Yugo-A-Go-Go

May 2025

Hey guys, this was my cycle journey for this blog ...

I started in the Kosovo city of Prizren, on the far right (of the map, that is), then headed west into Albania, and then north into Montenegro..

And so, on I rode, into yet another Balkan country.

The border crossing into Albania was nothing short of magnificent, a superlative I've come to frequently utter to myself in the past few weeks.

Sometimes even out loud.

I left the beautiful Kosovan town of Prizren late morning, after getting a handful of Lek (the Albanian currency) before I left. I'd been using Euros in Kosovo, which, surprisingly, is the official currency there, even though it's not part of the EU. The old Deutsche Mark, and then the Euro, were introduced there after the war, to keep the country's finances stable.

Above Centre: The Kosovan J is pronounced like the English Y. Say no more.

It was a pretty quiet road, and eventually I made my way into the large town of Gjakovë, where the kids couldn't stop themselves from yelling out greetings to me as I passed. Even the teenagers.

Below Centre: It was neck and neck.

The views became more magnificent as I climbed. And climbed. And climbed. There was a cracker of a headwind too, but, you know, I'm used to that.

And of course climbing, headwind or not = stunning views innit.

The border outpost was at the top of the pass, and there was almost no one there, except a couple of friendly border guards on both sides.

As soon as I got into Albania it felt different. Big cultivated fields became tiny farm plots. Big towns became small villages. The pace was slower. Cows were on the road.

Above Centre: I sat on this cemetery wall for lunch.

Below Left: I'd kill for a Bajram curry right now, whatever that is. Any curry in fact. Actually the town was named after a famous Albanian independence fighter.

Below Right: Eventually I rode into a valley, carved by the magnificent Valbone River, which I was to follow downstream for a long time over the next couple of days.

Above Right: These beautiful fluffy seeds were raining down on me like snow as I rode. It reminded me of riding into Karakol in Kyrgyzstan with Julian and Anna Lena almost a year ago, when exactly the same thing happened.

I eventually found a spot to camp, near the tiny town of Fierze, right by a little pier where a ferry runs up and down the river once a day.

It rained overnight. A lot. It was pissing down in the morning, but luckily it cleared enough for me to take down my tent without getting too wet. Later on it sunnied up so I could even dry my tent a little. The simple pleasures.

Below Left: It's pouring out there

Below Centre: My life

Below Right: My view

There was a café with kaffee

Below Right: Of all things

My cyclist world traveller friend Kurt had told me there was a beautiful ferry ride along this river. That's why I came this way. Thanks so much Kurt, it was magnificent.

Suddenly a minivan of (mainly) European tourists arrived for the ferry trip. I was totally shocked that suddenly I wasn't the only tourist anymore. They'd all bussed it from the coast just for the occasion, or had been driving or hiking in the nearby Valbone Valley National Park.

The ferry ride between Fierze and Komani was something really special. It was absolutely stunning. This is a particularly spectacular part of the world.

But you can judge that for yourself.

Above Right: Unfortunately the river has been dammed, but that's what actually makes it navigable by ferry, and there's a hydro power plant somewhere nearby. After a few hours of scenic wonderland the ferry stopped at the dam, and I rode through this cute and very safe tunnel, (for a change), on my way further downstream, to look for a spot to camp.

There were some other cyclists too, believe it or not, and I chatted to two of them, Eva and Burkhardt, a lovely German couple, on the ferry. We were headed in the same direction, but they had a fixed plan of where they were staying for the night, and I wanted to keep my options open, so we rode off separately.

Below Left: A dam shame.

Below Centre: I was heading towards Puke, but luckily it didn't happen.

Below Right: The road was a bit messy in parts.

But beautiful everywhere

Above Centre: Landslide repair

Above Right: Eventually I saw a Camping sign and ended up at this gorgeous gem of a place, called Ledi's Place, where I could camp down on the grass at the front of the building.

I immediately met Clusch (Swiss-Filipino) and Marcos (Spanish), who are cycling together for a couple of weeks here in Albania. We clicked just like a clique, and spent a beautiful evening together, all 3 of us on exactly the same nature-loving cycling travel-loving social justice-vibing page, which made the conversation rich and very enlightening.

Clusch is a doctor, who's doing her first year of working as a surgeon in Basel, Switzerland, and who loves climbing mountain passes on her bicycle. She must love pain. Marcos is currently homeless by choice, and has just given up his apartment in Barcelona, but works in AI and can do it remotely, so being homeless is no big deal. Lucky for him.

We chatted and sang late into the night, eventually meeting up with Stefan and Gudrun (Austrian), and hanging out with Ergina, the teenage waitress/daughter who latched onto Clusch like a little girl with her favourite Barbie.

Once Ergina was there we were forced to sing Adele and Lady Gaga songs, and other unknowable Albanian pop classics.

Below Centre: Clusch, Marco, Stefan and Gudrun. Looks cold doesn't it. It wasn't actually cold cold, but it was windy, and the wind had a bite.

Below Right: Singing Adele classics

Below: The view from the top, where we hung out.

