Off The Beaten Path

An Estonian Road trip: Part 2 – Across the Pine Barrens to the Pakri Peninsula & the Gulf of Finland or Soviets, Swans, Windmills & a Polar Bear

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Dense forest lined the road, occasionally thinning to provide a glimpse of Tallinn Bay. It seemed as if we had only left Tallinn minutes earlier, quickly passing through its outer boroughs to enter a semi-wilderness beyond the city limits. To paraphrase; We weren’t in Tallinn anymore. Lively, and charming, one third (461,000) of Estonia’s 1,370,00 citizens call this “gem of the Baltic,” home.

Only 15 minutes from the center of Old Town, we were in the surprisingly different forested landscape of Eesti Vabaõhumuuseum, the Estonian Open Air Museum, an ethnological recreation of a historic fishing village on the shore of Tallinn Bay, with the wonderful mission of showcasing the country’s rural architecture and way of life during the 18–20th centuries.

A pleasant set of trails through the woodland connected 14 separate areas that featured different buildings.  Some of the buildings have docents dressed in traditional clothing to help explain how residents lived centuries ago. The wooden windmills were particularly interesting and the large sturdy log cabins surely would have made Daniel Boone envious.

Leaving Tallinn behind: this was the first stop of our 21-day road trip through Estonia, Latvia, and Lithuania. There was hardly any traffic on the roads through the sparsely populated countryside that traversed stretches of open fields, bogs, pine forests and swaths of beautiful birch trees. Vast tracks of forest still cover over fifty percent of Estonia’s territory. Set away from the roadway a bike path, just one of 7,230 cycling routes and bike trails in Estonia, loosely followed our route from the Open Air Museum to Keila in search of a mid-morning coffee break.

It was a surprisingly frustrating endeavor. Takeaway coffee from a gas station? No no. This was nearing a crisis situation for us. Those in the know understand that without that a coffee fix, life in the universe is imperfectly balanced. Fortunately, we found a very nice gourmet café, Cake Atelier, on the main road through Keila. Chatting with the owner about our trip through Estonia, she shared that we were in luck today, as it was one of the town’s twice-yearly craft and food festival days and pointed down the road.

We both like exploring local markets and this one in Keila, while very small, was a perfect local event to have stumbled across. Set up in the parking lot of a small strip mall, it wasn’t geared toward tourists. It was simply regional food purveyors sharing what they love to do. Samples were abundant. There were extraordinary amounts of smoked fish, pickles, sauerkraut, and baked goods, along with foraged lingonberries and wild mushrooms.

From July to October foraging for berries and other wild edibles is a popular activity in Estonia and explains why we saw so many cars parked at various spots along the road in the middle of nowhere. We ended up purchasing a bottle of artisanal Rose Hip liqueur from a middle-aged woman who had been an exchange student in Florida in the early 2000s. Her cordial, lovingly crafted from her grandmother’s ancient family recipe, was very tasty. We purchased a bottle and enjoyed it as a nightcap during the rest of our trip.

Next to the parking lot was a pretty church, Mihkli kirik, Keila’s St. Michael’s Church.  This wooden church was first erected here shortly after the Danes conquered northern Estonia in 1219. A century later a larger stone church was constructed to accommodate the worshippers living in the growing village. The present church replaced an older one destroyed during the Livonian War of the 16th century. There were some interesting stone carvings around the door to the church, and an intriguing cemetery that called for further investigation.

Across the way the Scottish House, with its majestic sculptures of highland stags in its courtyard, seemed incongruously placed. But we enjoyed resting, enveloped in its warm wood interior, and lunch was very good.

Our destination at the end of the day would be the guesthouse Pakri Baron, at the foot of the lighthouse, at the top of Pakri Peninsula. But we rarely drive the fastest and most direct route. Our road trips usually connect the dots, and resemble Ws or Zs to points of interest along the way. With that in mind we headed to the Keila Waterfall in Lõokese tee, Meremõisa – gotta love that name – 13km (8 miles) away.

Without any tall mountain ranges, Estonia really isn’t noted for its waterfalls. But the Keila Falls, the third largest in the country, were relatively close. The falls are in a pretty river park that has a trail over a wooden suspension bridge that crosses to the opposite side of the falls. There is a small renovated hydroelectric power plant at the Keila waterfall that first started to produce electricity in 1928; the river park was originally part of the extensive grounds of the Keila-Joa manor. The neo-gothic style building was built in 1833 and is one of Estonia’s best surviving examples of the popular 19th-century architectural style. Unfortunately, the grounds of the manor house/museum were closed the day we were there.

Nearby, the all-wood Kõltsu Manor built in the late 1800s was another fine example of Estonian architecture. The large home was commissioned by a baroness to be used as her summer residence. After World War II, the house and grounds were used by the communist Russians as one of their Pioneer Camps. The name sounds so benign, but in reality, while they did offer camp activities, they were Soviet re-education camps that indoctrinated Estonian youth with communist ideology. Today the manor hosts events, weddings, and outdoor concerts during the summer months.

The forests in Estonia have their own stories to tell. We did not stop at the memorial to the 2000 Jewish victims of the Nazi massacre in 1944 at the forced labor Klooga concentration camp. Closer to our destination we stopped in Paldiski to purchase the makings of a picnic dinner and breakfast the next morning at the guesthouse. Apple trees grew wild along the edge of the road. We picked a few for munching later. White with a pink center, they were probably an heirloom variety called “Eva Kuld,” similar to the Pink Pearl variety. The apples were delicious.

We had timed our arrival at Pakri Baron to coincide with the sunset in hope of getting some nice photographs of the lighthouse and the coast as the sun dropped. However, the weather was fickle. But the guesthouse was wonderfully situated next to the lighthouse, which towered over us, and was a stone’s throw from the Baltic Sea. The still active lighthouse was built in 1889, and during the summer months it’s possible to climb its 275 steps to the top. Unfortunately, it was closed during our visit in mid-September. In front of the lighthouse is a copy of sculpture called The Ship’s Last Sigh (1899) by the Estonian artist Amandus Adamson (1855–1929), who grew up near Paldiski. The sculpture was chosen by vote from 5 of Adamson’s works by the residents of the community in 2008 to commemorate their native son. The guesthouse even had a traditional Estonian sauna in a separate building, just one of the 100,000 saunas in a country of 1.3 million. It’s definitely a cultural thing.

It was still dreary the next morning as we started our drive to the resort town of Haapsalu on the west coast of Estonia. But there were places to explore along the way. We don’t recall how we actually came across the existence of the Ämari Pilots’ Cemetery, but most likely it was a result of scouring Google Maps to find points of interest along our route. More accurately it could be referred to as the Russian Pilots’ Cemetery.

What piqued our interest was the use of tail fins from crashed Soviets planes as headstones to mark the graves of the pilots that died in accidents while flying from the former Russian airbase, Suurküla Aerodrome, during the Cold War era. The cemetery’s discreet location, in a forest almost obscuring it from the road, was so that reminders of the peacetime deaths, from a high accident rate, would not affect the morale of the military base.

The cemetery appeared to be well cared for, but it’s a reminder of a painful and repressive 46 yearlong occupation by communist Russia, unlike the monumental Soviet propaganda sculptures that were in public spaces across the country, which were destroyed or sent to the Soviet Statue Graveyard in Tallinn. This reminder of a dreaded past, like an uncle no one wants to talk about, was left to rest in peace.

Nearby was another reminder of Soviet rule: Murru vangla was a Soviet forced labor camp and re-education center where prisoners were sent to work in a limestone quarry for the duration of their sentences. After Estonia’s independence the prison and quarry were closed and abandoned. Water eventually filled the quarry and partially submerged some of old mining structures and prison buildings. Set against tall, eroded dunes created from slag left over from processing the limestone, the water of the quarry shimmers like a Caribbean beach. The uniquely beautiful manmade setting has slowly become a popular destination for divers and swimming. What’s left of the prison was turned into a museum. There is an admission fee to access the quarry area, but since the day was still heavily overcast, we kept driving a short distance down the road to the Padise Monastery. Founded in the early 14th Century by monks displaced from a monastery in Latvia, it flourished until the St. George’s Night Uprising, when Estonians rebelled against Danish rule and the imposition of Christianity upon them and killed 28 monks. The building was later turned into a fortress, but by the early 1700s the stones of the deteriorating fortification were used to build an adjacent manor house. What’s left of the monastery’s ruins has been preserved and now operates as a museum, and the manor house is now a boutique hotel and spa.

One of the many things we enjoy about traveling during the shoulder season, aside from fewer tourists like us out and about, is the affordability of really nice hotel rooms. Our case in point was our midweek 2-night stay at Hermannuse Maja, which backed up to the ramparts surrounding Haapsalu Castle, cost only €97.00, and included breakfast. Parking was easily available on the street.

Around the corner from our hotel the Müüriääre café, with an attractive interior and tempting food display, was the perfect spot for lunch before exploring the unusually named Haapsalu Episcopal Castle on a cloudy afternoon.

In the late 1100s Christian missionaries followed German merchants along old Viking trade routes into the region known as Livonia, that is today Estonia, Latvia, and Lithuania. The land was originally populated by pagan tribes, but unfortunately located between Orthodox Russia and Catholic Western Europe. Never happy with the status quo, religious zealots called for a Northern Crusade against the Baltic pagans, and with the blessing of Pope Celestine III, persecution began in 1195. The efforts to recruit an army was assisted by a papal bull which declared that “fighting against the Baltic heathens was of the same rank as participating in a crusade to the Holy Land.”  The medieval era was fierce, and bishops not only accompanied the crusaders spiritually into battle, but wielded swords alongside their troops fighting those heathen tribes. Haapsalu Episcopal Castle was built to project the power of the church during the thirty years it took to subjugate the region. In 1583 during the War of Reformation the Catholic stronghold fell to Protestant Sweden and the cathedral became a Lutheran church.

A tall defensive wall still encircles the nearly 1000-year-old castle. And the church has been nicely restored after surviving fires in 1668 and 1726 and neglect during the Soviet occupation when it was used as a granary. Though only the outer walls of the monastery, which was later converted to a palace, remain after the 1668 fire.

We enjoyed walking along the ramparts and climbing the castle’s tower. Surprisingly in mid-September we practically had the site to ourselves. Wandering through the ancient, vaulted dungeon-like rooms of the castle’s museum that showcased life in Medieval era was particularly interesting. The grounds of the castle are quite extensive, and one section in a now dry moat has a medieval themed playground with all sorts of structures for kids to climb on. During the summer the castle hosts a series of concerts, and the town welcomes tourists with a busy schedule of events.

Dinner that evening was across the street at the rustic Talumehe kõrts, which specialized in traditional Estonian dishes.

The next morning, we woke to a perfectly clear sky. The sunny weather was a welcome reprieve from several gloomy days, and we took full advantage of it to explore the picturesque town and walk along the Haapsalu’s bayside promenade. The walkway extends for quite a distance along the waterfront, and is flanked with a variety of architecturally interesting buildings along its length.

At one point we spotted a polar bear standing on an ice flow. A statue! It was one of several exotic animal sculptures, recreated from old photographs of the wooden figures made in the 1920s, for a section of the boardwalk called Africa Beach, a beloved small park from the 1800s. During the Soviet occupation the original wooden sculptures were used as firewood by Russian soldiers. With the Russians finally gone in 1991 the park was revamped as a children’s playground.

A short distance beyond the playground the walkway ends at the 5-story tall Tagalaht birdwatching tower. Climbing the tower offers views over the saltwater marshes of Haapsalu Bay, which is an important stopover for artic birds during their Spring and Fall migrations. Swans, cranes, and a variety of ducks can also be spotted.

The small town existed on the region’s fishing and agricultural base until a visiting physician observed that the local folk used sea mud to treat a number of ailments. He opened Haapsalu’s first therapeutic mud treatment resort in 1825. It soon became a popular destination for several generations of Russia’s czars and aristocracy. A bench along the path commemorates the spot from which the composer Tchaikovsky watched the sunrise when he summered there.

Walking back to town we passed the distinctive green onion shaped dome of Haapsalu’s Maria-Magdaleena kirik, a Russian Orthodox church. The church was consecrated on July 21, 1852. In the audience was the son of Czar Nikolai I, Alexander (later Czar Alexander II, Emperor of Russia, King of Poland and Grand Duke of Finland.)

We worked our way across town to Lake Väikese and savored a delicious lunch overlooking the water from the enclosed patio at Wiigi Kohvik, before following a walking path along the water that circled the lake. Along the pathway we noticed that nearly every home on the lake had a traditional Estonian sauna in their back yard. They were all different sizes and shapes, with some constructed with wood and others totally covered with earth. We wondered if folks jumped into the lake as part of their sauna ritual. Brrr! Just thinking of it made me shiver.

Overall, we had a very nice tme in Haapsalu. The next morning, we checked out early and drove to the harbor at Rohuküla to catch the first ferry of the day to Heltermaa on Hiiumaa Island.

