Adding Peaks of the Balkans to My List
First of all, I want to thank Catherine for another magical mountaintop experience, I’ve now hiked in Montenegro, Albania, and Kosovo. Catherine did the research—she was intrigued by this lesser-known region. The route is called Peaks of the Balkans and our hiking package came with stays in guest houses on the trail, local transportation, food, and most importantly. . . an English-speaking guide. I said yes months ago and paid the deposit. I knew the stats of the hike from the itinerary, but it was all in kilometers and seemed a little esoteric—something distant on the calendar. Probably it couldn’t be harder than the Wilder Kaiser in Austria, right? Also. . . where exactly are these countries? Finally in June I got out the map and I did the conversions to miles and feet and I started freaking out just a little. You plan to train for these things, but summer is busy with teaching and the cabin and the garden. Remember the Aurlandsdalen hike in Norway from Østrebø to Vassbygdi with the swollen river crossing in late June? That was my training.
These seven Balkan hikes were each going to be about 80% of the elevation change of the Grand Canyon—the difficulty standard by which I measure all hikes. Oh dear. I procured excessive quantities of band-aids, sun screen, bug spray, electrolytes, and copious amounts of ibuprofen. Can I carry all that? How much does it weigh? I prayed. What’s the worst that can happen—maybe I can’t do all the hikes or I fall off the mountain? I procured travel insurance for the feared helicopter rescue. I was plumb scared. Scared of new countries I had never even heard of, scared of the hiking and scared of the unknown. My biggest fear was hiking in a group. What if I’m the slowest one?
There’s a subculture for just about everything and hiking is a big one. You can observe these types at REI, in Facebook groups and of course on real mountains. They have lists. Lists of the hikes they have done and lists of the hikes they want to do. I imagine levels of membership in this club. My membership is pending but it’s the level where you do the really hard hikes that might require a helicopter rescue and some good gear but you still get to eat a hot meal at night, maybe even drink a beer, take a shower even if it's ice cold, and sleep in a bed even if there’s only one pillow. Like the Rocky Mountain 11,000-foot peak that Casey and I did, it’s the roughing it during the day, but not using a stone for a pillow at night membership level.
In hiking culture environments, I listen carefully to the chatter. I try to blend in. I can throw out a Teton’s Amphitheater Lake here and there. I have national park passes. These peeps also talk gear. But not too much gear, that would be heavy. No, just the right amount of gear. They weigh it. Well, I’ve got Black Diamond trekking poles. Never mind that I left one at home by accident even after I packed so carefully. The one I brought instead was more ounces than most serious hikers would have tolerated. Yes, I hiked 75 miles with two different poles. I’ve also got really good boots. And a Patagonia Houdini raincoat. And an Osprey back. My Osprey’s only 20 liters, it’s a day pack, because I’m in the subset of only roughing it during the day hikers that also signs up for luggage transfer. In the Balkans my luggage was a black Eddie Bauer duffle from 2002 that went in the Jeep or on the horse from guesthouse to guesthouse. After every hike when I saw my precious black duffle waiting for me with my toothbrush and my jammies and my clean socks for the next day and my contact lens solution, it felt like home. I may have even had a small bullet journal in there. And gummy bears.
The diamond platinum level people carry all their stuff and sleep in the wild. I watched their videos on the plane. They have to make their coffee on a little tiny stove with melted snow. Not for Sara. I’m sticking to Grinnell Glacier where I can make it all the way up and back down to the lodge in eight hours.
Do I have lists? I didn’t used to, but I’m starting to see little lists growing underneath my blisters. My next hike lists judge me. Hey. . . you can’t do that one. Well, maybe. No, it’s too high. Well, maybe in a couple years. No, you’re too slow. The legendary names are floating out there like white puffy clouds below summits. . . Tour de Mont Blanc. . .the Dolomites. . . Peru. Hear the echo?
The list of hikes I actually have done is growing. I try not to name drop them in conversation, or in every paragraph. But let’s see what have I missed? Utah. . . and Acadia. I think that’s most of them. I’ll quit that now.
