily be able to find the Roman Theatre. How wrong we were! After about an hour of marveling at the ridiculously bumpy, undulating cobble stones of the old town and asking at least three people we finally arrived. Without being there at the time of an open air opera or play you can't even pay to enter the theater to get a good look. Yep. They have a two-thousand odd year old theatre dedicated solely to local small time operas and plays.

We slowly wandered back through the streets, via a much faster route this time. On the way there we walked three times the distance we had to. The old town is quaint but doesn't really offer anything of outstanding value despite what the plaques on private residences announcing their past owners might have you believe.

Near the car we found a bar with a rough hewn inside. It had multiple pools of water, rock-cut tunnels and numerous holes, extending at least two stories, that you could sit under on the ground level and see the night sky. We couldn't resist. We sat down and got ice-cream. In Bulgaria it becomes habitual to not be too picky about where you go as everything always seems to be much cheaper than you expect.

The following morning we started making tracks towards Macedonia. We decided to take a slightly different route, crossing some lowish regions of the northern mountains of the Musala massif. After several wrong turns onto interesting back streets, typically filled with cattle, we were heading up into the mountains in earnest. There were no views. The road was inclosed by dense pine forests. After 40mins in the mountains proper we came to a flat area by a small creek where people had obviously camped before. With sheltered, grassy sites and the constant, soft sound of water sieving through rock we went no further that day. And the next day we almost didn't move either. We stayed until at least one, basking in the sun and dipping in the freezing waters of the river.

And one morning we woke up in a field full of "herbs"

When we decided to move on an interesting thing happened. Within a couple of kilometres we came to what I can best describe as a secret hideaway bar for old men, far from anything. Then the “road” degraded to a track, heavily overhung by branches. In another kilometre it ended at a concrete weir with a well constructed, small bridge. Again at a random spot in the middle of nowhere. Google maps had sent us on a road that doesn't actually link up!

A map of the area a few kilometres back had showed the road was missing a kilometre or two. We hoped to god this was an old map. But it most certainly wasn't.

We retraced our steps for around 60km on slow roads before getting onto the roads that would take us to Macedonia, not as great of a loss as we had expected. We ended up crossing the border at around 6:30, well before dark. The lines at the border were considerable but 40mins later and after being forced to buy a Vignette for our experiences on Bulgaria's sub-standard roads we were in this southern former Yugoslav republic.