Till next time, Craig & Donna

An Albanian Road Trip: Theth – Majestic Isolation in the Accursed Mountains & A Castle in Kruje

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The day was crisp, the sky a clear blue, the mountains beautiful with their peaks still covered with late spring snow. We zigged and zagged our way along the infamous SH21, higher into the mountains, around many challenging blind corners and switchbacks. In spots the road narrowed to a single lane, but there were pullover areas to allow for oncoming cars to pass.  Fortunately, in late April we had the roads and the overlooks in this pristine region mostly to ourselves. The views were breathtaking. A half-hearted complaint if any, there just were not enough places to stop safely to enjoy the picturesque landscapes.

After cresting the Thore Mountain Pass, at 5,547ft the highest along the route, we stopped at the Monument commemorating Edith Durham, a British anthropologist who championed Albanian independence in the early 1900’s, and was lovingly called, “Queen of the Highlanders.” After that we could have coasted all the way into Theth, like Olympic bobsledders, but we were very judicious with braking.

Centuries ago, the inhospitable, saw-toothed mountains of northern Albania were a sanctuary for folks fleeing invaders. It’s a massive area at the southern end of the Dinaric Mountain Range, with nearly twenty mountain peaks having 9000 ft high summits, and it encompasses the border region where Albania, Montenegro, and Kosovo meet. The Dinaric Mountains are the spine of the Balkans, stretching from Slovenia through Croatia, Bosnia and Herzegovina, Serbia, Montenegro, and Kosovo before ending in Albania, where today they are called the Albanian Alps. A much friendlier name to encourage tourism than the Accursed Mountains, or “Bjeshkët e Namuna” as the original Albanian name goes.

There are three prevalent legends as to how the mountains got that original title, but hardship is at the core of each. One of the earliest legends credited the creation of the torturously steep mountains to the Devil when he escaped from Hell for a day. While there are streams and waterfalls throughout the mountains, they are not easily accessible and are often dry during the summer months. These dry conditions explained the tale of a mother fleeing her burning village. Her husband was killed in the fighting with Ottoman invaders, and she took her children into the mountains to save them from being forcibly converted to Islam. The days were hot, the terrain steep and unforgiving; her children were thirsty after three days without any water. Distraught, she cursed the mountains for causing their suffering. It’s also believed that soldiers struggling to cross the treacherous mountain terrain cursed the steep slopes, and most likely used many foul adjectives to make their point.

Footpaths and donkey trails were the only way into Theth for a millennium. The village didn’t have a school until 1917. The American Red Cross arrived in Theth in 1921 to help expand the educational opportunities in the Shala Valley. The American journalist Rose Wilder Lane tells of this school building mission in her 1922 book Peaks of Shala. Communication with the modern world didn’t expand until the first dirt track, a single lane, serpentine road that crested numerous mountain passes, was carved into the side of the masiffs that isolated the remote valley in 1936. It took another thirty years before the village received electricity in 1966.  

It is difficult to find accurate figures on the ancient population of Theth, which in some instances includes the entire Shala valley and its nine hamlets, and at other times just the village of Theth itself. But it’s thought that at the end of Albania’s Communist regime in 1991 the remote area had a population of roughly 3000 folks in 700 households, though it is much less today. Interestingly, most of these villagers claim Zog Diti as a common ancestor of the Shala tribe or clan. Oral tradition relates that the name Shala is derived from shalë, a saddle, a gift he was given by his brothers, when led his family into the northernmost reaches of the Shala Valley. They fled from the region of Pashtrik, during the Ottoman invasion of Albania in the early decades of the 15th century to preserve their Catholic faith.

A road changes everything. While it brought progress in its early years, it eventually was the route of exodus for families seeking non-agrarian jobs for themselves and better educational opportunities for their children. It was extremely difficult to recruit teachers to live in the “wilderness.” Currently Theth has about 370 summer residents that return to support the tourist season, but only a hearty, resourceful handful of residents winter over in the often snowbound valley.

Today the village, with its modest tourist infrastructure, is the jumping off spot to pursue outdoor activities in the northern Albanian park system that includes Nikaj-Mertur Regional Nature Park, Valbona Valley National Park, and Theth National Park. This vast area encompasses many diverse ecosystems that include oak and beech forests at lower elevations that transition to pine trees and scree-covered slopes the higher up the mountains you go. The region is home to over 50 bird species, including kestrels and eagles. And if you are lucky enough you can spot gray wolves, wild goats, brown bears, and roe deer.

We arrived at the Royal Land Hotel & Restaurant as the shadows were lengthening and the sun skimmed the snowy ridge across the valley from the hotel. Just a week earlier the hotel had reopened for the season, and we, along with several other couples, were some of the hotel’s first guests of the year. After checking in, we sat at picnic tables on the terrace outside, sipping glasses of their homemade red wine, and watching the inn keeper’s son rototill the fertile dark soil of a garden plot. The sky stayed light for several more hours, but the sun had disappeared behind the mountains behind us. The lodge is very rustic with fourteen cedar-planked rooms, and a glass enclosed dining area, where each table has fantastic views of the surrounding mountains. The Inn’s restaurant is open to the public, as are most of the hotel restaurants in the valley. The family that owns the hotel was very friendly and helpful. Their breakfast buffet and home cooked dinners were delicious, with many of the items on the menu homemade or locally sourced. The sky was clear that evening and the stars brilliant across the night sky. Early the next morning, moonlight filled our room.

Hiking is the main activity in the Shala Valley, and we eagerly headed down into the village to explore the valley. Many folks choose to trek the popular Theth to Valbona trail, a nine-hour hike one way, covering 11 miles that takes you through a pristine high alpine wilderness. Being the city folks we are, we stayed in the relatively flat flood plain of the Lumi i Shalës which tumults from its source in the mountains north of the village. Near the bridge that crossed the river we spotted an understated monument that upon closer inspection commemorated the schools built by the American Red Cross in the Shala Valley.

Farther along we reached Kisha e Thethit, Theth’s iconic church, and could hear music softly emanating from the Sunday service being held inside. Built in 1892, the church is a strong stone building with a steeply pitched roof, and a belltower, that looks like a small medieval castle, ready to withstand a siege. Though, during Albania’s communist era, the building was used as a health center. Nearby a sign pointed the way to the trailhead for the Theth – Valbonë hike. Sheep contentedly grazed as their shepherd checked his cell phone. Untethered horses sauntered nearby.

From the church we could see Kulla e Pajtimit, the Reconciliation Tower, or “Lock-in Tower,” and headed there. The formidable two-story stronghold, with three small windows, was built four centuries ago, and served a dual purpose; to provide shelter for the villagers in times of trouble, and to serve as the reconciliation tower, a neutral ground where disputes within the village were resolved by a council of elders. In more serious cases that involved a murder or threat of murder for revenge, the accused party would be locked in the tower for fifteen days as a cooling off period, while the elders tried to reconcile all parties affected by the crime.

This millennia old tribal custom was widespread throughout Albania and was part of the “Code of the Mountains,” that was passed down through an oral history tradition from generation to generation until it was codified in the 15th century by Lekë Dukagjini, an Albanian nobleman and contemporary of Skanderbeg, an Albanian hero. Since then, the tribal laws have been known as the Kanun of Lekë Dukagjini. The kanun has an extensive set of 1263 rules that cover everything from beekeeping to marriage and honor. It is most famously known for obligating families to partake in gjakmarrja, (blood feuds), that permitted koka për kokë (a head for a head), and hakmarrja, (vendettas), to maintain honor by seeking revenge. The heavy hand of Albania’s communist government had some success in outlawing this practice, but unfortunately, it’s still an issue for law enforcement today.

Later we stopped for lunch at the Thethi Paradise restaurant and enjoyed fresh trout, grilled lamb, and a few Korça beers, at an umbrella covered table on the patio.Surrounded by mountains from end to end, the Theth Valley was absolutely stunning and serenely tranquil in its “majestic isolation,” borrowing a phrase from Edith Durham.

The next morning, we retraced our drive across the mountains to Shkodër before continuing south to the Lezhë Castle and Kruje, where we spent the night. The drive out of the valley was just as beautiful as the drive in.

Our only companions on this quiet stretch were a flock of sheep being herded down the road, and a sow followed by her piglets crossing behind her. The drive was uneventful until the bridge over the river ahead of us was closed for road repairs, and we were directed to follow a deeply rutted farm track through the countryside for several miles. The road surface was so unforgiving that the car bottomed out several times regardless of how slowly we were going. At this point we didn’t have a cell signal, and there were no other detour signs, so we had to dead reckon our way back to the highway. The rental car company had cautioned us that they prohibited driving on dirt roads, and that we would be fined if their satellite tracking recorded us doing so. We kept our fingers crossed.

It was easy to spot Lezhë Castle, perched high on a hill, from miles away. Though getting there was a little more challenging and involved driving on some of the steepest roads we ever encountered. Think hills of San Francisco steep, but worse.

The castle had a commanding view of the surrounding terrain, though especially important was its western vista, where ships on the Adriatic Sea could be spied before they reached Albania’s shore. It was in this castle in 1444 that Skanderbeg, Albania’s national hero, rallied his countrymen to resist the occupation of the country by the Ottoman Empire. The best view of the castle was from the parking area. The area behind the walls is left in a rather rustic state with tumbled ruins and cisterns to explore. Overlooking the sea, we enjoyed a picnic lunch in the shade of the ramparts. 

The hillside town of Kruje, set high above the Tirana Valley, was our last destination in Albania. On our way to the Hotel Panorama we passed a large statue of Skanderbeg astride his steed, which commanded an overlook in a city park.

Albania’s national identify, a spirit of perseverance and resistance, is intimately linked to Skanderbeg and Kruje, his hometown. Born into the noble Kastrioti family during the early 1400’s, his parents were forced to give him to the Ottoman Empire as part of Sultan’s devşirme system. This “child tax” was to ensure a family’s loyalty to the sultan. Only one son could be taken. These children were then taught the Koran, given an education, and raised as Muslims, before being sent to serve in the Ottoman Empire’s Janissary corps, a highly trained infantry. Skanderbeg excelled as a skilled Ottoman soldier and rose through the ranks. But after a 1443 battle in Serbia he renounced Islam and escaped back to his homeland and reclaimed his title. A year later he led a league of Albanian Princes in revolt against the Ottoman occupiers. For over twenty years he rallied his fellow Albanians to repel 13 invasions, and was considered a hero throughout a Europe that feared the expansion of Islam across the continent. The citadel in Kruje was his headquarters during this time and endured three intensive sieges. Ten years after Skanderbeg’s death the castle fell and the Albanians relinquished their independence to the Ottomans for 400 years.

Its name said it all, and the Hotel Panorama’s guest rooms and rooftop terrace were the perfect spot for views out over the town’s ancient caravan market and Kruje castle. An arched stairway descended under the hotel from the main street and led to the historic bazaar, which is over 400 years old. A 16th century minaret towered above us.

It’s believed to be the most historically accurate representation of an ancient marketplace in Albania, with its cobbled street centered with a drainage divert and canvas awnings hung from the shops, to protect shoppers from the midday sun.

In centuries past it would have had a full array of merchants offering a wide assortment of ancient everyday items, and luxuries crafted in faraway lands. Today, it’s a gauntlet of tourist themed merchandise, but we found one hidden gem, the Berhami Silver shop. The proprietor and sole craftsman, specializes in unique, intricately woven filigree jewelry.

We shielded our eyes from the bright sun as we left the long, arched tunnel through the ramparts, and looked up at the Skanderbeg National Museum. Built in a historical style to reflect its surroundings, it was a majestic sight, its sandstone blocks glowing in the afternoon sun, and the red and black Albanian flag full out in the breeze.

Its exhibits feature artifacts from Skanderbeg’s era and Albania history. One of the most intriguing displays was a replica of the hero’s signature goat head-topped helmet. Albania’s flag evolved from the two headed eagle on the Byzantine Empire’s flag which flew over Albania from the 4th to 14th centuries.

The double eagle heads symbolized the unity between the Orthodox Church and the Byzantine Empire. The black eagles above the Kastrioti family coat of arms on a crimson background became the flag of rebellion when Skanderbeg raised it above Kruje in 1443. Its colors black and red represent the strength, bravery and heroism of the Albanian people.

Above the castle we rested outside at a small café with an expansive panoramic view. Unaware of castle’s closing time we headed down the slope to the Tekke of Dollma, a small Bektashi Sufi shrine that contains the tomb of the mystic leader, Baba Shemimi. We reached the gate of the tekke’s courtyard just as the caretaker was about to lock the door for the day.

Graciously, he let us stay for a few minutes. The building was still under repair from the 2019 earthquake, but still very interesting. Legend believes the ancient olive tree in the courtyard was planted by Skanderbeg. The castle was a wonderful site to explore, and if we had had more time, we would have visited its ethnographic museum.

The sun was casting a golden glow across the hillside by the time we reached the rooftop terrace of our hotel. We clinked glasses and reflected back upon a fabulous vacation exploring Albania.

Till next time, Craig & Donna

An Albanian Road Trip: Voskopoja and Korce – Snowy Mountains, Ancient Churches & a Skyscraper 

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“The old timers say on a stormy day like this you can hear their cries on the wind when you pass through Borove,” our host commented mysteriously as he learned of our plans to drive along the SH75 towards Voskopoja and then Korce. Evidence of Albania’s new investments in its road infrastructure to support tourism in southeastern part of the country were visibly apparent, with bridges being repaired, as well as sections of the road being widened, and repaved along our serpentine route through beautiful, forested mountains. The mountains finally receded behind us as we coasted downhill into a wide valley with gently rolling hills.