Here’s the play by play. This trip was tough. This trip was amazing. This trip was beautiful. Our group of eight hikers was tough. Our group of eight hikers was amazing. And beautiful. Between them and Catherine, they had covered every hike on the list. Can I hear a Kilimanjaro? They were from England, Singapore, the Netherlands, Michigan and Minnesota (that’s me). In our eight member Balkan hiking club, nobody complained. About nothing. It’s like a code. In seven days of hiking over 75 miles, about a mountain a day, seven different hostels, twenty-one meals, and a lot of shared bathrooms and tricky plumbing a person could have probably found something to complain about, but no one did. Except maybe a few sore knee comments, which seemed to be an acceptable occasional complaint, maybe even a badge of honor. I did not complain about the funny red fluid around my blistered toes until just now. Our guide was amazing. He was from Kosovo. He was the cheerfullest of the cheerful. And he was on call for nine days, 24/7. He was like a sherpa gliding up and down the mountains. Trail? Map? No, this was his homeland. He carried a little knapsack over his shoulder— hardly big enough for a raincoat and his cigarettes. Cigarettes are very light. Acceptable ounces. He taught us about the history of Albania and Kosovo. His pride and love for his country were inspiring. The places we stayed were amazing. All unique with beauties and challenges. I kept thinking about these guest house owners being out there in the middle of nowhere, putting on breakfast, lunch and dinner for 20-50 people day in and day out without a Costco store in sight. How do they do it? I honestly don’t know. And then, sheets and towels every day. I thought entertaining at the cabin was a big job. I have a new perspective. These Albanians were often using solar power and generators. The guesthouse owner in Gacaferi, Kosovo was particularly remarkable, she lost her husband, she raised her children, she survived the war cooking on the front lines, she helped women after the war and now she has this beautiful guesthouse in the mountains. It is a labor of love. It’s absolutely artistic. Built from scratch.
The hikes were hard. Catherine thought they were harder than Austria. Every time you do something tough and scary you grow. At the hardest moments, I thought. . . this is it, this is what I was scared of, and here I am putting one blistered foot in front of the other and there isn’t a rescue helicopter in sight. Neither was there another hiker in sight. . . because my worst fear did come true. I was indeed the slowest one. It happened, there I was, the slowest one and nobody cared except me.
It was discouraging to be the slowest. I almost got lost in the fog at the top of a mountain on the border of three countries very far from home with socks on my hands for warmth. But here’s a life lesson we learn over and over and over; comparison is the thief of joy. In music, in teaching, in everything. Period. Shout it from the mountaintops. Even the slowest hiker is still climbing. You aren’t just chasing the moving carrot. You don’t have to catch up with the rest. This is your hike too. Nobody is complaining about waiting for you. You can stop and take a picture. You can stop and breathe. You are doing the best you can. You can make it all the way, just at your own best pace. Look around, you will never be here again.
I made it. No helicopter rescue. Another great hike with a dear, inspiring friend. And a bad-ass addition to my LIST!
Here are some stats in case you are interested:
Day 1: Wake up in Plav, Montenegro, take short Jeep transfer, hike to Talijanka Mountain from Skala Campground in the Prokletije (Accursed) Mountain range, hike 7.4 miles, 3280 ft. ascent, 3280 ft. descent. At the guesthouse a few of us walked to the vivid blue Oko Skakavice river pool and cold plunged into 36 degree water. That added a few more miles to the day. We stayed in Vusanje. It was a hot day, around 90 degrees. Water is the heaviest thing to carry.
Day 2: Hike from Vusanje into Albania to the village of Theth, lunching at the top of the mountain, 12.5 miles, 3645 ft. ascent, 4265 ft. descent, yes, I shed a couple tears on the lonely rocky way down. Not too many tears because I needed the electrolytes. We stayed in an amazing guest house built in 1735, we were served fresh bread and fresh churned butter and homemade fig jam.
