#wondermore

Pushing out into the milky blue waters, letting the warm liquid take my weight and making those first few strokes across the pool toward those snowy mountains in the distance; that was how this morning began.⁣

Few things are more refreshing than an early morning swim, a chance to wake up and stretch, enjoy an hour of open headspace before the rest of the world rises. Not that there were many people around; the waters weren’t exceptionally hot but neither was the weather, and this was enough to put most off. The main appeal for us was that this pool was just the right size and depth for swimming in.⁣

The steam swirled upwards in the thin winter sunshine, a herd of goats crossed the old Ottoman bridge with a tinkling of bells, and we swam. Back and forth, round and round, algae tickling our feet and the constant crashing of water falling from the pool into the river, staining it too that surreal milky blue as it filtered down through the valley.⁣

The nights were cold and filled with starlit skies, alive with the croaking of bullfrogs and the rushing of river water. The days were peaceful and cool, broken up only by short visits into the nearby town of Permët.⁣

We had a blissful feeling of completeness here, a sense of comforting familiarity we could seldom find on the road. This was the area we’d stayed in when we first came to Albania, and we loved it so much then we spent a whole week here. Little had changed in two years, apart from the damage caused by country-wide flooding had been repaired and the family of stray cats we’d fed were long gone, to be replaced by a timid yet local black dog who crept out of the shadows at night in search of food.⁣

Sadly we didn’t have the luxury of time on our side this time, and after three short days we were onto our next destination in a bid to get our battered old van repaired before she could let us down again…⁣

But we would always miss the milky blue waters of Benjë, tucked away in this furtive little valley, and we would remember this corner of Albania fondly.

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.

Ever wanted to camp up on your own private island for a few days?⁣

Us too, and although this small patch of land that gradually disappears into a fine point and sinks into Lake Prespa isn’t technically an island it was as close as we would probably get to one in our van.⁣

We were surprised to find a small village at the end of this long and bumpy track, emptied of all its inhabitants for the winter as an icy slush began to fall from the sky. Boats littered the shores of the lake, empty and lifeless without people to navigate them. We were the only forms of life for miles, basking in the peace and solitude we craved.⁣

The really special thing about this place was that it sat on the corner of three countries; behind us was North Macedonia, to the side of us was Albania and in front of us was Greece. The Greek stretch of land was dotted with streetlights at night, the Albanian side had a few but the Macedonian side had none. Moody mountains wrapped in snow clouds dominated the skyline, islands and pelicans punctuated the lake’s glassy surface, and soft drops of ice gently pelted the roof as we sat cosied away inside our van cradling cups of mountain tea.⁣

By morning the snow had cleared, replaced by brilliant sunshine and swirling vapour clouds. It was warm enough in fact for a dip in the lake, its cooling, shallow waters sought after by Macedonians in the summer but unsurprisingly empty during the winter. Still, it was good enough for us whose last shower was too long ago to bear thinking about.⁣

A fishing boat sailed past as we were drying off, then we packed up and moved on in the direction of Lake Ohrid, Prespa’s neighbouring lake. Here we were to watch a hundred people dive into its icy waters for the chance to be the first to catch a cross blessed by a priest and thrown into the waters as part of the Orthodox Epiphany celebrations, with nothing to warm them up afterwards but rakija.⁣

Perhaps we weren’t the only crazy ones after all.

Another day of life in the wild.⁣⠀

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One of our last few days in Bosnia, spent amongst snow and pine, sprucing up before our big journey home-bound. We’d be returning worn out and penniless, with a broken van and a clutch of precious new memories, yet we did not regret a single moment of the last six months.⁣

It’s a taboo subject to talk about money, but we left for this trip with just a few grand between us. For six months of living and travelling over 15,000 miles- that’s not a lot.⁣

And so to anyone who says that we are privileged: you’re wrong. Our lifestyle is not a privilege, it is the product of hard work, ruthless saving and months of rigorous planning. All in the name of following our dreams, all in hope that someday we might be able to make the money to sustain doing what we love. All for that little taste of freedom.⁣

And it was worth every freezing night, every stale loaf of bread, every skipped meal, every dinner scraped together out of leftovers, every push to get to the next fuel station and every questionable road. We have not lived well but boy have we lived.⁣

We’ve driven spectacular roads, spent evenings in the company of welcoming locals, sampled cuisines and cultures from all walks of life, been to unbelievably remote locations and captured it all through the glass of a lens.⁣

See we’re not just doing this for a jolly, to escape the 9-5; we’re doing this because we have a passion and the tenacity to chase our dreams. We sacrificed comfort and security for the promise of something so much bigger.⁣⠀

You don’t have to be rich to travel; we’re proof of that. All you need is a dream, and the desire to chase that dream.⠀

Deep canyon walls rose high either side of us as we followed alongside the raging blue river, weaving in and out of craggy rocks and diving through tunnels carved out of the very mountainside itself.⁣⁣

