Elbo (elsewhere-bound)

Albanian Sylvester Stallone showed me his fish

josephuck — Wed, 30 Apr 2014 20:09:20 GMT

Allow me to set the scene.
A 20 year-old man's idea to take three month solo trip to the massively unknown land of Albania comes to fruition. The sun is piping hot, the people are friendly, though the Albanian language is toilsome, and I ride my bicycle around the streets of Shkoder, Albania's second city, feeling like Pee-Wee Sherman. My mission in Albania was volunteering for an Albanian-English family who had started a fine campsite, chancing the emerging tourism of the land. The camping ground was on Lake Shkodra's waterfront, captured in a bowl of pastured mountains; mountains that had electrical storms almost daily.
With the backdrop put in place, it's time to go about telling you how I met Albania's equivalent to Sylvester Stallone. This story starts ten minutes prior to our encounter.

I stopped and locked my bike at a side-of-the-road market shop to buy some sun-lotion and mosquito repellent. The two men inside both spoke some of my native tongue, and were surprised to see an English way out here. I tried to explain my purpose in Shkoder, but they thought I was a family camper.

The guy behind the counter told me his story:
'I been in Dover three times. Three time I go Italy then Belgium. I get in the truck for England and they arrest me three times.' He crossed his arms as if he had been put in handcuffs and the two guy just burst out laughing, I joined them. It was humorous and disturbing.

It was after the next roundabout when things became especially weird. I saw a sweet little café with a bike rack.. The mid-day heat was creating wiggly lines on the road and I needed some shade. The owner was genuinely surprised that an English guy was stopping for a coffee at his place. He was a quiet man. The only drinker in the café was not. He tried to talk my ear off, though not one word of English. With oil black hair and a curled upper lip, to accompany his huge arms, I was sure this man was some relative of Sylvester Stallone. He put his big arm around me and led me outside, pulling me across the highway. I wasn't sure what was about to happen. This was as close to threatened I had felt in Albania.

But he just wanted to show me his fish. Then get me to take a picture of him and his son. From his aggressive tone and the way he whistled his son over, I thought I was about to add some bruises to my tanned skin. Sylvester motioned me back to the café. However I jumped on my bike and rode away, utterly confused, through wiggly lines.

Lake Koman

josephuck — Tue, 9 Jul 2013 18:47:00 GMT

The early start left me a little sleepy, but once I was in the off-roader minibus, being thrown around the chassis, void of a seatbelt, I was well awake. My boss, Niko, the driver, a German family of five , a German couple, and myself, headed along the winding mountain roads for the famous landmark of Lake Koman. The man-made lake, which is cut off by a huge hydro-electric dam, reaches a depth of 250m in some places. The dam itself produces 300,000 Euros of electricity each day. Three quarters of the way to the private boat, the driver stopped so we could stretch our legs. I took the opportunity to slide down a rocky bank onto a river bed and get right at the lake.

I also asked Niko to take a photo of me, appreciating the vast unfolding sceneries before us.

We hopped back in the minibus and sped off for the boat. Some of the roads along the way were incredible, sheer drops at the side and road structure that strongly challenges what British people consider a 'pothole'. As we reached the hydro-dam, where three guards sat on the flooring 'guarding' the tremendous dam, we cut into a mountain tunnel. The tunnel was good fun, and the minibus driver flourished in the dark; for a man who had spent more time texting on his phone than looking at the roads, he was a sterling operator. The laughs came as we came out of the tunnel and the brakes slammed on, mere metres from water, with a café restaurant to our right, and our private boat to the left; nobody had expected such an abrupt end to the outward journey.

For the boat journey itself, which took around two and a half hours, I will let the photos do the talking because I don't feel that my words could justify the magnitude of the scenery.

Some panoramic shots I couldn't help but take.

More photos from the boat journey.

As we cut through the fjord, we were mostly speechless.

The hydro-dam was actually built by the Chinese during the times of communism, and in doing so, they built themselves a private community, with blocks of flats and schools.

Shortly after the Chinese village, the water turned an electric turquoise and then we pulled into Fierze, and the restaurant.

The way back was much the same as the way there, full of striking beauty and beautiful mountain forests. The driver asked my boss to sit at the front of the boat to distribute the weight more. Though I think the long travel got the better of him on this occasion.

