#travel ideas
Colma, California February 2017
Fun fact: With most of Colma’s land dedicated to cemeteries, the population of the dead outnumbers the living by over a thousand to one. This has led to Colma’s being called “the City of the Silent”
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Our first few days in Albania were spent at this spot, enjoying a rare moment of winter sunshine, waking up to the soft tinkling of goat bells and the distant braying of donkeys.
The glassy lake waters reflected the steely grey mountains and smoke stacks which rose upwards in the still air.
Sure the water was cold, and the nights were even colder, but that didn’t stop us from taking a refreshing dip in the mornings with little fish swimming around our ankles. The warm air tingled against our cold skin as we emerged, revitalised, and headed back to the van to brew up coffee.
It’s simple mornings like these that give us time to recharge our batteries, to bask in our surroundings and plan the next leg of our adventure. This is the simple life we so crave, detached from civilisation, and our van which affords us this moments as we drive into the depths of beyond in search of a wild place to just be for a little while.
When we arrived in Albania on an unseasonably warm January day our hearts were fraught with a mixture of emotions: comfort, familiarity, but also a degree of hesitation. We had fond memories of our time in this country, but were they simply painted bright by nostalgia, and would our second visit live up to expectation?
Our answers to these questions came on just our second day here.
We’d spent the day basking in sunshine, washing our van and dipping our bodies into the icy waters of Lake Prespa, and were just beginning to enjoy one of those spectacular Albanian sunsets which painted the mountains the particular shade of purple that was so ingrained into our memories. We went to fire up the engine but our van refused to start; the batteries were too flat, the air too cold. The engine got slower and slower until it had no juice left to give. We were now faced with the prospect of a night here with no power, no heating and no light; we’d seen approximately three cars all day and the light outside was rapidly fading.
Yet somehow, whether by miracle or fate or pure coincidence, a car approached just two minutes later. We waved them down, explained as best we could what had happened, and the man along with all six members of his family came over to help us. We had no jump leads but this didn’t deter him, and in the most Balkan display of ingenuity and problem solving he had our van running in no time by swapping our battery with the one from his car, starting the engine then swapping them back around while it was still running. He even fixed the loose positive terminal with a screw.
Feeling like we’d been a burden we offered him a shot of rakia as a thank you and his face lit up; they then immediately invited us to join them for their son’s birthday party at a nearby restaurant. Instead of spending a cold, dark night in our van we spent the evening drinking, sampling local cuisine, having conversations via Google Translate, eating homemade baklava and birthday cake and toasting each member of the table with a hearty, “ë!”
What a welcome back into Albania.
Our last few days in Macedonia were spent enveloped in a freezing fog which shrouded our view and promised snow which never came. We woke up daily to frost inside the windscreen and icicles hanging off our van. The fog wrapped itself around every plant, every rock and every being, leaving each wrapped in thick kisses of ice, turning the entire landscape silver and white without a snowflake ever falling from the sky.
We were camped up on the peaceful shores of Lake Prespa, undisturbed by anyone, wrapped up in thick layers of blankets against the minus temperatures outdoors.
Truthfully, the Macedonians were used to colder climates this time of year, and -7°C at night was the result an unseasonably mild winter; we had returned to the country expecting snow, and we were leaving disappointed on that front.
But we were leaving confident that we had made the right decision to return; after cutting our time here short to leave for Greece in December we’d been aching to explore more of the country, and we’d been fortunate enough to enjoy an extra two weeks here getting to know the southern regions and the Macedonian way of life.
We’d met some lovely people, experienced welcoming in the Orthodox New Year with rakija and fireworks, witnessed the crazy tradition of jumping into ice cold water on Epiphany Day, sampled delicious food and learned so much about a country that had never even been on our radar.
That morning we left for Albania with conflict in our hearts; we were leaving for a country we’d long since fallen in love with, but we were leaving behind a blossoming romance with a land that had stolen our hearts and captured our souls.
Truthfully we loved the entirety of the Balkans, but we had found a special place in the very heart of the Balkan Peninsula, and when our trip was finally over Macedonia was where we’d be yearning to return.
Brewing up Turkish coffee in the Welsh mountains on a stormy day- the perfect antidote to a sleepless night.
Perhaps we should’ve expected the inevitably wet British weather on our camping trip to Snowdonia, but not knowing what to expect was all part of the fun. We’d spent a rather long time trying to find a suitable camp spot that day, eventually settling in a small, untouched patch of pine forest that had not yet been logged unlike its surroundings.