Unkoplikated

Clusch and Marco asked me if I wanted to join them cycling the next day, and I said yes, but told them I really didn't want to hold them back from their record-breaking cycle touring adventures, and to make sure to ride ahead if they so desired.

But actually it was super cruisey.

It took us hours to actually get going, after a huge breakfast and conversations and then another breakfast, more chatting, more food, almost ad nauseum. Considering how much we ate we could have probably rolled down the hill rather than ride, except that it was actually uphill for some big climbs first, so we sweated it all out before the downhill runs.

Below Left: The view from the toilet. My bike was too short to see out the window. My dear friend Tondi gave me this T-shirt in Laos forever ago. It's a bit worse-for-wear these days, but that never stopped me wearing something.

Bottom Left: Ledi's super interesting place

The scenery along the valley was just as beautiful as it was yesterday.

Eventually, after climbing the high point, we zipped way down the hills until we were pretty much at sea level, the first time I'd been at that altitude for weeks, since I left the Mediterranean at Thessaloniki.

Of course, it was significantly warmer at the lower altitude, and a completely different vibe.

I like riding at the back, so I can stop and take pics without people having to ride around me. And take my time. I always catch up eventually.

Eventually we reached the larger town of Shkoder, but didn't really hang out, as the day was pushing on. We headed north on the flat, and eventually reached the small and cute town of Koplik.

Below Centre: Yeti roadkill

We had no option but to eat gelati. It was good, but still no match for the Pella gelateria on Lago d'Orta, which retains its crown as the Best Gelati Maker In The Whole World Ever.

Below Centre: Buke is a corn bread, furra basically means oven-baked.

Marcos found a great place for us to camp, a little simple campground run by a beautiful local family. On our ride to there we met Visar, a local guy who was also riding his bike around, and we went there with him and drank a beer together, and then the owner Falmut gave us shots of the best homemade rakia ever. It was seriously good.

We chatted out on the back porch in the sun, and a couple of cool chicks came to visit.

Pullin' the chicks

Pensive journaling

It was so nice hanging out with all those guys for the eve. We had a big delicious meal, and chatted into the night, as usual.

The next day Clusch and I jammed for awhile, while Marcos helped Falmut list his campsite on a few useful apps.

We didn't get going till after lunch, as usual, but we're going in different directions, so it was another sad goodbye. There's so many of them. Always.

Another Day Another Country

I was heading north, to Montenegro.

It was a pretty straightforward ride, with not too much climbing, except just after the border, and even that wasn't too high.

Below Centre: Beware of pedestrians. There was actually a cycle path of sorta for awhile.

By late afternoon I was cruising into the Montenegrin capital of Podgorica. The city's small, with only 180,000 people living there. But actually the whole country only has a population of 600,000.

Only about 40% of the population of the country identify themselves as ethnic Montenegrins, with a further 30% Serbs and 10% Bosniaks. 90% of the people are of Slavic origin.

As soon as I arrived it was immediately apparent that Podgorica is a lot poorer than most of the other larger towns or cities I've been visiting lately. Buildings are pretty run down, and while there's some money in the city, the ritzier districts are small and sparse.

Below Left: The view from my hostel

Below Centre: Local football fan club.

Below Right: The Millenium Bridge

I immediately met Dalia at my hostel, a really interesting Polish woman who's studying in Wrocław, but who lived in the UK from the ages of 4 to 14, so speaks English with the thickest English accent ever - to the point where I just assumed she was English (which she was extremely happy about).

She's a super switched on woman, we talked about politics, feminism, the environment, and loads of other interesting topics, and she told me about how sexist, misogynistic and racist many men in Poland are. Including popular political leaders of course, like nearly everywhere these days.

Dalia also told me that she can't even discuss basic women's rights and equality issues with her brother or father (or sadly, even her mum sometimes), because they think she doesn't know anything simply because she's a woman.

They call her a feminist as an insult.

Unbelievable but true.

She said that unfortunately many men in Poland, even young men, have absolutely no idea about what's really going on for women in the world, they know nothing about gender violence, femicide, the erosion of reproductive rights etc, and many honestly believe women are "too emotional" to be leaders, and should stay at home and look after the kids.

Really.

It's hard to fathom such attitudes in a developed country in 2025. But actually Poland is a hugely conservative and monocultural Catholic country, with a whopping 98% of the population describing themselves as ethnic Polish.

It's one of the most monocultural countries in the world, up there with the two Koreas, Japan, Albania and a bunch of northern African states - Egypt, Tunisia, Morocco and Algeria.

Anyway Dalia said she was happy to speak to a man who has some idea of what's really going on for women (although I obviously don't know what it actually feels like on a daily basis). She's very keen to live outside Poland when she finishes her degree. Surprise surprise.

We strolled around the city chatting, and then had a cocktail at a bar and later ate pasta back home.

And because we were so busy chatting I hardly took pics. Sorry. But that's also testament to the fact that there wasn't a lot that jumped out at me to actually photograph anyway. There is an old town, but it's not old old, and very rundown.