The day was a success, and I genuinely had a feeling on the boat ride that I was blessed to have seen such a fantastic piece of nature. Along the miles and miles we travelled, we probably saw no more than 20 houses in the hills, most of them only accessible by boat, but we were told they have enough livestock and preparations to stay there through the winter, when the snow blocks their escape.

A day in the life of a volunteer: Lake Shkodra Resort, Albania

josephuck — Sun, 23 Jun 2013 05:56:00 GMT

Of course, it must be duly noted that each volunteering experience is different, for each person, for each project, location and timespan. In the past, I've had a double bed and a kitchen in an apartment, to then sharing a bed in a static caravan and having meals cooked for us. It's always different, but that's something to embrace. I encourage people to go and volunteer abroad; it has the benefits of low expense, good karma and skill improvement.

There is no rooster to wake me in the mornings here in Shkoder, Albania, but there are crickets and frogs who do their equal best to contribute to the morning chorus. Generally, the sun rising over the mountains hits the west wall of my tent and I am up and moving. I do some stretches and appreciate the view from my tent porch; river, lake, mountains and trees. Here is my accommodation, more than comfortable; I have a bed and a fan and I sleep well, though aside from sleep, I don't spend much time in here. (I like the sheets, okay?)

After my eyes are wide and receiving the sunlight, I head to the camp-site restaurant for breakfast, where I am beamed with smiles and greetings by the family who run the catering. The three sisters sit and chat with me whilst I drink tea and eat toast. They all speak English to different extents, and so we have friendships on different levels of understanding.

Then, I head to the beach of the campsite and swim or sunbathe. Sometimes I go for a bike ride into the city and walk around the shops, stopping for coffee or to dip into shops, or to visit a castle. I haven't encountered many people in the urban areas who can speak English, so it sometimes takes a fair deal of pointing and miming to buy anything. This I find fun. The beach is my true calling though. Currently I am at a state where my dark tan allures campers to believe I am Albanian. I have heard 'Wow, you speak great English' far too many times. It is gratifying to know I have mastered my own language. Currently reading 'Zen and the art of motorcycle maintenance' by Robert Pirsig, and 'The Drifters' by James Michener. The former is awful (truly one of the wort books I've ever read), but I hate to leave a book unfinished, and so persevere.

In the garden, I feed my baby turtle, who is named 'Django'. He is quite shy, but surprisingly fast and I made him a home out of a disused freezer compartment. There is also 'Nacho' who is a rather disagreeable chap, and chooses to hiss at me and urinate when I pick him up.

Django above, Nacho below (tantrum mode).

Between four and five, I begin work, which is enjoyable, communicative and allows me to sit between the bathrooms and the pitches, which means I have conversations with as many campers as possible. I welcome new arrivals through the gates and register them with us, explain everything they need to hear, and point them towards the bar, as the most frequently asked question is 'Can I get a cold beer here?'.

With the generous allowance I am gifted for food and drink, I have three meals a day with enough to spare for a drink or two in the evenings. I usually opt for a brandy and coke, or a local beer. The food is great here, I feel blessed to be cooked for and fed so well, with organic ingredients and fresh cuisine. On a busy night I will try and help ladies in the kitchen by drying dishes, and I laugh along with their jokes that I do not understand. The humour and good atmosphere is always evident.

After dinner, we don't expect many more people to turn up, so I can stay in the restaurant or sit on the beach and watch the spectacular sunsets, or get comfortable in reception and zone into a book. The shift ends when Noc turns up; the security guy. We sit and chat for a bit and he swears lots and tells me about when he lived illegally in Stoke and we laugh and discuss Albanian women. Afterwards, I sleep.

The gift of volunteering abroad with services like WWOOF and Helpx, is that you choose the surroundings you plan to immerse yourself in. If you want to be miles from civilization void of electricity and wi-fi, you can find it, if you want to make beds in a hostel and be surrounded by other volunteers, you can find that too. I wanted to volunteer in tourism, somewhere hot, clean, and unknown to me. I also get a great family vibe here, and it's well known that in Albania family is the most important thing, so it's great to feel involved, and whether it's like a brother or a nephew, it doesn't matter, everyone here has respect for each other and a smile to share. I remind myself every morning what life is like in England and I would choose this a thousand times over. The benefit isn't just for me though, I wanted to help somewhere that wanted help. My wonderful hosts, Niko and Faye, wanted an English speaker to help with reception because the increase in business demanded it. I like to think I build little friendships with the campers, and in fact, I've already been invited to Rotterdam, Basel and Corsica in the future! Remember, whether it is a business, a farm, an eco-project or house sitting, you are a guest, and manners are pivotal.