As we rounded a bend, a tall brooding silhouette loomed over the road. The statue of two resistance fighters captured in a decisive moment of attack commemorates the July, 1943 partisan ambush of a German troop convoy through the valley, near the hamlet of Barmash. The battle raged for hours and left 60 enemy soldiers dead, and numerous vehicles destroyed.  Sadly, the second part of this event revealed itself several miles away in the larger village of Borove. Here stairs on the outskirts of the village quietly led to the top of a knoll and the Memorial i Viktimave të Masakrës së Borovës. This heart-rending site contains the graves of 107 men, women and children massacred the next day when Nazi troops returned to the area and set their village ablaze in retaliation. It’s a moving memorial, and we stayed until a pounding rain forced us back to our car.

Farther along we passed through Ersekë. It’s one of Albania’s highest towns, sitting at an elevation of 3,445 ft on a high plain, in the shadow of the Greece’s Pindus mountain range. This southeastern part of Albania is very remote, and the village so close to the Greek border, that during the communist era villagers were prevented from leaving the town, on the fear that an abandoned village on the border would invite Greek expansionism. The town is most noticeable for its well-maintained communist era minimalistic architecture.

Reaching Korce we turned west onto SH63 and headed back into the mountains, our destination, the ancient Orthodox churches of Voskopoja. Light rain turned into 3 inches of wet snow as we drove higher into the mountains. This didn’t particularly faze us as we both have decades of experience driving on wintry roads in northeastern United States. But the drastic change of weather did, considering 10 days earlier, when we arrived in Tirana we rejoiced in 80F weather for several days earlier in the month. The saving grace – there were literally no other cars on the road.

On a snowy Sunday afternoon in late April we practically had the whole town to ourselves. It was quite serene and beautiful with the fresh snow clinging to the trees, and tufts of spring greenery poking through the snow on the ground. We found Saint Nicholas Church and gingerly made our way down the puddled walkway to shelter under the exonarthex and shake the snow off our jackets before entering the sanctuary.

The walls of this covered porch area were painted with illustrative religious stories designed to visually educate the illiterate, warn the sinners, and inspire the devout, before entering the church. Sadly, the frescoes show the scars from being vandalized during the Ottoman era, but their beauty is still evident.

We had expected a caretaker to be present, though no one was around, but the door to the church was unlocked and we entered. The ancient cavernous space was barley lit with only two bare bulbs and the light from several small windows, but it was enough to see that every surface of the whole interior was beautifully illuminated in ancient orthodox iconography.

Liturgical music was faintly audible in the background as we admired the artisitic vision and faith that inspired this moving creation. Constructed in 1721, the frescoes are attributed to the painter David Selenica, and his assistants, the religious brothers Constantine and Christos.

This team also famously painted religious iconography in the monasteries on Mount Athos. It’s amazing the church survived several centuries of turbulent history, only to be atrociously used as a storage depot during the communist era. The church, as beautiful as it is, was also a little spooky with centuries of candle soot covering the walls and gilded wood-carved iconostasis. Afterwards we headed to Kisha e Shën Mëhillit, the Church of Saint Michael, 1722, just on outskirts of the village and found it surrounded with scaffolding. Though disappointed, this was an encouraging sign that restoration was under way. Unfortunately, the road leading to the Church of St. Elija, the last church built in Voskopoja in 1751, was under repair and a muddy mess that deterred us from reaching it. But we did get to view the Shënepremte Church perched on a hill above an old Ottoman era bridge. By mid-afternoon our stomachs were growling and we feared there wouldn’t be a place open to eat in the village. (This is an issue during off-season travel when many establishments close. It’s wise to bring snacks along.) Luckily, we found the Taverna Voskopojë open, and full of activity that Sunday afternoon. Their lakror, a pastry-style traditional Albanian pie, filled with ground meat or vegetables, is common to the Korçë region, and was delicious. The house wine was also very good.

First mentioned in 14th century historical records, Voskopoja was once one of the largest cities outside Istanbul, and the most important trading, cultural and religious center in the Balkans from the 1600’s to the 1800’s. It was during this height of prosperity that the city had an estimated population of between 30,000 – 60,000 and supported 26 Orthodox churches richly decorated with Byzantine frescoes; the only printing house in the Balkans; and a New Academy or Greek school. Its influence and wealth stemmed from metal smithing, wool processing and tanneries. Merchandise from these industries supplied the traders that traveled along the Tsarigrad Road. The road was an old caravan route that connected Rome to its colonies in Sofia and Plovdiv, Bulgaria, before reaching Tsarigrad, the Slavic name for Constantinople. In later centuries the route passing through Voskopoja connected it to the Venetian ports on the Adriatic Sea and Belgrade.

The armies of Rome, the Huns, and the Ottoman Empire also followed this route through Albania and in the process brought new ideas and religions with them. During the Middle Ages the Christian Byzantine Empire encouraged the spread of the Eastern Orthodox religion into the Balkans along the ancient trade route, which was most famously followed by the early evangelists Cyril and Methodius. They made tremendous inroads with the pagan Balkan tribes by leading Mass, not in Latin, but in the Slavic language, an act many church leaders in Rome considered blasphemous at the time.

Voskopoja flourished peacefully under the Ottoman Empire’s millet system, where “Christians and Jews were considered dhimmi, protected, under Ottoman law in exchange for sworn loyalty to the state and payment of the jizya, a religious tax on non-Muslims,” until the 1768. Then the Russian-Ottoman war fueled an anti-orthodox sentiment and the government in Istanbul allowed Voskopoja in 1769 to be sacked and burned by Muslim tribes from the Dangëllia region around Përmet. The city was rebuilt, but twenty years later it was attacked, and razed to the ground again by the notorious Albanian warlord, Ali Pashë of Tepelena in 1789. After this the town never recovered its former glory and folks moved away to Korce and Berat, or farther afield into Bulgaria and Romania. It received additional damage during World Wars I & II. The final blow came in 1960 when a massive earthquake leveled many of the centuries-old churches, leaving only 5 standing in various states of disrepair. Today, the surviving churches are listed on the World Monuments Fund’s Watch List of 100 Most Endangered Sites. Only 600 year-round residents live in Voskopoja now, but this hidden gem is slowly being rediscovered and recognized as an interesting tourist destination for its many cultural and outdoor activities.

We drove back towards Korce under clearing storm clouds which dramatically revealed freshly snowcapped mountains dappled in sunlight. Situated in a wide fertile valley surrounded by the Morava mountains, Korce and the lands surrounding it were once the property of a feudal family in medieval times. Like Voskopoja, it benefited from trading with the caravans that trekked across routes to Thessaloniki in Greece, Istanbul and Southern Russia.

Traces of this industrious past can still be found along the cobbled lanes in the town’s colorful, old bazaar section, where deep-rooted merchants and craftsmen now share the lanes with cafes and chic shops.

A short walk away is Albania’s second oldest mosque, the Iljaz Mirahori. It’s named after the founder of Korce, and dates from 1496. Its original minaret was taken down during the communist era and not rebuilt until 2014.

The wide pedestrian mall, Bulevardi Shen Gjergji, which runs through the center of the city, along with the town’s many parks, helped Korce earn the moniker as “the Paris of Albania,” after the city was occupied by French troops during World War I.

With French support the local region existed briefly as the Republic of Korçë, from 1916-1920. In 1887, Mësonjëtorja, or the Albanian School, opened its doors to students on Bulevardi Shen Gjergji and taught students the Albanian language. This was a milestone in the Albanian National Awakening movement of the late 1800’s because until then giving lessons in the Albanian language was done in secret since Turkish was the official language under Ottoman rule.

Across from the pedestrian mall the Katedralja Ortodokse “Ringjallja e Krishtit,” aka, the Orthodox Cathedral “Resurrection of Christ,” grandly commands a plaza. Constructed in 1995, in Byzantine Revival-style, it is the largest orthodox church in Albania and replaces the St. John Church, which Albania’s former communist regime destroyed in 1968. It has a splendid interior covered with vibrantly new, orthodox religious imagery.

Anchoring the far end of the plaza, like a lighthouse on the ocean, is a modern seven-story skyscraper, the Sky View Hotel. It is the tallest building in Korce, and its architecture is very incongruous with the rest of the city, but that difference makes it very refreshing, and symbolizes Korce’s progressive future. It also had the best vantage points from its top floor restaurant, and our room, for taking pictures of the church and the surrounding snowcapped mountains. During our stay there we were surprised to learn that we were the hotel’s only guests on a Sunday and Monday in late April. Our room was very comfortable, and we enjoyed our stay. Additionally, it was very budget friendly, free parking was available on the street, and the staff was very nice.

The next morning, we drove into the foothills above Korce to the small village of Mborja. It took only 8 minutes to get there, but when we entered the Church of St. Mary it seemed like every minute of travel time transported us back a century. There is not a definitive record of when the Church of St. Mary was built, but it’s believed the small church was first constructed in 896 to honor Pope Clement I, and is the oldest Orthodox church in Albania. Later renovations were added in the 14th century.

We had entered the small, fenced yard that surrounds the church only to find its door locked tight. Luckily, two local women were walking by and acknowledged our dilemma with that global twist of the wrist, as if opening a door with a key. They motioned for us to wait and then headed downhill to the small produce shop we had just driven by. A few minutes later the guardian appeared. An elderly gentleman, he silently unlocked the door for us and invited us in. It was a small space, made even smaller by a solid stone wall with a half door in it which led to the altar.

It was difficult to bend so low, but I crouched down and entered. Donna followed. Whack! Ouch! “What happened?” “I cracked my skull on the door jamb!”  Sympathetic to her injury, I tried to comfort her and divert her attention. “Babes, that was the kiss of God.” “Really!” “Yes, it’s in recognition for those twenty-four years of devoted service as a Methodist minister.” “Go away.” “Remember the Lord does work in mysterious ways.” A gentle elbow to my gut silenced me. Low doors were a common design feature of ancient churches built in areas prone to conflict.

The feature was used to prevent an invader from entering the sanctuary on horseback and defiling it. The compact interior was dark, but there was just enough light to see iconography on all the walls and the dome. The frescoes in the church are believed to be from the late 1300’s, and are in remarkably good condition, but the painter is unknown. The church is also an Orthodox pilgrimage site on Christ’s Ascension Day.

It was still well before noon when we reached to Kryqi Moravë, the Morovian Cross, which dramatically commands a mountain ridge above Korce. We had spotted it from miles away the other day as a ray of light caught it just right through clearing clouds. The parking area for it was only a 15 minute drive from Mborja. But the steep climb to the large cross and small chapel of Saint Elias on the ridge top took another 20 minutes.

The panoramic views over Korce, its valley, and the freshly snowcapped mountains were fantastic. You could literally see for miles all around. Back at the parking area we warmed ourselves with delicious cappuccinos at the Restaurant La Montagna. It’s a popular spot for folks to eat after spending a day hiking in the mountains.

On the way back downhill, we stopped at the Martyrs’ Cemetery on the hillside above Korce. It’s a beautiful location high above the city. The slope is lined with the simple graves of Albanian partisans who fought around Korce in WWII for the liberation of the country from German occupation. All the graves face west toward the setting sun. Many of the gravestones only contain a first or last name, and the year of death, the fighter’s year of birth unknown.

At the foot of the cemetery a monumental communist-era statue of a resistance fighter, with arm raised and fist clenched, stands victoriously over the city. It’s a powerful reminder of the ultimate price the partisans paid for what they thought would be a better future. These propagandistic communist statues can be found all around Albania and portrayed the communists as liberators, not the oppressors they truly were, who sent any political opposition to forced labor camps on trumped up charges of treason, and shot citizens who tried to escape the hardships of the regime for a better life elsewhere. It’s possible to walk from the city to the cemetery up a long stairway that starts at the top of Rruga Sotir Mero. Though the better way is to take a taxi up and walk down the stairway.

On the way back into the city for lunch in the old bazaar, we passed the Birra Korca. It’s Albania’s oldest brewery, capping its first bottles in 1928, and miraculously survived the communist decades as a state-owned business, though they ignored the old adage, “We know God loves us because he gave us beer.” The brewery and the city also host an annual Korca Beer Festival every August. It’s a week-long, city-wide event that draws thousands of folks to Korce.

In the old bazaar we sat outside at Taverna *Pazari i Vjeter* in a warm afternoon sun, and ordered, of course, two Korca beers, and some traditional dishes. Afterwards the waiter brought us Shahine plums. They are small sour green plums served as a digestive, and they were very tasty, much like a green apple. It was the first and only time they were offered to us in Albania, but if you have a chance to try them, go for it.