Above Left: Vladimir Vysotsky, a very famous Russian dissident - a poet, singer-songwriter and actor, who was hugely famous in the ex-Soviet Union, but whose life was plagued by alcohol and drug abuse.

Above Centre: More Barbarianism

Above Right: Dilly dallying with Dalia

Montenegro's Independence

Podgorica itself used to be called Titograd when it was part of the larger state of Yugoslavia post-World War II, a large country which also included Serbia, Croatia, Bosnia-Herzegovina, North Macedonia, Slovenia and Kosovo.

As independence movements flourished in these countries, Montenegrins voted in a referendum in 1992 to stay in a federated Yugoslavia, in union with Serbia. The Serbs wanted Yugoslavia to remain intact, and wanted to be it's leading power.

The Montenegrin army joined forces with Serbs in attacking Croatia, including the bombing of Dubrovnik, and the expulsion of Bosnian Muslim refugees to camps in Serbia, where they were tortured and subsequently murdered.

In subsequent years relations between Montenegrin and Serbian leaders broke down, but they agreed to remain in a union, and in a 2003 agreement formed the new decentralised state of Serbia and Montenegro.

But in 2006, in an independence referendum, 55.5% of Montenegrins voted for independence from Serbia, passing the EU's 55% threshold for its support for the move, by a margin of a mere 2,300 votes.

Phew.

It then joined the UN as an independent nation.

So it's only been a separate state for less than twenty years, and is definitely still finding its economic, political and social feet, after decades of large scale funding and bureaucratic support from a much larger country, with many more financial resources.

However, like many ex-Yugoslavian states, it's been plagued by institutional corruption and organised crime, mostly at the hands of long term President Milo Ðukanović, along with his family, friends and cronies. Ðukanović privatised state industries (gave them to his family and friends for basically nothing), and required party membership as the basis for any chance of economic or business progress for private citizens.

Street protests against his rule began in 2019 and became widespread, and his party finally fell in 2020. Not long ago at all. Montenegro is now ruled by members of the Europe Now movement, a collection of pro-Europe and pro-Serb politicians.

We'll see how that goes ....

Heading North-ish

I didn't stick around Podgorica, there wasn't too much drawing me to stay there,  and I need to be somewhere else anyway, to meet friends.

So I headed north out of town, and was in the countryside in a few minutes. The whole of Montenegro is almost exclusively rural, and actually quite a lot of it is forested, except for the capital, a few towns, and parts of the coastal strip, which is apparently beautiful and historic, as it used to be part of the huge Venetian Empire back in the day.

Travellers tell me though that the region is also pretty touristy as well.

Below Left: Heading out of Podgorica

Below Centre: I saw a lot of pilgrims on the road. They were walking to a place called Ostrog, a famous Serb Orthodox monastery, where a very famous saint, St Basil, is buried. Holy Basil.

The pilgrims were walking in groups, and going there now because St Basil's feast day is coming up, and there'll be holy things happening there, and if you're there for them you might go to heaven, if you're lucky.

Many of the pilgrims looked pretty unimpressed by their journey. It was quite warm - at least at the lower altitudes. Some looked positively over it, but, you know, God works in mysterious ways.

Above Left: My lunch. Nice to have rice instead of bread, for a change. Unfortunately it was super greasy, as is par for the course here, including all their pastries and cooked meals.

Pretty soon I started to climb, and it was a big climb, and beautiful.

Above Centre: Damn. More tunnels.

This was the worst one of the lot, an absolute nightmare to crawl through slowly, along the narrow concrete edge, with a loaded bike. I felt like a naughty dog with its tail between its legs.

I finally emerged in one piece, with only a few scrapes on my panniers and legs from the walls, but all limbs still in place.

Above Left: Rolling into Nikšić

Above Centre: The town was quiet. This is the railway station.

Above Right: Firefighting vehicle

Above Left: Black Bewdy patiently waiting outside our little family guest house, for the owners to turn up.

I rested, washed, and strolled.

Above Centre: See, I'm not the only one with bad jokes.

There was a little strip of bars and cafés so I sat and beered.

Above Right: Ivan, my guest house host, told me that this beer from Nikšić won the best beer in the world competition in the 1970s, but that it's not what it used to be.

He's right, but it's still beer, and it was delicious for a weary and thirsty traveller.

More Balkanoes

So it's time to leave Montenegro already, and head into Bosnia-Herzegovina, an amazingly beautiful country, but which, unfortunately, has suffered the most brutal and tragic modern history of all the ex-Yugoslavian states.

Which is saying something.

The UN designated-genocide of Bosnian Muslims by Serb forces in the 1990s is one of the most horrific events of post-World War II Europe.

You've probably heard of the Srebrenica massacre, or the siege of Sarajevo, where Serbian forces surrounded the beautiful city, and blockaded it for nearly 4 whole years, the longest siege against any city in modern warfare history.

Yeah, but that's just a tiny part of Bosnia-Herzegovina, the part that people think of when they hear the name of the country.

But the place is way way more than that.

And I'm gonna prove it❤️

http://buymeacoffee.com/krolesh9