The blog is now read by more than just the people who know me, so it makes sense to include a little bio here.

'An Englishman is never at home unless he is abroad'.

Well, firstly, my name is Joseph Kennedy. During the next twelve months I will finish university with a degree in Creative Writing and Journalism (success permitting). The things I truly enjoy are reading, writing, debating and womanising. I was born in Northampton, England, but have lived in Preston for three years. When my studies are done, I am planning to cycle around Europe, working during the respectful seasons and building up a network of travellers. Though a somewhat nomadic plan, the end destination is always going to be France, I wish to settle over the channel and master the beautiful tongue!

http://www.twitter.com/josephuck

http://journals.worldnomads.com/josephuck/

http://www.lakeshkodraresort.com/

The park on top of a castle

josephuck — Mon, 17 Jun 2013 15:52:00 GMT

Already time seems to be propelling forward at a rate much quicker than on the humble British Isles. Surely we all feel that; whenever we are abroad, time just slips away, faded into history, to be remembered as digital photographs and plastic souvenirs.

I've been here twelve days already, and yet it feels like I just stepped off the plane. So on Saturday, being forced to rise with the sun, I was up and wandering around, and my morning ritual, shower then coffee. As not to waste arguably the hottest day so far (the first to reach over 30 degrees), I borrowed a bicycle and headed to Rozafa castle, one of the major tourist spots in Shkoder.

On the way to Rozafa, I was told to take a different turning when I got into the city than I would usually, leading me down a long road with not much care taken for cyclists. Whereas most of the major roads have a cycle lane (not sure if official or not), this road instead had a pavement that resembled a stone motocross track. However, at the end of this road, I took a right, past some very new, very modern buildings, and found myself on a delightful lakeside pathway, with classy cafés and stylish Albanians.

At the end of this pathway, and a little further, I finally found the entrance to Rozafa castle, or at least the road leading up the steep, steep hill. There were some pretty sights on the way up.

This view reminded me of that from the Arrabida hills in Setubal.

About halfway up, I heard two very posh English voices. I turned to them and asked if they were English, of course I knew they were, I just wanted to chat. They were fairly old, at least sixty, but we had a lovely conversation; they had only been visiting Albania for the day, and had come as part of a Saga group holiday. Bless.

I paid the entry guard 200 lek (£1.20) and went inside; I was surprised by the vegetation in the roof of the castle. Trees, grass, fruit bearing plants, it was almost like a country park, but it was inside the ruins of an old Moorish castle. There was some structures in the roof still standing, though some were piles of rubble and the remnants of old walls. A lot of the grass was overgrown, but it added to the otherworldly effect, in the sense that this garden was somewhat ethereal. To complement the flora, the views were outstanding, overlooking rivers leading into Lake Shkoder, tilled fields, a mosque, further mountains and countless clay-tiled homes throughout the city.

A group of Polish tourists wandered around the castle, a large sweating man panted 'kurwa mac' and 'ja pierdola' every few steps up the steepening hill to the top. I said hello to a few of them, exercising my basic Polish skills.

Smuggling peanuts.

Just past the highest reachable point, was a bar. Glory glory hallelujah. After riding and pushing the bike the whole way up to the top, I deserved a beer. There are two types of 'Tirana beer' here, one in a green bottle and one in a brown, I am almost certain they are different though. I like the green bottled one, it's like Grolsch, whereas the brown bottled one tastes more like a stout. I remember having this problem in Portugal too. Who even likes stout?

The museum was pretty boring though, a couple of axes, bits of pottery, a big map, a small reconstruction of the castle and not much else. I paid 150 lek for entry, and felt a little ripped off.

From one side of the castle, you could be forgiven for forgetting you were in Albania, the so-called 'poorest country' in Europe; these views were so rich. This view was incredible, the land looked plush and fertile, the houses big and the waters clear. I had expected the views to be impressive, but they only improved on each turret.

Before leaving, I saw another corner of the castle that was a littler harder to reach through the heather and long grass, but I could see a couple of people there and rode the bicycle through and made it there. There was a large bushy tree with red flowers all over it, and over the wall, beautiful views for miles and miles. As I came up the slope towards the top of this corner, I saw a man on one knee propose to his girlfriend, it was beautiful, and I felt awful, as if I was intruding, so I turned around and left.