Till next time, Craig & Donna

An Albanian Road Trip: Gjriokaster, Përmet and the Vjosa Wild River National Park

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Traveling north or south in Albania is easy, as the roads follow the lay of the land between mountain ranges that run parallel with each other. Heading east away from the coast towards villages and small towns farther inland is a bit more difficult. Destinations that appeared relatively close on a map, from a bird’s eye view, often became a driving marathon following routes north or south until the rugged massifs conceded a mountain pass that was suitable for a road to be constructed across. Road tunnels did not exist during the communist dictatorship of Enver Hoxha. Though tunnels were extensively built across the country as part of Hoxha’s “bunkerisation” program, which constructed an estimated 173,000 military bunkers across the country. Fortunately, as tourism has blossomed, Albania has invested in its roadway infrastructure, and our route to Gjirokaster from Sarande benefited from it. We were able to traverse our way across the deep gorges of the Mali i Gjerë range along the recently opened Kardhiq-Delvin road and scoot under the 7,000 foot high massif through the mile long Skërfica tunnel. It was a beautiful and dramatic stretch of roadway with expansive views at every curve.

There is nothing subtle about Gjiokaster; it’s a gorgeous place. The ancient town’s beauty startled us like a slap across the face, as soon as we turned off the main road. The town rose from the Drino River valley up the steep eastern flank of the Mali i Gjerë mountains. Large fortified tower houses, known as kullëh, dating from the 17th and 18thcenturies, followed the topography and were built randomly across the slope, as if they were stepping stones across a river. These small family fortresses were built to protect against foreign invaders and violent feuds between Albanian clans. 

Gjirokaster Castle centered the landscape atop a long thin ridge that protruded from the lower slope of the mountain. At the castle’s apex the red and black flag of Albania blew full out in the wind, its colors vividly contrasting against the verdant hillside.

Little is known about Gjirokaster’s early history, though archeological evidence suggests that the area has been inhabited since the 5th century BC, and that a smaller fortification in the 2nd century BC existed where Gjirokaster Castle now stands. Gjirokaster isn’t mentioned in any historic records until 1336 when a Byzantine chronicler noted it. By the early 15th century, the region was under Ottoman rule and Gjirokaster was an administration center. The town’s residents prospered from their industriousness in embroidery, silk, wool, flannel, dairy products, and livestock. The notorious Albanian brigand, warlord, and Ottoman governor, Ali Pasha of Tepelenë – more about him later – acquired control of Gjirokaster in 1811 and built the magnificent castle/fortress that crowns the city.

We were able to find parking on the street near the castle’s entrance, just after the site opened. Unfortunately, we were in the ticket queue behind a large student group on a school outing. But the line went quickly, and the students soon vanished into the cavernous lower level. Its high arched ceiling resembled the interior of a medieval cathedral more than any fortress we’ve toured previously. This was the ancient storeroom, barracks, and stable area. Today the open undercroft is used to display a collection of antiquated artillery pieces, tanks, and antiaircraft guns, that have been used in the conflicts of the past 200 years that have engulfed the country. Farther on there are rooms with exhibits about Albania’s complicated history over the centuries, the WWII resistance and folklore heroes. Especially moving was the tale of legendary Princess Argjiro, who, with her young son in her arms, is believed to have jumped from the castle wall to their deaths, to avoid imminent capture by the Ottomans.

Not wanting to miss anything, we climbed stairs in the museum and followed signs to a small military museum, that had an extensive collection of ancient swords, rifles and pistols. But, on our return walk we noticed a small discreet sign that pointed to the prison.

This part of the fortress was added in 1932 by King Zog, who ruled Albania from 1922-1939. The later communist regime under Hoxha filled it with political prisoners. It was a chilling experience walking the hallways and entering the cells where prisoners slept on the floor, without blankets, through the cold winter months.

The top level of the castle features a clock tower and also offers a fantastic 360-degree panoramic view of the Drino River and the Mali i Gjerë mountains.

Oddly, on display is the fuselage of an American fighter jet, whose pilot flew off course while flying over the Adriatic Sea in 1957 and violated Albanian airspace.

The pilot was forced to land at Tirana airport by two Albanian jets that intercepted it. These were the Cold War years, and the incident fueled Enver Hoxha’s paranoia that the West was going to invade Albania at any moment. He also used the event to further justify his “bunkerisation” of the nation. The castle is also the amazing venue for Albania’s National Folklore Festival. This event is held every five years and was first orchestrated in 1968 to celebrate the despot’s 60th birthday, in his hometown. An Albanian postage stamp, with his portait, issued in1968 also commemorated the occasion. After the castle we walked a short distance towards the mountains, to lunch nearby at Taverna Tradicionale Kardhashi. The restaurant is just 200ft past the intersection where several restaurant hustlers tried to steer us to different establishments. The owner was a gregarious fellow, and delights in sharing the tasty Albanian specialties that his nënë and gjyshja must have created in the kitchen. Our lunch was wonderful and very reasonably priced.

After lunch it began to rain as we headed to check-in at our lodging for the night, the Hotel Bineri. The hotel is conveniently located near the center of the Gjirokaster’s old town, and we specifically chose it because they offered parking. A huge part of Gjirokaster’s charm comes from its meandering archaic footprint that follows the natural lay of the land, but driving to the hotel along the town’s ancient cobbled alleys, that were built for horses drawing farm carts, was a nerve-wracking experience. Our mapping app was totally confounded by the one-way roads, and lanes wide enough to start down but then ended at a set of stairs or required K-turns to negotiate. We tried multiple routes. The fact that it was raining didn’t help. The one saving grace was we did not encounter any cars coming downhill as we were going up. This was such a relief as there was no room to pull over, and it would have required us to back down the alley. The lane ended as we reached the hotel. It was not obvious where to park, and we didn’t want to get ticketed, so Donna trekked up a tall flight of stairs to reception to inquire about it. It seemed the hotel was short staffed during the shoulder season, and the cleaning staff was manning the front desk. Eventually it was conveyed that Donna should inquire at the bar, across the street from the bottom of the stairs. “No problem, park behind my SUV over there.” But this was a difficult task that required us to pull forward and then reverse up a switchback driveway that paralleled the alley we had just driven up. There was barely enough room to squeeze by the SUV and there was no wall to prevent me from mistakenly putting two wheels over the edge. And did I mention it was heavily raining?

The Bineri is a very stately hotel, and our room was very nice, with great attention paid to fine woodworking throughout. However, we were dismayed when we realized a rambunctious student group shared the floor with us. After dinner the rain had stopped, and we wandered along the cobblestones of the five lanes that converge in the center of the old town. The stones still glistened from the earlier rain and reflected the lights of the shops and restaurants still open. The clock tower at the castle was illuminated against a royal blue night sky.

I’m hard of hearing, but Donna is a very light sleeper, and we inquired about a room change to avoid the loud students, only to be told the hotel was full. They graciously offered us a bottle of white wine and delicious orange peels soaked in honey for dessert, which we enjoyed in the restaurant until it quieted upstairs. Considering the price of our room, we are not sure if this was fair compensation for a poor night’s sleep. It was the third week of April, and overnight the rain had turned to snow on the higher elevations of the mountains around Gjirokaster. They brilliantly glistened in the morning sun. A week earlier, when we landed in Tirana, it was 80F for several days.

Very often gas stations along the roads in Albania are attached to a restaurant, and sometimes there will be a hotel too. These are not the iconic American greasy spoons, associated with truck stops. We found them to be surprisingly nice places to dine, especially if their parking lot was busy. The BOV station on the way to the Castle of Tepelena, was an exceptional place to stop. We enjoyed coffee on their patio which had a tremendous view of the confluence of the Drinos and Vjosa River.

The Castle of Tepelena dramatically commands a cliff face above the Vjosa River Valley. It’s a supremely strategic location with views of the valley extending for miles north and south. The flat river plane was a natural highway that has funneled invaders into the Balkans since antiquity.

A Byzantine fort first occupied this spot and was later expanded by the Ottomans and Ali Pasha. Ali Pasha was a figure in Albanian history, with an interesting background story. He was born in 1740, nearby in the small hamlet of Beçisht, into a family of notorious brigands. He followed his family’s business plan until the Ottomans, who embraced a philosophy of if I can’t defeat you, I will employ you, hired him into the administrative-military apparatus of the empire. A savvy and talented individual, Ali rose through the ranks and was eventually appointed Pasha of the region, the Ottoman equivalent of a governor, in 1788. He benefited from Albania’s remoteness from Constantinople and governed the region as an autonomous despot intent on enriching himself and his clan. He was intelligent, charming, charismatic, ruthless, and brutal. Captured enemy leaders were roasted alive. Men from rebellious villages were executed, the women and children sold into slavery to intimidate other villages into submission during the day while he entertained the likes of British poet Lord Byron and the French diplomat François Pouqueville in the evenings. He was a political opportunist who allied himself with anyone he thought served his interests. By 1819 Sultan Mahmud II had had enough of Ali’s deceit. Ali was captured and shot after a long siege of Ioannina, in Greece. His head was sent to the sultan and was publicly displayed, on a platter, in the sultan’s Constantinople palace.

Sadly, only the defensive walls that encircled the 10-acre fortress remain. Its mosque, barracks, and stables, along with Ali’s palace, which Byron one described as “splendidly ornamented with silk and gold,” have been lost to earthquake damage, and battles during WW1 and WW2. Now streets lined with small homes course through the site. Tepelena itself is a quaint town that’s worth exploring.

We had gotten off to an early start, as our destination for the end of the day was the Melesin Distillery in Leskovik, near the border with Greece, which also offered stylish, luxurious rooms. It was only 56 miles, 90 km, from the Tepelena Castle, but with a break for lunch and a stop at the Kadiut Bridge in the Langarica Canyon, it would take all day.

From Tepelena we followed the winding SH75 south along the Vjosa River Valley. It was a beautiful stretch of road, and we stopped many times to take landscape photos along the way. The valley narrows near the village of Këlcyrë, where in 198 BC the battle of the Aous raged between armies of the Roman Republic and the Kingdom of Macedon. It was an epic confrontation, and “the river ran red with the blood of 2000 dead and wounded.”

Aous is the ancient name for the Vjosa River which originates in the Pindus mountains of Greece, but from the Albanian border to the Adriatic Sea it’s called the Vjosa. The 168-mile-long waterway and its many tributaries are among the last free-flowing, wild rivers in Europe.  And since March 2023, 50,000 acres have been protected as the Vjosa Wild River National Park to ensure that the rivers within its boundary will never be dammed, mined, or dredged.

Across the river, overnight snow had covered the Nemërçka mountain ridges, and the pure white snowcap gleamed between a deep blue sky and verdant mountain slopes. On the other side of the road, we spotted the green domes of Teqja e Baba Aliut, a Bektashi (an Islamic Sufi mystic order,) pilgrimage site in the remote mountaintop village of Alipostivan. The site commemorates Baba Aliut, a ledendary figure who is believed to have ridden a white horse from Mecca to Albania, to save the country from paganism. Key supporters of the the Albanian National Awakening Ba Baba Abdullah, and Baba Dule Përmeti are also buried at the site. Knowing about the shrine now, I wish we had included it in our plans.

We reached Përmet around noon and headed to Guri i Qytetit, a very large bulbous rock that protrudes from the terrain along the river, like a wart on a witch’s nose. It’s a geological feature unique to Përmet with stairs that lead to the top, where we interrupted two young teenagers sharing their first cigarettes as they sat on the ruins of an ancient watch tower. There was a great view of the Vjosa River and the town.

Nearby we found Sofra Përmetare, a small restaurant that was booming with a Saturday lunch crowd, and we needed to have our coffee outside before an inside table was ready. Our lack of Albanian didn’t faze the owner, and he proudly called his son over to explain the menu to us. His English was excellent, explaining that he studied it in school and watched American TV programs. We really enjoyed Albanian food, and appreciated that vegetable dishes were always available, and that French fries didn’t automatically accompany every meal. In the more rural parts of the country it’s important to carry cash, as many restaurants, shops, and gas stations do not accept credit cards.

The side road cut through a wide valley planted with orchards and field crops. We were headed to the Ottoman-era Kadiut Bridge, built in the 1600’s across the Lengarica River as part of a caravan route that connected the Albanian coast through Përmet to Korce, Thessaloniki, and Constatinople. Locally, oxen laden with timber cut in the mountains hauled their loads to Përmet, the quickly growing regional center, over the bridge.

The old stone Ottoman bridges are truly graceful with their high arch design. But the real draw for folks to the bridge are the Llixhat e Bënjës, thermal hot springs at its base. Even in mid-April there was a sizeable crowd in various stages of undress enjoying the warm water.

On the Saturday afternoon that we followed the SH75 to Leskovik there was very little traffic, but we did notice a number of roadside memorials to the victims of car accidents. While Albanians are very friendly, they are extremely aggressive drivers who, I speculate, pour raki on the driver’s rule book, set it afire with a cigarette, and toss it out the window while they are driving. A newly paved roadway rose into the mountains and we stopped at a scenic overlook, where a historic plaque noted another Battle of the Aous was fought in the valley below the towering Nemërçka mountains in 274 BC between the armies of King Pyrrhus of Epirus (Greece,) and King Antigonus II Gonatas of Macedon.

The road wound, zigged and zagged, climbed, and fell through tall pine forests that covered the mountain slopes before it summited and continued its winding descent to Leskovik. The drive along the river and through the mountains was beautiful and the area is full of potential for outdoor enthusiasts to enjoy rafting, camping and hiking in the Vjosa Wild River National Park.