After six short weeks in Albania, which felt like it had lasted both like a lifetime and the blink of an eye, we were now driving North through the Tara Canyon, one of Montenegro’s most impressive natural wonders and the deepest canyon in Europe.⁣⁣

Our journey had begun that morning after an exceptionally rainy day in Albania, and as we waited for the diggers to clear the landslides that blocked the road we were questioning whether we had to leave at all or if we could stay here forever. Our second time in Albania had been just as incredible as the first, and we left with a deeper understanding of the country as well as a handful of new friends.⁣⁣

The border crossing into Montenegro was no more than a remote outpost, lacking in electricity or internet; they wrote down our details by hand, stamped our passports, shouted out the letters “L- D- V!” then a burly uniformed man lifted the barrier by hand and we drove beneath it onto Montenegrin soil.⁣⁣

The sides of Tara Canyon soared up to 1300m above us, higher than our windscreen view would allow, and we found ourselves stopping frequently to admire it with coffees in hand. This was day one of our meandering journey back to the UK, taking in as much of the Western Balkan countries as we could along the way, and our revisit to Montenegro did not disappoint.⁣⁣

Two years ago we’d visited but largely stuck to the coast, afraid of the heavy winter snow further inland; this time round we actively sought it, and were not disappointed as we turned a corner into the Durmitor National Park and found a vast whitewashed landscape spread out before us.⁣⁣

Sadly we couldn’t stick around to enjoy it; with burnt-out glowplugs we were barely coaxing our van into life every morning, and an overnight stint at -7°C would surely leave us stranded.⁣⁣

We drove onwards, following the canyon walls until we arrived at the border to Bosnia & Herzegovina…⁣

P.S. This is actually four photos stitched together to create a vertical panorama- that should give you a sense of how big this canyon is.

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Our boots crunched over loose, rocky scree and a vertical incline that threatened to topple us over at any minute. The track we were following was unlike anything we’d hiked before; less a path and more a trail carved out by the resilient villagers who lived at the top of this mountain.⁣

We had journeyed to the Northernmost corner of Albania until the road could take us no further; here we left the van and met our guide who would take us to meet the villagers living in some of Albania’s most remote regions, places only accessible on foot or by mule.⁣

At this altitude in the Albanian Alps there was no vegetation, nothing to suggest this area would support life; the closest thing to trees were the makeshift poles supporting a thin electricity wire than ran from the bottom of the valley to the peak above us. We followed the path arduously, gasping for breath and legs screaming in protest while our guide, who’d been traversing these mountains since he learned to walk, sailed ahead of us.⁣

Men twice our age passed us with ease, taking their mules to the top to fetch hay, and we doubted whether we’d ever make it to the end of this 2km near-vertical climb.⁣

But then, mercifully, the ground began to level out, and a luscious green pasture spread out before us, covering the plateau. This was the last place on earth we’d expected to see people living, yet unbelievably a dozen or so houses were spread out across the vast fields where horses and sheep grazed.⁣

It took another hour or so to reach a homestead which looked like it might be inhabited; many of the rest were crumbling ruins, long abandoned as their owners headed for the city. A middle-aged woman greeted us at the door, wearing a white head scarf and modest clothing; she was clearly surprised and excited to have visitors. She immediately invited us inside for coffee, and set about pouring glasses of rakia from a bottle shaped like a crucifix.

We were in awe of her home, which was furnished with beautiful polished wood items and an ornate wood burner in the center. We inquired how she had managed to get it up here, and she recalled hauling it up the same track we had taken, carrying it on sticks along with her husband on their shoulders. The same would’ve been true for every item of furniture in their house, making this otherwise ordinary house suddenly look quite impossible.⁣

After drinks, Age (Aga) happily showed us around her property; she had vegetables and dried mountain herbs in her larder, dried cuts of meat in her barn. She kept sheep for their milk, churned this by hand to make butter, and knitted clothes and rugs from their wool. Her water came from a spring and her income came from raising cattle. Every part of her life was fascinating to us; our minds boggled at the length and difficulty of the journey we had taken, hours from the nearest city with amenities, right up to this woman’s house that would be ordinary if not for its exceptional location atop a mountain.

It was still incomprehensible, even though we’d completed the journey ourselves, and we imagined her and her husband making their monthly trip to Shkodër then hiking back up the vertical path with their supplies; it was a world away from simply visiting the supermarket. From this vantage point we could see dozens more houses scattered across the mountains in even more unlikely places, and we were curious whether anyone still lived in them and what their stories were.⁣

We said goodbye to Age, who still had much work to do before the sunset, and began our painstaking journey down the other side of the mountain left in complete and total awe.⁣

This is an excerpt from an ongoing documentary project about the residents of the Albanian Alps, one of the most inaccessible regions of Europe. The video of this adventure will be out on YouTube on Sunday, and the full photo essay will be available to view on @lbjournalssoon.