I rode back into Shkoder and despite being given poor directions a couple of times, I finally found Angelo's ice cream shop, owned by the sister of my boss, where it was safe to lock my bike up. The city is a beautiful place if you stick to the right areas, which I feel confident in knowing; whenever I feel brave and venture into a sidestreet, I almost instantly pretend to have taken a wrong turn do a 180.

On the pedenale, which is the main street, I stopped firstly in a book shop to see if they had any English books. They only had huge classics, Dumas, Dickens and Lord Byron. I bought 'The three musketeers' and 'Twenty years after' both by Alexandre Dumas. In case you were interested, I am currently reading 'The Accursed Mountains: Journeys in Albania' by Robert Carver.

For lunch I bought pizza by the slice, I had never done this before, but at 60 lek per slice, I couldn't resist. I sat on an internal balcony overlooking the chef/owner. He was a muslim man cooking ham pizzas, something I have never witnessed in England. Afterwards, I went to see the watch man about my 'Rolex', and he said he would fix it, but I didn't have it on me. I bought an Armani watch for 5 euros. (It doesn't hold the time, NO MORE WATCHES).

Yesterday the water pump went down, causing a bit of a panis. The boss, Niko and the restaurant manager Angjeline were trying to fix it, but getting the part they would require on a late Sunday afternoon was about as likely as it would be in England. Fortunately, and in one of the greatest showings of karma I have ever witnessed, an Austrian camper turned up, who was a plumber and electrician! He pulled out his toolkit and went to work. They got it fixed pretty quickly. It was incredible. Good karma for my lovely bosses!

The last two days

josephuck — Wed, 12 Jun 2013 18:45:00 GMT

Today being Wednesday.

On Monday I was up early to cycle into Shkoder to buy a backpack, I didn't want to spent too long in the city because one of the campers, Lukas, whom I had befriended was leaving and I wanted to say bye. The cycle in was much improved my a change of bicycle, the one I had used originally only worked in one gear, which was neither good for bumpy lanes, nor uphill. I did the cycle in 30 minutes rather than 45. There was occaisional rain, but it stayed warm all day.

I found a sturdy backpack (9 euros) pretty swiftly, and was also successfully tempted by a fake Rolex watch (8 euros) and Ralph Lauren wallet (3 euros). A small italian restaurant across from the university filled my stomach with a large Spaghetti Carbonara (2 euros). The main high street, which was recently renovated, is a line of cafes, with seating filling the gaps between shops.

Upon returning, I said goodbye to Lukas and his dog, Bonnie. For the rest of the day, I chilled out and finished my book 'A walk across America' by Peter Jenkins. I am now reading 'From the city, from the plough' by Alexander Baron.

In the evening, we were blessed with another beautiful sunset, they seem to grow in beauty each day.

The beach is too good.

Tuesday arrived with incredible heat in the morning, a suffocating wake up call in the tent. Due to this, my boss offered me some left over bamboo that was not used when building the canopies (see pictures above). So I had spent a day or two considering how I would use the bamboo for shade, and with the temperature right and my plan in order, I began construction.

With all of this mess and preparation, I finally put up a frame!

Work in progress!

There was a big lightning and thunderstorm last night, and so all the bamboo is wet. If it dries out this afternoon I will continue, but if not I will have to do it tomorrow. I feel like I'm in a tropical paradise, I have seen wild lizards, snakes, frogs and turtles. The birds have beautiful songs and the fish swim around your feet in the shallow water. I am also ridiculously tanned.

Peace!

Bonus:

I now understand why Albania has been dubbed 'The Thailand of Europe'.

Where some have tried, some have failed, but some have made it, and some have bailed.

josephuck — Sun, 9 Jun 2013 08:14:00 GMT

So, I'll try not to make a habit of making a post every day, but bare with me, there are a few good stories hidden within this one!

The day started with a planned cycle to Shkoder and back, which is about 15km. I had the intention of buying shower gel, mosquito spray and some sun tan lotion (peeling nose disorder). Though, along the way, or rather, the way back, I met a couple of interesting characters.

As well as the shopping list, I had planned to see the Orthodox cathedral, which I am led to believe (through very broken English) is used for Christians and Muslims, but that sounds odd to me. It does look like more of a Mosque than a cathedral though. After the cathedral I got off an walked on foot, there were some great photo opportunities, and had I not been on my own, I would have got the camera out, but I thought better of it. Chicks for sale in cages on the street and copious amounts of poorly counterfeited clothes.

