August 2, 2012
Oh what a beautiful morning...: Virpazar - Barbullush (Albania)
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WE HAVE had a day of near-continuous climbing about which we make no complaint. Because it was rewarded by wonderful, tear-making scenery on cliffs beside the lake. We gazed down where we had been and the lake grew more blue as we rose.
We saw the island monastery used as an Alcatraz for decades until an earthquake and then erosion put an end to it; we saw small white boats toss their heads against the waves; we watched smugly as distant traffic on the main route out of town crossed nose to tail on the bridge; and we visited a hilltop village which provided the most beautiful woman in the world.
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Godinje is 1 000 years old. In its troubled past, generations built houses next to each other and installed tunnels from their manger to the one next door and so on to the end of the village. In that way they survived tens of sieges.
Most is now abandoned, nobody trusting it after the earthquake in 1979 that killed so many. Further down, a few people are returning, including a stocky Croatian who told us in French that he sold tractors in Zagreb and that the church was built in the seventh century.
But what, you ask, about the world's most beautiful woman?
Well, her name was Milena Delibasic and she won her title in London in 1907. Competitions of that sort were new and much prized and King Nicola sent messengers to every village in his kingdom to find competitors. In that way he discovered Milena.
I don't know what this young girl from a remote and backward village made of being picked but her father was traditional and against it. The king had to go to Godinje to persuade him.
Milena was the wow of London, the wow of the world. She received propositions of marriage but turned them down. She could have accepted the richest, most handsome men in the world but instead she returned to her hilltop village.
When the king asked why, she replied that she had been sent to London to represent her country and not to marry someone. Instead she married a local boy and, it seems, didn't live happily ever after. Because fairytale princesses exist only in fairy tales.
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After several hours of bliss beside the bay and then through sweet chestnut woods, we crossed the border to find a different Albania. This one had good roads, shops and businesses everywhere. And looked pretty much normal.
We endured busy traffic to stay at a Dutch camp-site - there are barely any camp-sites in Albania - outside the village of Barbullush. It should have been friendly. Because behind it is an appealing tale of a family who came across a young Albanian who had been crippled when she picked up a grenade. They cared for her and started a foundation in Holland to work for the poor in Albania. Vosjava is now a woman but she still sees the family regularly. And because the story was so heart-warming, we expected the campground to be run by friendly, smiling people who welcomed strangers.
In fact we found them distant and unfriendly. Two of the staff were in a lovers' tiff and the male side of the argument, who was sweeping the outdoor restaurant, declined even to lift his eyes as we approached. A cold, invisible mist hung over the place. And it may have affected everyone else there because everybody kept himself to himself and we left feeling we had paid our money, been given permission to sleep on the grass and that we counted for no more than that.
It was such a disappointment.
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