Under a stormy sky when we arrived, it was difficult to believe that the Ottomans established Leskovik as a summer resort for wealthy officials who owned estates in the region when it was under their control. Fortunately, we were pampered with a wonderful stay at the Melesin Distillery, truly a five-star boutique hotel in the wilderness of southern Albania. Its eight guest rooms upstairs are well designed, and nicely appointed with stylish furnishings, and great amenities.

The distillery makes raki with locally harvested grapes, and gin flavored with juniper berries hand-picked in the mountains. Grapes have been grown in the region for centuries and the area’s wineries were productive and known for producing a strong red wine from Mavrud, an indigenous grape varietal, during the communist years.

But after the fall of the regime in the 1990’s and the economic collapse that followed, many people moved away to find work abroad, and the vineyards surrounding Leskovik were abandoned or destroyed. The Melesin Distillery along with the Max Mavrud Winery are hoping to reinvigorate the area’s historic winemaking tradition. Our dinner was excellent, as was our breakfast the next morning. On the plaza in front of the distillery there is a fountain shaped like a wine cask at the base of a stately tree, and a statue of Jani Vreto renown as an important figure in the Albanian National Awakening in the 19th century, and his epic poem, Histori e Skënderbeut, History of Skanderbeg, dedicated to Albania’s national hero.

The Melesin Distillery in Leskovik was the perfect way station before we continued onto Voskopoja for its Orthodox churches, and Korce.

Till next time, Craig & Donna

P.S. We only scratched the surface of GjiroKaster, and should have planned for a two night stay in the beguiling town.

Albania Road Trip:   Apollonia & Upper Qeparo – A Journey Back Through Centuries

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We slowed to let a shepherd guide his flock across the road to Apollonia. An hour earlier the sky was brighter as we left Berat. Our intention for the day was to visit the Archaeological Museum of Apollonia before heading to Vlora, on the coast, and then continuing south to the Llogara Pass, for epic views of the Adriatic Coast before reaching our accommodation in Upper Qeparo, a semi-abandoned, old Albanian village, for the night. But the deepening grey sky was concerning. The sheep were now grazing on tufts of grass, growing in between parked cars, in the dirt parking lot at the foot of the hill below the archaeological park. A short uphill walk got our circulation going and brightened our mood.  A large group from a bus tour followed their pennant waving guide uphill, towards ruins still hidden from view.

We turned in the opposite direction to investigate the Sleeping Saint Mary Church and its Ardenica Monastery, and entered its courtyard through an arched gateway with a heavy wooden door.  Outside the refectory museum, staff had propped up large sections of a mosaic floor and were cleaning them with soapy water and a scrub brush.

The church and monastery date to 1282 when the Byzantine Emperor, Andronikos II Palaiologos, ordered their construction to celebrate his army’s victory over the Angevins during the defense of Berat a year earlier. Stones for the church, monastery and the other buildings that form a large defensive courtyard were quarried from the ruins of ancient Apollina.

As we walked around, it was interesting to see parts of old pillars, capitals and decorative elements randomly used amongst stone blocks to build the exterior walls. The Albanian national hero Skanderbeg and his bride Andronika Arianiti celebrated their marriage vows here in 1451.

It was this historical fact, and a fast-thinking priest, in 1967, that saved the church from the communist wrecking ball of Enver Hoxha’s atheist campaign to destroy churches across the country. The monastery building now houses a fascinating collection of antiquities from Illyrian, Greek, and Roman occupants of the city.

Founded in the 6th century BC, Apollonia was a prosperous seaport on the Adriatic Sea at the mouth of Vjosa River, and a strategic link on the Via Egnatia, a Roman road constructed in the 2nd century BC that connected the seaport to Constantinople, through what are now the modern countries of Albania, North Macedonia, Greece, and Turkey. The ancient city also grew wealthy from a trade route that followed the Vjosa River valley south and ended in Thessaloniki, Greece, on the Aegean Sea. At its height Apollonia was surrounded by two miles of defensive walls that protected a population of 60,000. The importance of the city slowly faded after a 243 AD earthquake altered the course of the Vjosa River and Apollina’s large harbor, which could hold 100 ships at a time, began to fill with silt. The city was eventually abandoned in the 4th century.

The archeological park is a vast site spread across rolling hills, but today the Temple of Apollo, with only its front façade intact, is the most complete ruin. Walking up the slope behind the temple, a panoramic view revealed fertile farmland separated from the Adriatic Sea by low hills, some of which had a series of doors carved into their hillside.

These are some of Hoxha’s estimated 750,000 military bunkers that the paranoid dictator built across Albania. At the top of the hill there was a very tranquil looking outdoor café/restaurant, that we pegged as the perfect spot for a break, but unfortunately it was still closed in mid-April when we visited. Fortunately, there was a second restaurant closer to the church that served excellent coffee, and was much appreciated on this chilly, damp day.

The weather refused to cooperate with our plans to explore the waterfront in Vlora, Albania’s third largest city, and we opted instead to have a quick lunch before driving on. Parking in this beach town can be particularly challenging, even in the shoulder season, and we opted for a cash-only, pay as you enter, parking lot. Surprisingly, the attendant was unable to break the bill we gave him, and he told us to wait as he disappeared around the corner at the end of the block in search of change. There were many expensive lunch options on the elegant, palm lined Rruga Aleksandër Moisiu, which hugged the beachfront in front of towering apartments. But this was lunch and it was just too dreary to sit outside. Fortunately, we stumbled across Taverna Dangëllia, a delightful place with an open grill, that was reassuringly busy on a weekday afternoon. We ordered a variety of traditional Albanian dishes, all delicious and inexpensive. Charmingly though, the one quirky thing about the place was the DJ, who fell asleep in his chair, as his music selections played on. Maybe Raki is the new melatonin.

While we were looking forward to some great views of the Adriatic from the route through the Llogara Pass, the grey day was challenging for landscape photography, and we decided to take a faster, more inland drive to Upper Qeparo along SH76. It was a more interesting drive than we had anticipated through the Shushices River Valley before crossing over the mountains to the Adriatic coast near Himarë.

We were zipping along when we suddenly passed a colossal arched memorial set back from the road. A quick U-turn brought us back to the Drashovica Monument. Erected in 1980, the monument was designed in the soviet art style that celebrates the collective effort and commemorates the Albanian resistance fighters who in 1920 liberated Vlora from the WW1 Italian occupiers who refused to leave, thereby defeating Italy’s plans to annex the country. The monument also commemorated the Battle of Drashovica in 1943, where communists and nationalist guerilla fighters united to defeat a larger German force, during a battle that lasted 20 days. Albania has a long history of fighting for its freedom, starting with Skanderbeg’s resistance to the Ottoman invasions in the 15th century and culminated with Albania liberating itself, without the help of the Allied armies, from Nazi occupation during WWII. Behind us an elderly man led a donkey down the embankment of the river toward the water.

Farther along we stopped at a narrow, suspended footbridge that hung over the river. It was a rickety lifeline to small hamlets tucked into the mountains across the river, the footbridge being their only route to the outside world. Though by the sheer number of sheep droppings at the beginning of the walkway it’s a fair assumption that shepherds move their flocks of sheep across it when they switch grazing pastures. That would have been quite a sight to see.

Just down from the bridge, set against a mountainous background, was a small cemetery with interesting headstones. Carved or etched into the granite blocks were photographic quality portraits of the deceased. Some were just tight headshots, while others were full length pictures that captured the individual in their traditional wardrobe. We found these stone tributes very moving.

We passed several other footbridges in various stages of collapse, as if they had been caught in destructive floodwaters. There was also an ancient stone bridge in the village of Brataj that I wish we had investigated, but the footpath down to it looked a little too rough for us to navigate. Shepherds ushering their livestock across the road were frequent occurrences. Though the most memorable herder was the gal in pink slippers urging her sheep into a different pasture.

An Albanian standoff happened in the middle of a bridge as a herd of cattle stopped traffic in both directions and refused to budge from the double yellow line, their owner nowhere in sight to encourage them to mosey along.

On the coastal road a small directional sign warned of the approaching turn to Upper Qeparo. We hesitated to commit as the lane looked more like a driveway between two buildings than a road suitable to follow up into the mountains. We cautiously followed the narrow sinuous road, dotted with homes built into the steep hillside covered with ancient olive trees, uphill around blind curves. We began tooting our horn occasionally now to warn any oncoming cars of our presence, after barely avoiding a fender-bender moments earlier. It was difficult enough on this roughly paved track to reach the village and we speculated about the villagers’ hardships when they only had donkeys or horses to traverse the mountain.

Somehow the host of the small guest house we had made a reservation with overbooked, and by the time we arrived all the rooms were taken. Luckily for us, her neighbor Veronika, the owner of Te Rrapi I Veronikes restaurant across the street, also rents rooms above the tavern, and had one available for the night. The room, although basic, was immaculate, and the gleaming floors were so clean we couldn’t bear to walk on them in our dusty shoes. We left our dirty footwear at the front door, and our hostess seemed to appreciate our nod to her high standards of cleanliness.

There was still plenty of time before dinner to explore, and we set off. The ancient village is set atop a 1500’ high haystack-shaped hill surrounded by steep mountains covered in scree, like an isolated volcanic island surrounded by ocean. Across the ravine on the outskirts of the village, the stone ruins of a small outpost called the Ali Pasha’s Tower, and the town’s cemetery above it, almost dissolved into the landscape in the late afternoon light. Mention of the ancient village first appears in Ottoman records of 1431, and then 1583 when it’s noted the village had 50 homes. Though archeological evidence unearthed at Karos Castle, just a short distance beyond the tower, suggests that the area has been inhabited since the Iron Age.

Sadly, the village has endured an exodus since the late 1950’s when the Albanian government built the road along the coast, thereby providing services and infrastructure to a new village, lower Qeparo, which boosted its residents’ economic prospects. The aftermath of Albania’s economic collapse in 1997 forced most of the remaining townspeople of Upper Qeparo to emigrate to countries in Europe or overseas for better economic opportunities. The old folks who stayed relied mostly on remittances from abroad to survive. The future prospects for Upper Qeparo are improving, with more tourists now frequently visiting this charming village, and former residents returning after years working abroad and reinvesting in it.

A large Billy goat commanded a boulder above us when we turned to wander the labyrinth of alleys that comprise the old town. Like a sentry, he eyed us but let us pass unchallenged. Occasionally we cut a path through abandoned homes with their roofless rooms opened to the elements, carefully placing our steps to avoid falling through any deteriorated floor beams. Sometimes we passed a freshly painted door boasting new brass hardware. A look up revealed new windows and a renovation proudly underway.

Farther along a cow, chased by her owner, entered the alleyway through the door of a long vacant home. The interior opened to the sky, and grass as thick as pasture grew where the floor used to be. Every now and then, between the buildings, we glimpsed distant views of the Adriatic Sea far below. Fig trees opportunistically grew through open windows, and untended olive trees arched over our heads. A few teenagers lazily kicked a soccer ball against the belltower base of St Mary’s Church, constructed in 1796.

Veronika didn’t offer a menu, but she enthusiastically invited us back into her kitchen where she explained the traditional dishes that she had created that day for dinner, and we were not dissappointed. Later, on the restaurant’s veranda, we capped a great day with a splendid dinner and glasses of Veronika’s husband’s homemade raki. We slept well.

Till next time,  Craig & Donna

Road Trip Tahiti: Black Sand, Waterfalls and Sunsets or Enjoying a Week in Paradise

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“What do you think about Tahiti?” Donna asked.  “I haven’t, honestly – it’s not on my radar.” “There’s this very good airline points sale to Papeete. I think we should go!” And so, we made it happen.  It’s one of our great pleasures in retirement, the ability to indulge our desire to see the world. Though the statement that Tahiti was not on my radar might not be exactly true.  James Michener’s Tales of the South Pacific might have been the first book I freely chose to read as a teenager, fifty-plus years ago; the catalyst was my dad’s dream of building a sailboat to sail around the world. Frustratingly, our sailing never extended beyond Long Island Sound, but the lifelong desire to explore had been instilled in me.

It was a long sixteen-hour flight from the east coast of the United States to San Francisco with a final connection to Papeete on Tahiti in French Polynesia. Arriving just before 9:00pm, we opted to taxi to our three-night apartment rental, Little Home Tahiti, a small studio apartment chosen for price, onsite parking, and short walking distance to the car rental agent – Tahiti Rent.

Checking into Little Home Tahiti was a bit unusual: instructions to access the key to the apartment building and garage door fob from a key box were hanging from a traffic signpost in front of the building (our payment, Tahiti has the prettiest currency, was to be placed there too.) The next morning, after excellent coffees at Kaūa’a Tahiti, just around the corner (they roast the coffee beans in the café), we walked a few short blocks to the Marché de Papeete, the town’s old central market.