On the way back, I stopped at a side-of-the-road market type shop to buy my sprays and lotions. The guys inside both spoke a bit of English, and were surprised to see an English guy out here; I tried to explain why I was here, but they just thought I was a camper from my explanation.

The guy behind the counter told me his story:(Paraphrased)

'I been in Dover three times. Three time I go Italy then Belgium. I get in the truck for England and they arrest me three times.' He crossed his arms as if he had been put in handcuffs and the two guy just burst out laughing, I joined them, it was both sad and funny in a disturbing way. As I tried to tie down my bag of creams to the rear rack of the bicycle, the shopkeeper came out and gave me a roll of cellotape, which was a grand idea, though I had nowhere to put it, and so wore it as a bracelet.

It was after the next roundabout when things got especially weird. I saw a little cafe with a bike rack and no customers, I felt it would be safe to leave the bike here whilst I had an espresso. I tried to pay with a 20 euro note, having spent all the LEK I was carrying, however the guy just exchanged it for me at the going rate and then disappeared again. He was genuinely surprised an English guy was stopping for a coffee at his place. He was a quiet man, but the only drinker in the place tried to talk my ear off, though not one word of English. He looked like an Albanian Sylvester Stallone (see picture!). It was scary though, when he put his big arm around me and pulled me across the highway, I wasn't sure what was about to happen. He just wanted to show me his fish, and get me to take a picture of him and his son, but from his aggressive tone, and the way he whistled over his son, I thought I was about to add some bruises to my tanned skin. Then, he grabbed me by the arm and dragged me back across the road! Inside the cafe again, he was showing me a photo of his friend with the American embassador to Albania. Not a word of this conversation was in English, but he kept talking. In the end, I backed out of the door and jumped on my bike, running away from this big man.

Not much farther down the road, I looked up to see a sign saying 'Grand Britain'! I actually rode past it and then curiosity got the better of me and I turned back to have a look. The place looked like a single-story palace, and I rode up to the entrance, but it was closed and nobody was inside. As I was taking pictures, a man appeared from a house behind the building. 'Hello my friend!' shouted the man. I rode over. We shook hands and he introduced himself as Elian; he spoke perfect English and was very happy to see me. We spoke for a couple of minutes and I explained why I was here and he invited me inside for a beer. Inside, he showed me around, and a palace was quite correct, this place was luxurious.

This is his story. (paraphrased)

'When I was thirteen I nearly died getting a boat to Italy. I stayed there three months, on my own, then two years in France on my own. I got to England in 1998, no problems. I did odd jobs until I was 16, then I found work on the London Underground, and I worked there for all of my 9 years in England. I also had a second job as a forklift driver, and I was the best they ever had, they all told me; nobody could drive a forklift like me. My family came out to England and we all worked and saved lots of money. I came back to Albania to start my business; this place cost me (Euro)300,000. In London it would cost maybe £2 million. But, it had little interest, and so now I just open for weddings.' At this point I told him if he ever needed a volunteer to help out in the mornings, come by the campsite and give me a shout, I'd love to see an Albanian wedding reception. He continued 'We can seat 400 people, and I have 30 weddings booked this summer. But, this place is quiet, Albania is F***ing boring, nothing to do here, England always has stuff to do. My brother, my sister, they stay in England and send me money, but I'm bored man'. We finished the beers and embraced, he could have passed for English had he not had the accent, and I can almost tell now that he will be a local friend of mine here, I think he's about 29.

Back to the campsite, and after a swim and my gatekeeper shift, I sat down for dinner with Jack, Dave and Bernie again. It was lovely, they had great stories which I was gracious to hear them share. They had biked from France to Albania and are due to get the ferry to Italy and keep the motors running through the beauties of Italia! It was a pleasure to meet them, and they are the first people to take my e-mail address (Keep in touch guys!)

