Magical Mountains

We continue to be amazed at how different the Greeks of the north are. They are simply more rugged people. We are thrilled when, each time we talk about our route, nobody in the room bats an eye -they get it some of them have even done such things. They don't instantly direct us to the major tollway. Instead they steer us well off the beaten track suggesting roads with spectacular views, loads of curves, and little traffic. I can safely say that I love the mountains of Northern Greece. So many treasures are tucked into her folds.

If you keep your eyes peeled when riding from Kastoria to Zahorogoria you might even score a handful of wild strawberries. Windinging our way between the Grammos and Pindos mountain ranges we pedalled away from Kastoria through Konitsa only to end our northern passage with 18 switchbacks on our way to Zahorogoria's Megalo Papigo. This is a must ride destination. Look at those switchbacks! I counted 18 on our ascent. At 3'oclock in the afternoon heat of a Greek summer this was nothing to sneer at. Thanks to the fuel provided by the amazing cookies from the bakery in Konitsa we are finally in the much talked about stone villages of the Zahorogoria.

Greek Indulgences

What a contrast it was to pedal away from struggling Albania into the sumptuous heart of Greece's most luxurious handicraft centre in Kastoria.Nestled on a peninsula jutting into the placid waters of Lake Orestiada the town of Kastoria has been designing and producing highly sought after top end furs for centuries. Dropping into Kastoria after riding along the wild edge of the Grammos mountains felt entirely unlike a return to Greece.


Having read that accommodations catered mainly to upscale weekenders and people in the fur business we had planned to camp somewhere outside of the area, but after a cruise through twisty back streets lined with traditional 17th and 18th century mansions built by Kastoria's fur-makers at the peak of the regions prosperity, curiosity got the better of us and we asked around for inexpensive lodging.

The deal was sealed over coffee and cake with three of the most effervescent sisters in all of Greece. It was impossible to resist their enthusiasm and their pride in their hometown, not to mention the promise of a second generous slice of homemade cake. Hearing that the Byzantine era had managed to tuck over 70 churches into the backroads of the hilly, but tiny northern end of the peninsula of Lake Orestiada, we set out to see what a town full of furrier's mansions and Byzantine churches was all about. Prettiest town in Northern Greece? Possibly. Prettiest town in Macedonia? Definitely. We stayed two nights.

Kuc i zi

Meet Anna Hoxha and her mum Leonora:


Trying to imagine what a visit to Basil's pal Abner's ancestral town Kuc i zi might be like, I decided to have a look through my flash drive for any photos I might have that could create a visual link between us and Kuc i zi. Thank goodness I found photos from Abner's wedding including a photo of him and (our strongest link) his father. I shifted the photos to my flash card so that I could easily pull out my camera to share some hopefully familiar faces to any confused villagers while trying to pantomime our reasons for cycling up the dusty road into tiny Kuc i zi.




Of course the villagers were definitely confused by the arrival of two foreigners on heavily loaded bikes. At the t-junction at the end of the road we ran into a group of women and started with our few Albanian pleasantries and then our terrible mispronunciation of Abner's and his father's name . Nothing registered. I pulled out the camera and brought the pictures up on the screen. The camera was passed around and around getting more and more heavily layered with curious fingerprints. Still no recognition. Basil tried his Greek - nothing. A pretty young girl named Anna stepped up and tried out some Italian on us which we attempted to fumble around with by Italianizing our Spanish. Once she realized what we were doing, in perfect Spanish she asked us what it was we wanted. Relieved we explained ourselves and quickly Anna whisked us off to a beautiful stone house on the edge of the village to meet the family we sought.




We were dumbfounded as this was the first time our Spanish had proven useful in Albania and how strange it was to be using it in a tiny, tiny village faraway from any tourist destinations. We asked Anna where she learned her Spanish. Her response further stupified us, "Telenovelas every day between 4 and 7 - I never miss them". Wow. Could it be that there is an entire subculture of Albanian housewives who are fluent in Spanish because of Mexican soap operas? The thought delighted me.

Anna insisted that we spend the night with her and her family and acted as interpreter through a beautiful lunch at Abner's family's home. Much to our amusement, her excellent Spanish only waned over vocabulary that has no real reason to arise in the Mexican soaps.



We toured the town, saw the fancy new hotel and bar (furnished proudly with goods "made in China"), visited the family's orchard and vineyard, met the family cow who slept meters away from our room, enjoyed homemade butter, yogurt, and cheese and felt truly blessed for falling into a level of hospitality that simply doesn't appear often in the world today. We were at a loss for what we could give Anna ad her family in return until, at the last minute, Anna told us about different family member's aches and pains and how difficult it was to find things like aspirin in Albania. We dug out our first aid kits and turned over all the aspirin, advil, and tylenol we could find.