The 2-story building still has several fruit and vegetable vendors, fish mongers and exotic flower stalls. Most of the space is now, though, is filled with folks selling handicrafts, souvenirs, and Tahitian black pearls, for the tourist trade. Afterwards we picked up our rental car – an easy procedure, with the caveat that we would need to vacuum out the beach sand, before returning the car. We thought this was an unusual request, as most car rental companies that we’ve used have provided this service. Not being local, I asked where I would accomplish this and was informed most gas stations have vacuums available. Easy enough in theory, but nine days later after stopping at five different gas stations, I was not able to find a vacuum pump. Upon returning the car the rental agent was ready to charge us an additional fee for a small amount of sand, difficult to avoid on Tahiti, on the car’s front floor, until I pointed out that we interrupted him from vacuuming a car when we pulled into the lot.

While the airfare to Tahiti, the largest island in French Polynesia, was relatively low, restaurants and hotels in this isolated paradise in the middle of the Pacific Ocean are expensive. This is the direct result of having to import nearly everything from France, China, the United States, Australia and New Zealand. So, to keep within a reasonable budget for nine nights, we chose to stay in three different self-catering apartments across the island. We’ve always enjoyed checking out the local grocery stores and markets during our travels, and enjoy cooking in. Food trucks were mentioned as a budget friendly alternative to restaurants; although good, we found these to be not nearly as inexpensive as you would think. Surprisingly, freshly caught tuna and mahi-mahi were reasonably affordable in restaurants and stores. We enjoyed preparing it several times during our stay.

Papeete, the capital of French Polynesia, is a small city with a population of roughly 27,000. Its popularity as a booming destination was never envisioned and the traffic in paradise is just as bad as NYC’s at rush hour, since most of the island seems to drive to work here. To help alleviate the morning and evening congestion they use a road zipper, moveable barrier systems, to reconfigure the incoming and outgoing lanes of traffic at rush-hour. The city’s antiquated footprint was inherited from the days when the town was viewed as only ever being colonial backwater.  Fortunately, the town is thoroughly walkable.

Surprisingly wonderful street murals grace the side of many otherwise dull city walls. Many of these beautiful pieces of art were sponsored by the Ono’u Festival, a street art event that has been held in Papeete since 2014. We used this street art map to help plot our walks around the different areas of the city. There are murals spread all across the city, but several of our favorites were located along the Rue Mgr Tepano Jaussen near the Cathédrale Notre-Dame de Papeete, a French colonial era church from 1875.

Closer to our temporary home, the Résidence Paraita, an apartment building, was totally immersed in an abstract design by the Spanish street artist Okuda, which we could see from the balcony of our apartment.

We also enjoyed the walk along the waterfront promenade to Pā’ōfa’i Gardens and the Papeete Marina, where it was interesting to see the different home ports painted on the stern of wandering sailors’ boats. San Francisco, Sydney, Barcelona, Paris, Rio. The boat crews enjoying a safe anchorage before continuing their journey.

Further along we had drinks at the over-water tiki bar of the Restaurant Le Moana and watched with amazement as the bay in front of us filled with just off from work Tahitians who took to the water in Polynesian outrigger canoes, called “va’a,“ and larger longboats, practicing in preparation for a number of races around the islands that take place each year.

The longest and largest, with over 100 teams participating, is the Hawaiki Nui Va’a Race, in which six-person crews paddle across 79 miles of ocean in three days. Starting in Huahine they visit Raiatea, and Tahaa before beaching their canoes on Bora Bora.

This is one of many races around Tahiti keeping alive the nautical heritage of their Mā’ohi, ancient ancestors’ incredible ocean-going feats in search of new horizons. Folks stayed on the water until sunset, one of the most colorful we experienced while on the island. The last of the day’s inter-island ferries sailed toward the sunset.

Also on the waterfront in Place Jacques Chirac is a full-size replica of an ancient Polynesian wa’a kaulua, a double-hulled, long distance, sailing canoe. Just looking at it made us realize what an amazing accomplishment it was for the early Polynesians to cross vast stretches of unforgiving ocean.

Walking back through town we stopped at Vini Vini Fish N’Chill for dinner. It’s a small casual place, with inside and outside tables, that grew as an off-shoot from the families long-line fishing fleet and serves poke bowls, tartines – a French open face sandwich with various toppings, sushi and of course burgers. Occasionally they’ll host a ukulele band outside on the sidewalk.

Outside Papeete the traffic eases tremendously and we took several short day-trips out into the surrounding area, traveling along the north coast to the Pointe Vénus lighthouse in Māhina. Built in 1867, on a black sand peninsular that juts into Matavai Bay, it was the first lighthouse built in the South Pacific and equipped with a powerful beam that could be seen by ships 215 miles out to sea. It takes its name from an event on Captain James Cook’s first voyage around the world, when on June 3rd, 1769, Cook and his accompanying astronomer Charles Green set up equipment to observe the transit of Venus, a small black dot, travelling across the Sun. From the shore here looking north the blues of the sea gradated seamlessly into the sky, a vast endless emptiness that Polynesians explored and found Hawaii, 2600 miles away, 1200 years ago. The brightly painted Église Getesemane de Mahina along the road to the lighthouse was definitely a worthy photo stop that epitomized the Tahitian celebration of color.

Later we headed to the O Belvédère, a remote French restaurant, located in the foothills of 7,352 ft Mount ‘Orohena, the island’s tallest peak and the highest mountain in French Polynesia. The restaurant is only open for lunch and dinner Friday – Sunday. Unfortunately, we visited earlier in the week, but the staff kindly let us take in the breathtaking views, over the rugged foothills which extend to the coast, from its balconies.

It’s definitely a destination restaurant and part of its allure is the harrowing 3.5 mile drive, not for the faint of heart, up a single-track, heavily potholed road through dense jungle-like forest that dead ends at the restaurant. There was barely room for the rare oncoming car to pass. It’s not a drive we would undertake in the dark. Guided hikes to Mount ‘Orohena and 4×4 safaris into the mountains can be arranged through local tour operators, as there are not any roads that cross Tahiti’s mountainous interior. One the way back to Papeete we passed and then circled back to photograph the Mairie de Pirae, the local town hall, a beautiful example of French colonial architecture that seemed out of place on the tropical island.

The morning of our checkout from Little Home Tahiti, just as we had finished our coffee and zippered the suitcases, the power to our building went out. Not usually a big deal, but we were staying on the 5th floor and the car was in the underground parking. The heat and humidity builds quickly in the tropics without A/C. We called our host for a situation update, only to be informed that it was an island wide power outage, something that, it turns out, happens rather frequently. The big question for us, was the electric gate to the underground garage functioning? We were reluctant to walk down seven flights with only the emergency stairwell lights and the weak flashlights on our cell phones. After an hour of indecisiveness, I slowly carried our suitcases downstairs to the car and was very relieved to find the gate wide open. I parked the car on the street, called Donna and relayed, “We’re free – let’s go!”

The intersections required caution as the traffic lights were also down, but once we followed Route 1 away from Papeete the prevalence of traffic circles was a blessing. From the air, the island of Tahiti is shaped like a flounder or beaver with a larger upper body and smaller tail. Similar to the way Tahiti Nui, the larger main island, connects to the smaller Tahiti Iti, at the narrow Taravao isthmus. It’s difficult to get lost on Tahiti considering the ring road, Route 1, is only 72 miles long and transverses a narrow coastal plain that encircles the island and separates the ocean from the abruptly steep mountainous interior. The road starts and ends in Papeete, with short spurs down the east and west coasts of Tahiti Iti. It’s a modest distance that we gave ourselves seven days to cover, split between exploration of the island and R&R. Our target at the end of the day, after multiple stops, Soul Rise in Nutae on Tahiti Iti, a rustic attached bungalow, with a private cabana and shared pool, for three nights.

Following the ring road east we stopped at the Arahoho Blowhole. It’s a geological curiosity, as it’s not the usual type of blowhole that exists right at the ocean’s edge and water is pushed up through a crack in the rock. Here water is vented quite a distance inland from the sea as a fine mist after being pushed back forcefully by the waves through an ancient, long and narrow lava tube. The park here has picnic tables and a black sand beach that surrounds a small cove that’s popular with surfers.

Located at the end of the road, almost directly across the street from the blowhole, the Fa’aruma’i Waterfalls were beautiful. This first was an easy walk from the parking area, but the second two are reached by an eroded and rocky trail that took some effort for us to negotiate before crossing a rickety suspension bridge and climbing farther into the hills. There were numerous photo stops along this drive, especially at the bridges over the rivers, that give a glimpse into Tahiti’s rugged, verdant interior.

Closer to Tahiti Iti, La Cascade de Pape’ana’ana was a hidden gem barely visible from the road. It’s a mysterious site with figures of a tribal chief and a woman carved into the stone face of a small waterfall. No one knows when or who created it. There were numerous waterfalls and beaches along the east coast of Tahiti Nui just waiting to be explored.

We reached Taravao late in the afternoon, at the time when most restaurants are closed until dinner. We opted to eat at the local McDonalds, something we rarely do, especially when traveling abroad. But we were pleasantly surprised with tasty McWraps, and the coffee was good. But one of the memorable things about this stop was the appearance of a young father and his daughter dressed in matching pinks tutus, enjoying each other’s company and lunch together. It’s not something every dad would do, and I would have loved to know the backstory, but I admired him for his self-confidence, and that he didn’t perceive this playfulness as eroding his masculinity, just a desire to please his little girl. Something I can relate to.

Afterwards we stopped at the local Carrefour, which was as fully stocked as any supermarket in France, though the prices were through the roof, as high as if we were living in Paris. We purchased tuna, mahi-mahi, some vegetables, salad, and a fresh baguette for dinner. Croissants and French style pâtisseries were gathered for breakfast. A bottle of French rose’ and a 6 pack of locally brewed Hinano beer rounded out our purchases. Curiously, the beer’s distinctive and elegant “vahine” logo of a Tahitian woman wearing a red pareo was painted by a fellow from Sweden in 1953.

With the groceries put away and the beer in the fridge, we cooled off in the pool. Tahiti was one of our warmest vacations with daily temperature in the mid-80Fs, with high humidity. Usually we target locales with spring-like weather. Fortunately, along the coast there was always a cooling breeze blowing in from the ocean.

The next morning, we walked a short distance and crossed the road to a black sand beach, created eons ago from volcanic eruptions. Following the local folks’ example lead we rinsed off after our swim under a pipe, driven into the hillside like a spout into a barrel, gushing spring fed water from the highlands.

Later we headed to Tautira for lunch at Le Bout du Monde, which sounds so elegant in French, but translates as “The End of the World,” and aptly describes the locale, with the coast of South America nearly 5,000 miles east. The road literally stops here, as there is not a coastal plain around the southern tip of Tahiti Iti that is suitable for a road. The mountains descend into the sea here. Folks live along this isolated eastern coast but need to use boats to get to their homes. Rustic simplicity best describes Le Bout du Monde, with its walk-up ordering window, and wallboard menu. There were several dishes listed, but I think they only serve the catch-of-the-day. Picnic tables were around the back under shade trees at the edge of the ocean. Only us and another couple were there. The fish was delicious!

Afterwards we took our time walking along Tautira’s beautiful black sand beach set against the mountains. On the way home we noticed people standing by the roadside in front of their homes. Some were holding umbrellas to shield themselves from the intense sun. Soon a van stopped and handed the people waiting a paper bag, with tan colored oblong shapes protruding from the top. Aha! We realized folks had been waiting for their rural baguette delivery, fresh from the bakery. It’s so wonderfully French.

We have never surfed, though we were intrigued by the spectacular photos captured of the surfers riding the famous Teahupo’o Barrel Wave, located off the west coast of Tahiti Iti. The next morning, we drove to the village of Teahupo’o on the opposite side of Iti, where there are a number of boat operators, and booked a tour with Michael, the owner of Teahupoo Excursion Taxi Boat.

Though the conditions were not right to form the famous curl that day, we still enjoyed our time on the water and the dramatic perspective it provided looking back at the mountainous coastline. The 2024 Summer Olympic Surfing event will be held at Teahupo’o.

Afterwards we enjoyed a scenic drive to the Belvédère de Taravao in Iti’s highlands. The inaccessible Mount Ronui, standing at 4370 feet, is the highest point on Tahiti Iti. The Belvédère de Taravao, at 1800 feet, offers an expansive view of the Taravao isthmus that includes the east and west coasts of Tahiti Nui.

For the last four days we headed back to Tahiti Nui and drove along the west coast towards Papeete, stopping to take pictures numerous times. Gardneners ourselves, we especially enjoyed the Water Gardens Vaipahi and the Grottes De Mara’a, where we followed the paths through colorful specimen plantings and noticed, not for the first time, the ubiquitous free range roosters, hens, and chicks that seem to roam everywhere in Tahiti.

At Taharuu Beach we practiced our sports photography skills, capturing surfers riding the waves, an activity we could spend hours engrossed in, but the weather just wouldn’t cooperate fully.

Later that afternoon we arrived at Bungalow Poerava in Punaauia and were blown away by its dramatic location. It’s a small apartment next to the owner’s home that’s cantilevered out over a steep hillside.

This construction gave it a splendid Robin Crusoe treehouse feel. It had a fully equipped outdoor kitchen, and porch and seating area boasted a view of Moorea in the distance. It was one of the nicest apartments we’ve every stayed in during our years of travel. Oh, and it had an avocado tree laden with fruit hanging over the entry stairs. We didn’t want to leave!