We busied ourselves pitching the tent, lighting a fire and preparing some dinner, and it was only once we had just finished setting up camp that the heavens opened. As our campsite quickly flooded with rain and the fire crackled and hissed, struggling to stay alight, Ben and I frantically began lashing a tarp to the surrounding trees, cutting pieces of cord with an old hunting knife and tying them to whatever branches we could find as rain streamed down our faces and up my sleeves.
You’d think this would’ve been the last straw at the end of a challenging day, but somehow as we sat eating fajitas in the car by the light of the fire that glowed beneath our newly constructed shelter, we caught eachother’s eyes and couldn’t stop giggling. Sure we were wet and cold, our tent was damp and our socks were soaked, but we were having fun nonetheless. We were out here alone, not another human in sight, just battling with the elements and keeping each other company.
The fondest memories we make aren’t always of the best times, and even the best-laid plans often go awry, but we embrace every moment of freedom we can find. Where adventure waits, there lies challenge, and we are prepared to follow.
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I wash everything by hand in our van- underwear, tops, cardigans, you name it, using whatever river or lake water is available nearby. We take a trip to the laundrette once every two months for our bedding and that’s it. It saves money, but I also enjoy doing it in some weird, old-fashioned way.
Maybe because it reminds me of when I was younger. We were always moving between houses, hauling all of our stuff in this big old yellow Mercedes truck to and fro across two countries. I got used to washing my clothes by hand in the sink of whatever house we were in that month, always a different bedroom or kitchen to get used to.
Maybe that lack of permanence in my formative years is what drove me to eventually get a van. Those memories of brushing my teeth in a lay-by or sleeping in the footwell of our truck seemed like hard done-by times back then, but I look back on them now with a sort of fondness and nostalgia at my unusual childhood.
There are many hundreds of little reasons that made me want to travel; moments that seemed innocuous at the time now resonate with a deeper meaning and inspire me to push on further. Movement is in my soul; it makes my spirit restless to sit still.
Often challenges can be the most defining points of our lives, whether we realise it at the time or only once they have been overcome. Maybe one day we’ll look back at these times we’re living now, cast a fresh gaze upon old memories, and I wonder which of those will stand out, and which will fade away.
Join us as we embark on a journey to reach one of Albania’s most remote villages, nestled within the mysterious Accursed Mountains.
In this episode we explore the mountainous wilds of Northern Albania. Setting off at sunrise, we struggle with the hostile terrain over four hours of intense hiking, accompanied by our guide, before reaching the small village of Mregu. Cut off from the rest of the country, this village is home to only a handful of residents, lying around 3 hours from the nearest city with no road access.
Here we meet one of the village’s last remaining residents, who welcomes us into her home and shows us her way of life. We learn about the challenges of remote mountain living, how to live entirely self-sufficiently, and about the depopulation of this incredible area as Albania speeds into the 21st century.
We conclude this episode with a stay by the incredible Komani Lake, an intense lightning storm and some crazy driving through the city of Shkodër as we make plans for our final days in Albania.
Join us in this mini documentary as we discover a unique way of life hidden within the Albanian Alps, on YouTube NOW!
If you enjoyed the video please don’t forget to Share, Like and Subscribe, or consider joining us on Patreon to help us keep on creating content
Big thank you to @undyingheads for the music, make sure you check them out!
Photo essay available to view over on our lbjournals website
Join us as we explore Albania’s lesser-known alpine town in the foothills of the famous Accursed Mountains- otherwise known as the Albanian Alps.
In this episode we explore what the town of Puka (Pukë) is all about. One of the highest towns in Albania, there is plenty of breathtaking scenery to absorb, with the Albanian Alps serving as a perfect backdrop to the newly renovated town centre.
Despite its small population, there’s tons to see and do as we highlight by meeting two local guides and budding hoteliers. We explore the stunning surrounding area before meeting with international charity 1 More Tree. Here we learn the importance of sustainable tree planting in areas such as these as well as learning of the devastating effects of an invasive caterpillar species that is plighting Albania.
From here we meet up with Marie Shkjau, owner of Devin Agrotourism farm in the village of Qerret I Madh. Here we discover how traditional living and rural life can be combined with tourism to create a very special experience for anyone lucky enough to venture to this corner of Albania. We sample some local organic cuisine and preserves, and of course some rakia!
If exploring the North of Albania excites you as much as it does us then check out our friends’ page @northexperience_al.
Join us as we discover the most beautiful area of Albania you’ve probably never heard of, on YouTube NOW!