Day 3: Hike from Theth to Valbona, this is a very famous hike, over an amazing mountain, we stopped at a mountain cafe almost at the top. They get their supplies by horseback. There was an awesome cross and Albanian flag at the top and a chance to go even higher which we did, scrabbling up to a rocky lookout. Stats: 8.7 miles, 3503 ft ascent, 5879 ft. descent!!!!! This hike was labeled moderate. I beg to differ. Moderate for a sherpa. There was another cold plunge opportunity by this guest house, this one was a balmy 38 degrees. This is the guest house where the eight of us had one room. Not my 57-year-old style. And we shared a bathroom with about 50 people. No plumbing can handle that. This was a very hot electrolyte drinking day. How many ounces are gummy bears?
Day 4: We took a van up the Albanian Going to the Sun Road—with ethnic music blaring on the radio and rockslides to avoid and no guard rails and no seat belts. Jesus took the wheel. Then we hiked from Cerem to Doberdol, Albania, 9.6 miles, 3362 ft. gain, 1443 ft. loss. This was a sweet farm hostel with horses and cows, and a room for just girls which I really loved, and we were instructed not to drink the water, which we didn’t. The terrain is changing from rocky alps to rolling green mountains. Plumbing remains shaky.
Day 5: We were supposed to hike to the highest mountain in Kosovo, but the weather disagreed and we couldn’t do that. We hiked directly to that wonderful guest house at Gacaferi. The woman I mentioned before was amazing. She had this wonderful room where we all sat out of the rain and read and relaxed the whole afternoon. Her food was amazing and beer was on the honor system albeit lukewarm as it was raining and the solar battery was low. We didn’t mind. Another all-girls’ room and this one with our very own bathroom! It was now 40 degrees and raining. She served a breakfast that was so lovely. I bought a pair of her hand knit wool socks. Only 5 miles today.
Day 6: Speaking of wool socks, we put them on our hands because this day was still 40 degrees and raining. We all voted to go up the mountain anyway, the peak was at the border of Montenegro, Albania and Kosovo. This is where I lost the group in the fog, there was no trail, and one Dutch guy saved me. All is well that ends well.
There was too much fog at the top to see anything and our guide feared we were getting too cold and we headed down right after signing our names in the book. Stats: 10.5 miles, 3362 feet up, and 3444 feet down. This hostel in Babino Polje, by lake HRID, was a series of little log cabins that would have been so charming and well-done and appreciated if they had had heat. We huddled. We borrowed the blankets from our bed to put around us to eat dinner. Wet feet, wet clothes. Freezing people. I also got locked in the bathroom here and had to climb out the window. These are the stories we will remember. I slept in every layer I had that was dry. We were back in Montenegro. Best warmth per ounce? Woolx merino wool zip up sweatshirt. I may have also had my cashmere blankie in my black duffle. I take it everywhere I go and it has never let me down. I also used it to dry my seat mate on the flight home after I spilled my very dark red drink all over her. Bad luck.
Day 7: This day brought us back to Plav where we started. The whole seven-day journey was a basic loop, but we didn’t do the whole loop, our local guide picked the best days and we did a couple four wheel drive transfers to trail heads. Day seven was really long but there was a pretty lake and a beautiful view down into Plav. The guide did circle back to check on me a few times after the fog incident. The trail was pretty clearly marked and I was by myself most of the 12.5 miles, only 2358 up this time, but still 4101 feet down. No slacker day. We slept in the Bear Hug Hostel where we first were, and Catherine and I got our suitcases back, which had our long pants and mittens in them, alas, you can never pack perfectly. When it was 105 the mittens were too many ounces.
Day 8: Catherine and I got an honest to gosh latte at a shop in Plav and sat by the lake in the morning sunrise before the eight of us were driven back to the Padgorica airport. I flew to Vienna, stayed in a Marriott with four pillows on the bed, and my own bathroom. I worked on my infected toes there, with limited success. Two weeks later, I’m happy to report they are doing well. The journey home is always long and winding.
I’m sending another thank you out to Catherine. She’s an amazing hiker, composer, pianist, and but an even more amazing friend. We did it. We shared it. We made our way safe and sound through a brand-new experience—some fears conquered, some accepted. And my list is growing. . can I hear an Appalachian Trail in the distance? Still waiting for the membership card in the mail. But I do know what my next piece of gear will be. . .