Normally we never just stay still and chill while traveling, but the setting here was perfect for kicking back, reading and enjoying a glass of wine on the shaded deck. We explored the surrounding area in the mornings but made sure we were back to enjoy the sunset.

We divided our mornings between exploring cultural sites and swimming at beaches sheltered by the island’s surrounding reefs before returning for the day. The Museum of Tahiti and The Islands is a Polynesian ethnographic museum and has a fascinating collection of ancient artifacts collected from across the Tahitian islands. Later we enjoyed the food trucks at Parc Vaipoopoo, before enjoying the soothing bath-like waters of the Plage publique de Toaroto’s white sand beach.

The next day at ‘Ārahurahu Marae, an ancient Polynesian place of worship, a striking stone moai guarded the entrance to the religious site. Though smaller than its famous cousins on Easter Island, there was a definite resemblance. A large marae, an ancient ceremonial altar, constructed from lava stones and coral was at the rear of the site, where human sacrifices were once held centuries ago.

Afterwards we savored our last swim on Tahiti in the gentle waves of Plage Vaiava. Tomorrow we would head to the Port of Papeete to board Variety Cruises’ Panorama II for a sailing adventure to Bora Bora.

Till next time, Craig & Donna

–

Road Tripping Through Andalucia: The Pueblos Blancos of Ubrique, Villaluenga del Rosario and Arcos de la Frontera

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Just below the northern horizon, a white brushstroke highlighted the verdant canvas before us as we savored the view from the top of the castillo in Castellar de Frontera one last time. That swath of white slowly changed into Jimena de la Frontera as we drove closer. One of Andalucia’s famed Pueblos Blancos, the village is set on the hillside below the ruins of its ancient castle which once protected it.

In ancient times the homes in villages featured roughhewn stone masonry. Lime paint was a luxury, until its use was greatly expanded during the mid-1300’s when a bubonic plague pandemic swept through the Mediterranean countries. Residents of villages were required yearly to cover the outside and the interiors of their homes and churches with a limewash, known for its natural anti-bacterial and insecticidal properties, in an effort to reduce the spread of disease. Community inspections were done, and folks were fined for noncompliance. This mandated conformity was eventually appreciated as an aesthetically pleasing look and a symbol of meticulous tidiness. Fortunately, the custom stayed and has become an iconic signature of southern Andalusia.

Villaluenga del Rosario was our ultimate destination for the day, but before that we would be driving through the expansive forests of Parque Natural Sierra de Grazalema and stopping along the way in Ubrique, and Benaocaz. All pueblos blancos, though all different in size, setting and atmosphere. According to our maps app the trip would take 2 hours. But it was a glorious 58-mile sinuous route through the mountains, and with several stops it took us most of the day.

The vast 130,000-acre Parque Natural Sierra de Grazalema, with peaks reaching 5400 feet, is one of the wettest areas in Spain, receiving almost 80 inches of rain a year. This is surprising, considering that many areas in Andalucia are often used to replicate the American southwest for European filmmakers. These wet conditions over many millennia have created a dramatic karstic landscape of shear mountains, lush valleys and caves, especially Pileta Cave with its 30,000 year old prehistoric paintings. The park’s lower elevations feature forests of cork oak, carob, hawthorn, and mastic. Higher slopes transition to a landscape of gall oaks and Spanish fir, a tree species that survived the last Ice Age. This ecosystem supports a diverse fauna that contains 136 species of birds, most notably a large population of griffon vultures, and 42 mammal species, that include foxes, badgers, roe deer, otters, and Spanish ibex. And in ancient times it was the refuge of wild, now extinct, aurochs, the ancestor of the famous Spanish Fighting Bulls, toro bravo. The park has been a UNESCO Biosphere Reserve since 1977.

Farmers still harvest cork and olives amidst the rocky terrain and graze cattle, sheep, and goats within the park. This practice made for an interesting encounter when we rounded a curve and faced a VERY LARGE BULL standing in the middle of the road, adjacent to some pasture. We stopped, looked around for his farmer, but there was no one in sight. It was obvious he was the king of this domain, with no intention of moving aside until he felt like it. Slowly we inched forward and watched him eye us until he decided to saunter across the road and let us pass.

Ubrique is a large thriving town with 17,000 inhabitants set in a valley surrounded by tall peaks and steep scree slopes, its homes built above and around boulders too large to move. The town’s prosperity comes from its fine leather workshops, which account for 60% of the townspeople being employed directly or indirectly in the creation of leather products. It started simply enough with leather cases and pouches to carry tobacco and the Precise, a heavy-duty strap that allowed workers to safely carry silex stones and iron bricks.

By the mid-1700s their fine leather products and artisanal craftsmanship was recognized across Europe which fueled an export industry. The good fortunes of the town continued to grow until the mid-2000 when clients seeking higher profit margins moved their leather goods production to China and other Asian countries. Fortunately, their exodus did not last long, and they returned to Ubrique when they realized that the excellent craftsmanship in this small Andalucian town could not be rivaled by cheap labor. Today Ubrique is considered the “artisanal leather capital, “ for high-end fashion brands like Chloe, Gucci, Hermes and Louis Vuitton. “So many stores, so little time.” Of course, we shopped! The decision-making process was painful, but Donna managed to select one single beautiful purse to take home.

In March the twisting roads, higher into the mountains, were nearly void of traffic. Occasionally a campervan passed. Reaching Benaocaz, we parked and strolled through a nearly empty town square in search of coffee. It was a quiet weekend afternoon in the shoulder season, and few people were about, but luckily, we happened to come across Restaurante Nazari, a rustic restaurant with outside tables that had a view of the valley below the town.

Villaluenga del Rosario was only a little farther, and higher into the mountains. The village is dramatically set along one side of a narrow green valley at the base of a sheer mountain massif. The lane to our inn, the Tugasa La Posada, looked too narrow to drive down, and I was concerned about getting to a point that required backing up. A difficult task in an alley barely wider than our rental car, and there was plenty of parking above the village.  La Posada wonderfully reflects the typical inn of centuries past, with a large tavern, featuring regional recipes, on the ground level and a handful of rooms above.

Several things are unique to this pueblo: Snowy winters are common in the Sierra de Grazalema Natural Park’s highest village, situated at an elevation of 2800ft. It is also the smallest village in the Province of Cadiz, with only 438 residents. And the village has a unique octagon shaped bullring, built around a natural rock formation, that is the oldest in Cadiz Province, dating from the mid-1700s. The exact year of construction for the bullring isn’t known, as the town’s archives were lost in a 1936 fire. Located on an important cattle trading route through the mountains, the bullring was also used as a corral during livestock festivals.

But before domestic cattle were raised in the area, prehistoric people used to pursue auroch, a wild bull that lived in the Sierra de Grazalema until it was hunted to extinction in the Middle Ages. Nearby in Cueva de la Pileta, primitive cave paintings of bulls have been dated to the Paleolithic era 27,000 years ago. The famous fighting bulls of Spain, Toro Bravo, descend from this primal auroch lineage that once roamed wild. Ancient pagan festivals often conducted a running of the wild bulls, tethered to a group of men by a long rope, through their villages before a ritual sacrifice.  “Toro de Cuerda'”(Bull on Rope) festivals, are thought to be the foundation of the modern Spanish Bull Fight, and are still held in Villaluenga del Rosario, Grazalema, and Benamahoma. With the advent of Christianity some of these pagan elements were incorporated into church celebrations of a pueblo’s patron Saint. In Grazalema the early church Christianized the practice and includes the Feast of the Bull in celebrations to the Virgen del Carmen every July. Benamahoma’s “Toro de Cuerda” is held in August during their festival to honor the town’s patron saint, Anthony of Padua.

This tranquil village has gone through some turbulent times in its past. Villaluenga del Rosario, known for its woolen textiles in the 17th century, did not escape Napoleon’s destruction as his troops retreated across the mountains after they abandoned their siege of Cadiz in 1812. French troops sacked the village and torched the old Church of El Salvador. Now only the walls and roof arches remain, open to the sky. The sanctuary is now used as a cemetery.  The economy declined throughout the region in the 1800s and early 1900s, and the mountains were beset with bandits. Notoriously, José María El Tempranillo and Pasos Largos, the most infamous of the Sierra’s outlaws, would frequent the village and hideout in the surrounding caves. They are celebrated as Robin Hood bandoleros, robbing the wealthy and redistributing their stolen goods to help the poverty-stricken locals – Andalucia’s mountain justice. These same caves in the 1930s would shelter Republican resistance fighters escaping Fascist troops during the Spanish Civil War. A hiking trail, Los Llanos del Republicano, from the village to caves is named after them.

The rural population continued to emigrate, contributing to further economic deterioration until the villages’ employment prospects improved with the opening of a cheese factory, Queso Payoyo, in 1997. The Payoyo goat is an ancient breed from the Sierra de Grazalema and considered endangered. Since Queso Payoyo opened 25 years ago, its goat and sheep cheeses have received 175 national and international awards. Thirty-five farms now supply Payoyo goat and Merina grazalemeña sheep milk to the cheesemaker. Their shop just across the road from the village seems to be a Mecca for cheese aficionados. Open seven days a week, we were surprised to find it packed with customers early on a Sunday morning, when we stopped to buy some cheese before we headed to Benamahoma.

It was a beautiful crisp spring day, and we enjoyed a slow walk uphill into the village. Next to the Plaza de las Huertas the façade of the Ermita/mezquita de San Antonio, a church/mosque, visually represents Benamahoma’s complex cultural identity, with Moorish horseshoe-shaped arches and three golden spheres topped by with a gold crescent, typically seen on minarets, atop its tower.

This region in Spain has a very complicated history, beginning with Alfonso X’s Reconquista which started in the mid-1200s, paused, then continued for the next 400 years with his successors. Benamahoma was the last Moorish village in the mountains to have its inhabitants expelled from the region in 1609, eighteen years after Grazalema’s Muslim villagers were forced out, though the hamlets are only nine miles apart. Their reprieve was caused by the fact that although Alfonso X and later Kings achieved military victories, they did not have enough troops to garrison each village, nor sufficient numbers of willing Christian settlers from Northern Spain to repopulate the conquered towns. Consequently, to keep the economy of the area going and subjects to collect taxes from, Moors were allowed to stay as long as their local Princes swore allegiance to a Christian King and declared themselves loyal vassals.  This did not always go smoothly and there were rebellions. Most famously the Mudéjar Revolt in 1264, when the towns of Jerez, Lebrija, Arcos, and Medina-Sidonia were recaptured and occupied by Moors for several years before Christian armies secured the towns once again. 

Benamahoma’s historic, pragmatic tolerance is celebrated the first weekend every August with a Moros y Cristianos Festival. Carrying swords, shields and blunderbusses, historical reenactors dressed in period clothing parade through the village to the bullring, where they then engage in mock hand-to-hand combat. The battles are won with the capture of an image of San Antonio de Padua by the Moors on Saturday and then won by Christians on Sunday with the rescue of his image. Many of the positions in the opposing armies are hereditary, the tradition being passed down from father to son, through the generations. Benamahoma is the only village in western Andalucia which celebrates this festival.

This village’s remoteness in the Sierra de Grazalema did not protect it from the atrocities committed during the Spanish Civil War. Near the bullring, in the Parque de Memoria Historica, silhouettes stand where villagers once stood against a wall before they were massacred by Fascists. Sadly, this memorial is also near the village’s second church, the Iglesia de San Antonio de Padua.

Backtracking as we headed to Arcos de la Frontera, we stopped at a radio station above El Bosque. A trail behind its tall antenna offered the perfect vantage point to capture a photo of the village below. We did not stop in El Bosque, but after catching glimpses of the village as we drove through, in hindsight we wished we had.  But there was a time constraint, we wanted to spend the afternoon exploring Arcos de la Frontera, before flying on to Barcelona the next morning. 

The A-372 between El Bosque and Arcos de la Frontera has to be one of the prettiest stretches of highway anywhere. With the reflection of the Sierra de Grazalema in our rearview mirrors, we wished we could have lingered longer.

I’ve always loved maps for researching routes, finding obscure sites, and figuring out the best vantage point to capture a landscape from. This brought us to our first two stops at the Molino de Angorrill, an old mill, and the Mirador Los Cabezuelos, before we entered the hilltop citadel. Both places along Guadalete River had wonderful views of the ancient city.

After this our map app failed us when it suggested we head the wrong way down a one-way calle into the village. We eventually found an underground parking garage at Parque El Paseo and towed our suitcases uphill to the Parador de Arcos de la Frontera.

It was LONG walk, but of course we stopped frequently to take photos. Located next to the 500-foot-high Mirador Plaza del Cabildo and adjacent to the Basílica de Santa María de la Asunción and the Castillo de los Duques de Arcos, the hotel was a perfect base for a one-night stay. Formerly the Casa del Corregidov was an Andulcian palace before it was acquired by the government and renovated to be a parador in 1966.

Arcos has always been a favored spot, appreciated for its access to abundant water sources and its easily defensible position atop a cliff face. It has hosted settlements since the Neolithic period, Bronze Age, Tartessians, Phoenicians and Romans periods.