Once the bar had closed and the lights went out, we dispersed and I headed off to bed, where I saw Noc, the night guard sitting outside reception having a cigarette; we began talking, and he told me his tale. He had been in England for four years, spread between Kent, Hastings, London and Stoke-upon-Trent. He had worked seven days a week plus overtime, sending money home, eating cheap and enrolling at a college. The problems had arose when he got a car and not tax or insurance. He had it taken off him the first time and he played dumb. He had it taken off him the second time and he played dumb. But the third time, it had been the same policeman from the first impounding and he got in a spot of trouble, draining a lot of his money. I asked him why he ended up back in England and he said that he had ran out of money and couldn't get a job, because the agencies wouldn't register him without a passport. Then how did you get to England I asked, naturally. 'In the back of the lorry from Belgium' he replied, and we both laughed. In the end he left for Italy for five years and then back to Albania, but he says it drives him crazy, he's bored and he misses England, where all his friends have made a success and live in beautiful homes.

Then to bed.

One little factoid that Noc answered for me, was 'Why do so many houses lay unfinished, or furnished, or in some cases, of a three story house, only one or two stories finished?' He told me that people send back money to Albania in stages, and so the houses are built in stages; most of what I have seen have been works in progress.

Cycle to Mes bridge

josephuck — Sat, 8 Jun 2013 07:51:00 GMT

Today I went for a massive cycle today through the small Albanian villages nearby, my bosses Niko and Faye said it was fine for me to take a bike. Verdyanna (phonetic spelling) told me it would only take an hour for me to get there and back, it took nearly four. I was headed to an Ottoman bridge called 'Ura e Mesit' about 7km away, and took the long way back. The bridge is one of the major local tourist attractions, and I am led to believe it is at least 400 years old.

Here was my trusty steed! And the kind of dirt roads and sceneries I would frequent on this ride.

Every time I stopped to ask for directions, a crowd of people would appear and the lone English speaker would emerge as the rest stood around smiling. At first, a man in a purple shirt, who stood boldly amongst his friends spoke in broken English to me, in front of an old metal container that had an old woman's shop inside. I had asked if it was OK to take a photo of her shop, he insisted and she was happy to pose for me.

Then a little boy of no more than 8 spoke fluent English and told me the way, after I had got lost. His family owned a convenience store, and the restaurant that faced it. The restaurant seemed completely out of place with large glass windows covering the front, whilst the neighbours lived in shacks (by comparison). (photo)

Whilst lost on the way to Mes bridge, and in the middle of nowhere, an old man with no teeth appear in an old estate and picked my bike up and put it in his boot; he took me 100 yards back down the beaten old track to the nearest road. I had taken a wrong turning, and was quite aware that I had done so, after numerous 'puddles' haunted the treacherous road.

Upon reaching Mes bridge, I was delighted to see at least a dozen people jumping from rocks into the crystal blue water. I was hesitant to leave my bike and take photos, as a group of young teen males stared at me from the other side of the bridge, but I came to realise it was purely from curiosity. At any point I had taken out my camera, at least one person had looked at the device with a sense of unknowing.

As I took photos, an old man in horse and cart pulled up, demanding 'Photo! Photo!' (He could at least have smiled!)

The route back was not so difficult, I cut through more small back-roads to the main road that would eventually re-unite me with the campsite. Along this road I saw, for the first time, Albanian defence bunkers, a prominent feature that Albanian is known for from the time of Communist rule. I stopped for an ice tea and espresso along the way and was greeted with wonderful hospitality and friendliness.

(Bunkers)

Whomever I spoke to seemed to know a brother, a cousin or a friend who had been to England and worked, and all of them were so friendly; perhaps they had heard the English were a good bunch and wanted to return the favour!

(Great service)

This evening, whilst working my duties as 'The Gatekeeper', welcoming new guests and manning the camp shop, I was delighted to welcome three Irish guests. They invited me to drink with them this evening, which I gratefully did, and we exchanged stories. Jack, Dave and Bernie, I tip my hat to you, thanks for the beer!

Photos: Albania

josephuck — Fri, 7 Jun 2013 22:51:00 GMT

Albania photos!

Journey to Albania

josephuck — Thu, 6 Jun 2013 19:26:00 GMT

So, I made it to Albania unscathed!

It was a long journey, but great nonetheless. Firstly I suffered two coaches, one from Northampton to London Victoria, and a second from Victoria to Gatwick. Going through Croydon was the highlight, I never knew London had such a green district! I continued reading Brave New World by Aldous Huxley. The airport was a smooth transition, didn't actually have to queue until getting onto the plane itself, then nobody sat next to me so I had a very comfortable space, and a free meal! (Cheers British Airways)

Then I watched the sun set over the Swiss Alps from the airplane window, the clouds turned pink and the snowy peaks stood triumphant, it was truly spectacular, I have a video, though I forgot to pack the cable that attaches to my video camera. D'oh! But I should be able to find one here somewhere.