As we pedalled away from Kuc i zi towards the Greek border, we couldn't help but feel puzzled by the restrictions on such an obviously bright young woman as Anna. Because by sheer chance we held the "right" passports we are are able to cross many borders without so much as a second glance. Our dear Anna, on the other hand, would have a difficult time crossing any border. If she were caught slipping through the mountains into Greece she would be chased down by Greek policemen driving fancy new four wheel drives, she might be beaten and who knows what else before being detained and deported back to Albania. From our experience, it would be a gift for any country to have a person like Anna within it's borders andAlbania is very fortunate to have her.

Made in China

Today Albanians who return from working abroad are building monstrous homes and furnishing them with the latest and greatest “everything from China”. Having seen the quality of stone masonry and wood carving these people are capable of I am frustrated that they don't see what they are losing as they reach for “made in China” instead of “made in Albania”. As I admire the hand woven rugs that are hanging to dry in people's yards, I am saddened when I see these lovely rugs returning to their living spaces with the “made in China” rugs thrown on top. Pretty soon the whole world will be made in China.



Korce is a great city to see the evolution of Albania over 100 years in building styles. The older building is from the early 20th century, then, of course the worker's paradise, and lastly the oversized modern dream houses...




There are a few things that will be a long time changing like long coffee breaks and hospitality.


One of the charming curiosities of hospitality unique to Albania takes the form of slippers. If you are a plastic slipper maker then Albania is a market you definitely want to corner. Shoes in the living quarters just don't happen and bare feet are not tolerated for a single moment. This translates into plastic slipper paradise. No self-respecting hotel room is without them and every household has heaps for family members and guests. Don't you dare try to enter someone's home without borrowing a pair of slippers to laze around in!

The butcher, the baker, the candlestick maker

Korce shops.

Korce Market

We took a few days to relax and enjoy Korce. The market is a wonderful place to lose yourself in a maze of fresh fruit and veg, used clothes, byrek sellers, butchers, fish, coffee shops, hardware, plastics, cleaners, candies, honey, and dairy products. We went home heavily laden with fresh fruit, cheeses, and a massive amount of butter and beeswax. There is no shortage of dairy in Albania. I had no idea how on earth we might finish the huge mound of butter being piled into a plastic bag for us. I had cherries on the brain and this massive lump of butter was threatening to impede my cherry consuming abilities. We had to find some bread and fast...

Getting around Korce

In the late afternoon after all the chores are finished Albania takes to the streets to visit with neighbours and friends. It is such a different energy from the errands of the day. Relaxed and equally as important. It's something I wish I could take back to Canada with me.

Great Expectations

Passing through Leskovak, we devoured a kilo of cherries beside a cool mountain spring and then contiued to meader relentlessly up to 1200m, down to 900m, up to 1200m, down to 900m, etc. With each crest my heart filled with anticipation of the first wide open sighting of the jaw droppingly spectacular 1759m Barmash Pass. With every 300 meters lost my mind kept telling me, "if the high point of the pass is at 1759m then it must be surrounded by snowy peaks so beautiful that, seeing the pass from a distance would spur me on to flit my way easily up the final climb in order to take in the raw geography of an Albania made even more vivid by all the exercise induced endorphins pumping through my system".

However, my endorphin filled colour rush was nowhere to be found. Don't get me wrong, the curvaceous ride through pine forests was beautiful, but our climb never cleared 1250m. Barmash Pass came and went quite unheroically. It was just another of countless rolls up to 1200m, down to 900m, up to 1250m. We realized where the pass was while studying the map and eating a most delicious stewed veggies with rice in the restaurant of Hotel Inxhujo in Permet. "Hey, remember the little village of Barmash where that war monument was? I think that was the pass!". Our Lonely Planet guide book was quite off the mark once again. The stew was a fine consolation for the missing 500 meters LP was falsely advertising, besides we would find our high point much later. For now we headed into the territory of Korce and the highlight of our trip in the hometown of Basil's dear friend Abner's family in a small village called Kuc I Zi.

Into the mountains

Leaving Permet we wound our way along the Vjosa river admiring the seeming impregnability of the mountains beside us. Anyone with the idea of conquering such a place must clearly be out of their minds. Away from the river valleys of Southern Albania it must be some painfully slow going. I can't imagine the effort made to install some of the bunkers in these hard to reach places, but over 400 years ago the Turks swept in and in the 1940's the Greeks did as well so the bunkers weren't created of total paranoia.

Stopping to lube our chains, we are approached by some greek speaking Albanian farmers who are curious about our ride and are eager to share tales of their mountains. I am in awe that they harvest their hay by hand with a sickle. It gives new meaning to the impressive haystacks we see piled up alongside the road.


Turning away from the narrow valley we begin to make our way inland toward the famed Barmash Pass. A few kilometers from the town of Leskoviak we camp by a fountain well hidden from the meandering road. Below us an impressive chorus of frogs croak without tiring and the tingle of sheep bells puts us to sleep with dreams of fresh milk.

Let me tell you: an Albanians can bellow. We awaken early to a startling holler from the driver of the milk truck calling for milk collection from the shepherds in the valley below us. Minutes later fresh milk is sauntering by our front door. Basil scores some for his pet.