The village continued to grow under the Moors and while the facades and interior of buildings in this ancient town have changed over the centuries the original Arab footprint of the village, with its exceedingly narrow lanes has remained the same.

The view from the mirador and the hotel’s patio were phenomenal during the golden hour. As the sun was setting, a large flock of storks appeared over the bell tower of the Basilica and circled for about fifteen minutes before flying away. It was a magical experience that nicely capped our short time in Arcos.

The next morning, we watched the sun rise over the Sierra de Grazalema and the village’s church steeples from our hotel room, before wandering through the village’s ancient lanes one last time.

Till next time,

Craig & Donna

A New Mexico Road Trip: Earth, Sky, & Art

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One of the things we enjoy most about traveling is picking the brains of folks we’ve had the pleasure of meeting throughout our journeys. Whether it’s a tip from a car rental agent about an isolated restaurant in the Azores or from a young Italian attorney who shared her love of Cadiz, Spain, with us, we try to follow through. Sometimes acting immediately, but mostly tucking the tips away into the deep recesses of our minds to consider in the future.

When the same question is asked of us about the best places to see in the United States, Albuquerque, Santa Fe and Toas in New Mexico immediately top our list as the most unique destination in the USA. Maybe I’m a little cynical with an over-simplified view that the United States is mostly a homogenized mass of sameness that spans 3000 miles from the Atlantic to Pacific, mostly sharing the same landscapes, urban architecture, and strip malls with the same ubiquitous retailers – Home Depot, Starbucks, Panera, Pizza Hut and McDonalds – from coast to coast. Yes, the same is true, though to a much smaller degree, of the urban sprawl that surrounds Albuquerque. Though here you’ll find Blake’s Lotaburger, frito pies, piñon coffee, frybread-style sopapillas, and pozole (a hominy dish) along with parking lots filled with roasters full of Hatch green chilies every September when the harvest comes in and that wonderful aroma fills the air. We hope these photos and this story pique your interest in New Mexico, an endlessly beautiful, culturally diverse, artistic, and quirky place that is truly the “Land of Enchantment.” And a destination we always enjoy exploring.

Start in the Petroglyph National Monument, then follow Central Ave (Old Rt66), from the original adobe buildings of Old Town, circa 1706, east across town up to the Knob Hill area around the University of New Mexico and beyond to the Tijeras Pueblo Archaeological Site and the beginning of The Turquoise Trail. You will have spanned several millennia from the oldest petroglyphs dating from 2000 BC to the present and a blending of cultures that is refreshing. It’s a remarkable stretch of history for a young country that typically dates itself to the English colonies of Jamestown – 1607, and Plymouth – 1620.

A 2013 archeological excavation in northern New Mexico unearthed stone tools used to butcher a mammoth, and radiocarbon testing dated them to be 36,000 years old. These tools are attributed to some of the first people that migrated across the Bering Sea from Asia, the ancestors of Native Americans. Jump forward 35,000 years and you have pueblo Indians living in settlements along the Rio Grande Valley and across northern New Mexico. Their first contact with Europeans comes with a back story and cast of characters worthy of the best fiction writers.

It starts with orders from the Holy Roman Emperor Charles V (Charles I of Spain) to Álvar Núñez Cabeza de Vaca (from Jerez de la Frontera, near Cadiz, from that great tip earlier) authorizing him to colonize the region between Río Soto la Marina, Mexico, and what is now Tampa, Florida, a distance of 1500 miles. Tragically believing the distance between the two was only 45 miles, Cabeza de Vaca landed north of Tampa in April 1528 with 300 men and forty horses. Unable to rendezvous with their ships, the expedition was doomed. Traveling west across the top of the gulf towards the nearest Spanish settlement of Tampico, Mexico they encountered alligators, venomous snakes, and hostile natives. They were captured, enslaved, beset by disease-bearing mosquitos; they crossed numerous creeks, swamps and rivers. By the time they reached the “Isle of Misfortune,” Galveston, Texas a year later, only 15 remained.  They crossed the Rio Grande near El Paso. With the help of friendly tribes, Cabeza de Vaca and three others, Alonso del Castillo, Andrés Dorantes de Carranza, and his slave Esteban the Moor survived an eight-year Homeric ordeal, that took them across the Mexican desert to the Pacific Ocean before being reunited in 1536 with their compatriots in Mexico City. The three Spaniards were rewarded with titles and land by the King. Cabeza de Vaca became the Viceroy of Paraguay, gained political enemies and was unjustly tried in Spain and imprisoned in North Africa. It is not known if Esteban the Moor was granted his freedom, but he was not forgotten.

De Vaca and his fellow survivors had returned with legends heard from the Indians they encountered of fabulous riches farther inland. These stories of insurmountable wealth were still fresh in everyone’s minds two years later when Friar Marcos de Niza (from Nice, France) arrived in Mexico City after leading the first groups of Franciscans into Peru with Spanish conquistadors to conquer the Inca civilization. In hope of finding the fabled “Seven Cities of Gold,” a treasure that allegedly rivaled that of the Aztecs and Incas civilizations, the Viceroy of Mexico planned an expedition headed by Friar Marcos de Niza, along with Esteban the Moor who had the most knowledge of the area’s tribes, and their customs. It seems from reading various accounts that Esteban led, and Friar Marcos followed. They both were the first foreigners, a North African slave and a European, to explore the area we now recognize as the American Southwest. This is 27 years before the founding of St. Augustine, in Florida in 1565. Friar Marcos claimed Esteban the Moor was killed near a Zuni pueblo when he reached one of the “cities of gold.” Marcos also claimed to have seen a city larger than Mexico City, with buildings nine stories high glittering on the horizon. Dream, mirage, a pueblo glowing like a sunset – a lie? Wanting to avoid Esteban’s fate, the Friar ventured no further and returned to share his exploits in Mexico City. The lust for gold was consuming and a year later, in 1540, Francisco Vázquez de Coronado led an expedition of 400 hundred soldiers with 1500 native porters and Friar Marcos north again to attain that treasure. And boy was he miffed when they reached the Zuni tribe and found nothing but a “poor pueblo.” Accusing Friar Marcos of lying, he sent him back to Mexico. Coronado’s expedition would stay in the region for two years, traveling in several smaller groups west as far as the Grand Canyon and east into Texas and Kansas. They never discovered gold though they did travel through areas where it would be discovered centuries later. They returned emptyhanded. It would be 53 years before Spaniards ventured north again.

In 1595 King Philip II of Spain chose Don Juan de Oñate to colonize the upper Rio Grande valley. In 1598 he led an expedition north that included 20 Franciscan missionaries, 400 settlers, 129 soldiers, 83 wagons, plus livestock, with the stated mission from the Pope to spread Catholicism. But there was still hope that the evasive “Seven Cities of Gold,” would finally be discovered. Fording the Rio Grande near present day El Paso, he proclaimed all the lands north of the river “for God, the Church, and the Crown.” Life in the new territory under Oñate was severe. Some settlers urged a return to Mexico when silver was not discovered, and Oñate executed the dissenters. Pueblos that refused to share winter food stocks needed for their own survival were brutally suppressed into submission. The Spanish imposed the encomendero on the pueblo tribes. This was a colonial business model that granted conquistadores or ordinary Spaniards the right to free labor and tribute from the indigenous population. In return Nuevo México encomiendas were obligated to “instruct the Indians in the Roman Catholic faith and the rudiments of Spanish civilization.” The free land and free Indian labor promised with the encomendero was also used as a recruiting tool to encourage settlers to venture north from Mexico. The pueblos did not submit willingly; any resistance was forcibly repressed until the Pueblo Revolution in 1680. Four-hundred Spaniards died, including 21 priests, but there were almost 2000 Spanish survivors. Warriors followed the fleeing refugees all the way to El Paso to ensure their expulsion from Indian territory. But by then there were three generations of intermarriage, along with shared ideas, technology and customs.

When the Spanish returned 12 years later, they did not try to reimpose the encomendero, and returning missionaries displayed more tolerance of indigenous religious beliefs. Spain instead sought to enlist the Pueblo tribes as allies to resist French and British empire expansion farther west. The vast area claimed by Coronado and Oñate became part of the United States with the Treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo, which ended the Mexican-American War in 1848. It’s a fascinating multilayered history that continues to contribute to New Mexico’s uniqueness.

But enough about history. Land at the Albuquerque International Sunport, rent a car and hit the road. Head north on Rt25, with the Sandia Mountain Range glowing in the late afternoon light on your right and a spectacular sunset in the west. This sublime experience could be the beginning of a long love affair with the state, as it was for us. The expansive vistas and sky, along with incredible light and dramatic ever-changing weather out here are just awesome, especially if it’s your first time to the Southwest. Fair warning: the state can become addictive with endless ways to satisfy your wanderlust.

The ruins of the old Spanish missions in the Salinas Valley and Mountainair are south of Albuquerque. Route 40 East will take you to the beginning of the Turquoise Trail, a splendid backroad route that gracefully curves, rises and falls through the rugged foothills of the Sandia and Ortiz mountains as it follows NM14 north for 65 miles. Pass through the historic towns of Golden, Madrid, Cerrillos and San Marcos just south of Santa Fe. Follow Route 40 West to see the amazing rock drawings at the Petroglyph National Monument or continue farther to the Zuni Reservation, mentioned earlier.

Veer off Rt25 and head to Jemez Springs where you’ll find, red rock canyons, old logging roads and hot springs. Farther along in the Valles Caldera National Preserve you can see herds of elk grazing in a 13-mile-wide meadow that is now all that remains of a collapsed volcano cone after a massive ancient eruption.

Nearby the 11,000-year-old cliff dwellings carved into the canyon walls of Bandelier National Monument are a must stop. There are plenty of interesting detours and quirky stops to make along the way.

Santa Fe and Toas lie in the mountains farther north of Albuquerque and have been popular destinations with artists and writers since the early 1900s – D.H. Lawrence, Georgia O’Keefe and Ansel Adams and many others enjoyed the vibrant Indian and Hispanic cultures. Today Hollywood stars like Julia Roberts, Val Kilmer, Ted Danson, and Oprah Winfrey have homes in the area.

The city retains it early Spanish heritage with historic adobe buildings surrounding Santa Fe Plaza. The Indian market is still held under El Portal in front of the Palace of the Governors, the oldest continually occupied public building in the United States, since its construction in 1610.

The region continues to support artists and craftspeople with numerous galleries, festivals, and fairs. A stretch of 80 art galleries in old adobe buildings along Canyon Road belies its ancient roots as part of El Camino Real, The Royal Road, that ran 1600 miles to Mexico City. Famously Spanish settlers from Mexico introduced chili peppers into the region via this ancient trade route.

The landscapes north of Santa Fe continue to be intriguing, with Black Mesa, sacred to Native Americans, and the Puye Cliff Dwellings which run along the base of a mesa for over a mile. Stairs and paths cut into the cliff face led to adobe structures atop the mesa’s plateau. East of Espanola, the Santuario de Chimayo, built in 1816, still attracts pilgrims seeking miraculous cures from its “healing dirt.”

Heading into the mountains of northern New Mexico, the durability and sustainability of well-maintained adobe structures are evident in the elegant San Francisco de Asis Catholic Mission Church in Rancho de Taos, which dates from 1772.

Impressive Taos Pueblo, a multi-storied residential complex, has been continually occupied since its construction in the 1400s. Today nearly 150 people continue to live traditionally in the pueblo, as their ancestors did, without running water or electricity.

Nearby the Rio Grande River Gorge fractures the earth like a lightning bolt. The view from the center of the bridge looking down into the chasm is magnificent and terrifying. Farther north as the river rises from the gorge it has a totally different character as it meanders through the high desert.

While this far north, it’s worth the effort to visit the Great Sand Dunes National Park and Preserve, located just across the state line in southern Colorado.

Over many thousands of years, sands blown across the high desert plains accumulated at the base of the Rocky Mountains here to form the tallest dunes in North America.

Wave when you see us!

Till next time, Craig & Donna

Nicaragua: The Dioromo Hipica – a Horse Parade

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Celebrating the equestrian lifestyle has been a Spanish tradition since the Middle Ages and followed early Spanish colonists across the Atlantic to Central and South America in the 1500s. In Nicaragua the tradition lives on in beloved hipicas, horse parades.

There are numerous Hípica festivals, held in towns large and small, across the country throughout the year. They are usually the main event of a town’s festivities marking their patron saint’s day. By pure luck, one February, we were able to experience the Dioromo Hipica which is one of many activities held to honor La Virgen de Candelaria in the small village of Dioromo, eleven miles away from Granada.

This was a wild and crazy event, with hundreds of cowboys, dancing horses, a bull riders, and pickups trucks loaded with brass bands parading through the village. The streets were crowded with onlookers.

Because we were standing close, we were occasionally smacked by a horse tail. There were life-size toy horses for kids to sit on and get their photo taken by their parents; small amusement rides and food stalls surrounded the town plaza.

Baile de Las Negras dancers in painted masks and ornate costumes performed before a large crowd in front of the church. Down the side streets a group of men carried aloft a tall statue of the Virgin door to door, to bring blessings to the households.

I think we were the only gringos there experiencing this wonderful local event.

Till next time, Craig & Donna