Albania to Montenegro: the darkest hour cometh before the dawn

I think it's fair to say that neither Jesse nor I was particularly
enamoured of Albania, and this burgeoning dislike was hardly helped by
this morning's riding. We started out on the main road from Tirana,
dodging market stalls, microbuses, ruts, goats and horse-drawn carts,
eventually reaching city limits. There we found ourselves riding
against a flow of wedding processions, with all the cars decked in
pink ribbons and honking their horns. We thought this mildly
entertaining until an Albanian leaned out of a car window right next
to us and started firing shots from his pistol into the air. I think
he was celebrating, but we hit the gas and got out of there at high
speed.

Later, after an hour spent on one of the worst roads I've ever ridden,
even on a mountain bike, Jesse had an illuminating conversation with
some young Albanians. The one who spoke decent English said "so,
Albania really sucks, right?", to which Jesse made some polite
response about how it wasn't all bad really. The Albanian's response
said it all: "that's because you're passing through - you don't have
to live here."

Leaving Albania changed everything about the day. Instead of terrible
roads littered with the remains of industrial machinery and soviet
sculpture, we were on country lanes lined by hedgerows, giving way
later to views of the Adriatic. Riding along the coast, looking out at
tenth-century monasteries, or on craggy islands lit by the setting
sun, it was hard to believe that only this morning we'd been as close
to despair as we've been on this trip.

Tomorrow: to Dubrovnik, and Croatia!

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