If you enjoyed the video please don’t forget to Share, Like and Subscribe, or consider joining us on Patreon to help us keep on creating content
Good morning, everyone! We hope you’ll join us on this adventure as we experience one of the craziest roads we’ve ever attempted to drive.
In this episode, we end up on the notorious SH74 road in an attempt to find a scenic route to the historic city of Berat. We’d heard many warnings about this road but wanted to experience it for ourselves, and it turned out to be just as bad as we’d imagined. We’ve only ever had to turn around less than a handful of times, as this was one of them.
How far will we make it before we say enough is enough?
Join us as we put our LDV Convoy through it’s paces and push it to the max. Let us know if you’d drive this road in the comments!
Join us over on YouTube NOW! If you enjoyed the video please don’t forget to Share, Like and Subscribe, or consider joining us on Patreon to help us keep on creating content
As always big thank you to @undyingheads for creating the perfect soundtrack to our travelogues- make sure you check them out!
It’s all too easy to simply pass through somewhere, admiring the scenery from a distance through dusty window panes like the hollow eyes of a TV screen.⠀
It’s much more complex and infinitely more rewarding to engage with life in other countries, to meet people and experience small snippets of culture through them, to learn what it means to be a local in even the most mundane sense, to really a country in a richer, more wholesome way.⠀
When you’ve assimilated into the local way of life, when you’ve learned things that could never be written in any guidebook, that is when one graduates from a tourist into a traveller.⠀
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The people are their country; a country is its people. And to pass through a place blissfully unaware of the locals and their customs is in our eyes to waste an opportunity.⠀
Without those chance encounters, without delving into new cuisines, without saying yes and throwing ourselves into whatever comes out way, how could we ever truly say we’ve seen the world?⠀
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When you travel you open yourself up to a wealth of experiences the world has to offer, both good and bad. But through these experiences you realise that the world isn’t such a dark, scary place as we’re led to believe. Most people we’ve met on our way have been good and kind, hospitable and welcoming. And the bad experiences are just lessons learned for the future.⠀
After all, we wholeheartedly believe that what you put out into the world, is what you receive back.⠀
Be good, be honest, be curious and be kind. And just see where the winds will take you.⠀
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P.S. This might just be my favourite photo from this trip, taken in one of my favourite corners of the world ⠀
Lately, if we could sum up our emotions in one word, it would be thankful.
Usually upon returning to the UK after many months of stimulating, enriching travel, with more experiences under our belts than we could put into words, it would be with heavy hearts a deep sense of melancholy.
This time however, we’e feeling relieved to be back on British soil. We’re grateful not to be trapped abroad with no means of supporting ourselves. We’re grateful we have a safe place to stay. And we’re grateful to have found work in these trying times doing something positive for the community.
Our hasty return to the UK was a long and epic tale of border crossings and breakdowns, but that’s a story we will tell in due course.
For now we’re safely tucked away in our little cosy home, living on the bare minimum as always, patching up the rust holes and mending broken parts after another incredible adventure.
Stay safe out there, you guys.
[We will continue to post photos and stories from our travels until our feed is up to date as we still have a huge backlog ]
Tell us: what have you been doing this weekend in isolation to keep yourself occupied? We need some tips!
Deep in the heart of North Albania, nestled in the foothills of the Albanian Alps, lies a curious little town named Pukë (pronounced Puka).
An intriguing blend of old stone houses and Alpine-inspired architecture with a tall, white mosque tower rising proudly out of the centre, the town of Pukë is one of the highest in the country. Surrounded on all sides by sprawling pine forest, with the snow-lined peaks of the Accursed Mountains looming imposingly in the distance, it was the perfect place for us to spend a week getting a taste of rural Albanian life.
As we walked in search of our morning coffee and byrek the streets were alive with activity; women walking around with armfuls of fresh bread, crowds of men chatting and smoking in the local billiard halls, children crowding at the school gates to buy snacks from a vendor and people stocking up their cars with supplies from the mini market, to take to some faraway village no doubt.
Over the course of the next few days we would begin to recognise the same faces; likewise the bakers and shopkeepers we visited had begun to recognise us. The same police car patrolled slowly up and down the main street, its two officers smoking cigarettes and stopping to chat or move on the occasional badly parked car.
It had a wonderfully small town feel to it that reminded us so much of Cornwall and made us feel instantly safe and welcome. This was only day one of our time here and already we had so much to look forward to…
If you’re ever in the North of Albania make sure you hit up our friends at @discover_puka for a truly authentic experience of Albanian life and a tour of this beautiful area of the world.