After that I landed and had a taxi ride to the camp site. 150km/h down bumpy highways was a terrifying experience, and if you know what I'm like with cars, you will understand how clenched my bum was.

I woke up the morning to beautiful sunshine and puffy clouds sitting on the Montenegro mountains across the lake. I was cooked breakfast and sunbathing at 9am! I think I'm going to like it here. Also, it's nearly 30 degrees, take that England!

Things forgot to pack - Mini-usb cable - Earplugs - Repellent (Actually this was lost, I bought some at the airport but it disappeared!)

Here's the view from my tent.

I don't really know what to expect from here on out, but I've been shown around. I start work later on today, for now, it's sunbathing time!

Photos: Portugal 2012

josephuck — Sun, 26 May 2013 00:07:00 GMT

A few captures from a two month trip volunteering in Portugal

Leicester

josephuck — Sat, 25 May 2013 23:25:00 GMT

Is it a story if you only go an hour away? I'd like to think so. Though this is in the Albania story folder, it is actually the last UK trip I will make pre-Albania.

I've just returned from a four day trip to Leicester, UK, with my friend Selly. We spent the four days walking down rivers and canals and through the city centre being pesky tourists (taking photos, feeding birds, smiling).

Here is a photo of myself in Abbey Park, under a little archway. Excuse the messy hair/ general shabbiness, we went out walking as soon as we woke up; in nature, nobody has to smell you (but yourself).

We tasted the nightlife on the first two nights. Our first pint, however, came at lunchtime, in a karaoke pub called Squarebar. I sang 'Your Man' by Josh Turner and 'Only the good die young' by Billy Joel. That first night we visited a club called Republic, where we began talking to a man stood on his own. He started preaching fascist ideals so we left him to it, we are two far more liberal souls. We pulled an all nighter the first night, hoping to catch a Leicester sunrise, which we were fortunate enough to do. Walking back down Narborough road (a popular student district) at about 6am, we decided to stay another night, having orignally only gone for one.

The second day featured the mentioned walk, doing a huge loop taking around 5 hours. When we returned to the friend's house we were staying at, more friends from around the country had gathered for a reunion and we caught up, having not seen some of them for almost a year. As a large group, we went to visit more friends at another house, where we clinked bottles and danced around. I spoke for a while with my old best friend, we stood in the long grass under fairy lights talking philosophy and time. We went to a club called Mosh, which was uneventful, and then to another club called Basement, which was highly eventful. I drank many 'Jam donut' shots, and Selly got in an argument with a bouncer. He was barred for life and I left with him, no great loss. Again we waited for the sunrise, though this one I don't remember so well, but we were all in high spirits.

The group assembled in the morning, heading to a riverside pub for some nourishment. I had a full breakfast, though it was fully shite. Salty bacon, cold beans, no sausage, burnt edd and warmed bread! The hash browns were acceptable. A dozen loaves of bread between us, we fed an army of swans (huge amount of swans not clearly shown by following picture).

This time in a large group, we walked down the river, looking for a sun trap or a decent spot to loiter. Sadly the clouds covered and we headed back to a friend's house. We pulled all over the furniture to the garden and sat around telling old stories of growing up together in the tranquil countryside.

Friends left, and it was only Selly and I, as well as our host and his lady. We found a nook in the house and filled it with cushions, duvets, even a beanbag, and watched some documentaries. The first one was about a Chilean gaucho, it was interesting.

Later in the evening we were taken for a night drive, to see the lights of the shopping centre and feel the current of night air from a passenger window. We bought some fried chicken. The end destination was another friend's house, where upon hearing 'can anybody think of a good film to watch', I suggested my eternal favourite, 'Into The Wild'. They loved it.

The fourth day, we drank tea and listened to Jerry Reed and The Police whilst a storm raged on the other side of the window.

Our lift arrived and we left, pleased we had extended out trip by two nights and days. Selly and I grew closer, which was nice, I rarely see the man whilst we are at our respective Universities. I'll try harder in future.

Highlights: Abbey Park. Basement Club. Squarebar. Soar river. High Cross shopping centre. The derelict buildings along the river, as shown below

Photo courtesy of Dhaywood

Bonus:

As this is only my first post, you will no doubt see my low morals, poor decision making and use of soft drugs/alcohol, so here is an embarrassing picture of me, drunk.