The sunshine on our skin was a feeling we’d long since forgotten, a sensation buried in the backs of our minds. Yet here it was, an unusually warm, dare I say hot day in the hinterlands of rural Albania.
After many months of winter, of snow in Kosovo, freezing fog in Macedonia and countless icy mornings it was a welcome relief and a boost to our morale.
We’d been craving a cool body of water to plunge into and wash away the driving sweat, but we settled for a bag shower on a dirt track nestled amongst the shrubs and canyons with the scent of wild thyme rising hot and citrussy in the air.
I washed our clothes in the sink and hung them out to dry, and we watched the sun climb out of the sky and brush over the mountaintops turning them hazy purple and red. Sunsets could be a thousand shades of gold and orange, pale pink and even the occasional streak of green, but they were always purple here in Albania. The kind of purple that stained the mountain faces and electrified the lake waters; the kind that demanded you stop and watch.
Late at night two men in a van came and dumped ten neat white bags on the ground in front of our van. We assumed they were fly-tippers, but come morning we awoke to the sound of saddles scraping past our van as two men loaded up their mules with the supplies they’d need to take to their village, a sight that always filled us with wonder and curiosity. ? ?
We said good morning to them, folded up the washing and continued on our journey towards a curious little town named Pukë…
Alone in the wild.⠀
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We can never truly be alone, no matter how remote we go in our van. Because if we can drive it, someone else can too.⠀
But still we like to find these hidden crevices, areas of land with no purpose and no reason to visit them. We like to tuck ourselves so far out of the way we might not see another person for days, for reasons we can’t explain.⠀
It’s difficult to put into words, my desire to meet people and hear their stories in every corner of the world we go, and the yearning to conceal ourselves away like some childish game of hide and seek, except no one’s going to come looking.⠀
I can’t explain it, but I find solace in knowing I’m not the only one.⠀
In a particular chapter of a very well-known book Jon Krakauer finds himself climbing to the top of an Alaskan mountain so remote it hasn’t seen a visitor in years, risking his life in the snow, all in the name of solitude. The lengths he would go to to escape humankind, and the loneliness that struck him once he was back amongst them- that story sticks in my mind, always.⠀
Some may find unabounded silence and space unnerving, the knowledge that if something goes wrong you’re stuck out here. But we relish in it, the what if’s outweighed by the bliss of isolation. The possibility that maybe, just maybe, not one person has ever camped in this spot before and we might be the first.⠀
The solitude quells our minds as much as it unnerves them, but still the excitement of adventure keeps us pushing onwards into evermore distant corners of the earth.⠀
P.S. Can anyone name the book?
On a particularly frosty Monday morning we rose earlier than the sun did, cameras in hand and blankets around our shoulders to capture the sunrise and encapsulate it in our memories.
The watercolour sky was awash with pale pinks and dusky orange, the jagged mountain peaks shrouding the horizon beyond. Below our camp spot sat the most pristine lake of emerald water, clear as glass, and a thick stream of cloud scooting across its surface before being sucked down into the valley below.
We stood patiently, cameras poised, as the fiery sunlight licked the tops of the mountains and slowly made its way down to their base. Finally, after what seemed like hours, the golden rays filtered through the peaks and burst through the chill in the air. The snaking dirt track beneath us was all of a sudden bathed in gold, the fog clouds set ablaze in the sky, and the warmth of a late winter’s day kissed our cheeks and unfroze our hands.
It felt like an achievement for us, a rare gift of total aloneness after several chaotic days amongst the city folk of Tirana, long before the first commuter minibuses would rumble their way down this track. We retreated to the van to reward ourselves with coffee, watching the sun scatter the orderly clouds into a haze of fog that enveloped the landscape and licked at our van.
An early start and a little less sleep had been a fair trade to enjoy this moment all to ourselves. We cradled our coffee cups and pored over maps, planning the day’s adventure ahead before the rest of the world had even pulled back the covers and risen out of bed.
Standing on the edge of the world with you.
We’re missing camp spots like this one in Albania as we self-isolate back in Cornwall after a nightmare drive getting back, but we still have many weeks worth of photos and travel stories to share with you all that will hopefully brighten your days.
Tell us what you’re up to if you’re self-isolating- we’re working on our huge backlog of travelogues for YouTube, repairing the many problems with our van and drinking countless cups of Yorkshire tea! ☕️
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