Trip begins in the back of the truck

Albania put-in ride or the trip begins in the back of a truck

Wheels of the plane chirp as they touch down on the ground, covered with 2-meter hexagon concrete pavers, also known as the Tirana Airport just outside the capital city of Albania. Unloading our gear on the ground, there is no rush to clear the area since only 2 flights a week come in and out of here.
Our band of 15 boatmen and 10 guests’ holds the first group visa awarded since 1914 when Albania shed Communism about 6 months ago. Having a biologist from the Smithsonian in Washington, a member of the Royal Geographic society in the UK, and a collection of guests and river guides, we are authorized to perform the exploratory down the Black Drini River in Northern end of this Mediterranean coastal country.

At the airport tower the few unbroken panes of glass left has a similar feel to the condition of our bus transport. All the facilities look a little out of place not unlike in the movie planet of the Apes. Like something happened since civilization stopped many years ago.

Fooling no one, the authorities perform a cursory passport check, insert a customary stamp and poke and quiz about the coolers, rolled up rubber boats, camping gear and endless piles of personal gear.

Dirty faced kids in rag a tag clothes, stretch out their hands with fingers extended, say “meester” looking for handouts, laughing and taunting, knowing we are the chumps. A bit of educating the guests reveals that giving them small change only teaches them to beg and goes against what we can eco-tourism, the damaging of foreign culture by Westerners on vacation. It feels very awkward wearing hundred dollar sunglasses, collared knit shirts, and high-tech hiking boots, refusing to hand out pennies to the down trodden kids.

As our new formed tribe enjoys the safe confines of our rat-a-tag third world bus; we make our way on one-lane dirt roads, rutted and muddy from overflowing farm fields toward the capital, Tirana. Terry, the hot air balloonist that’s been living here with a Albanian girl named Anna for several weeks, has things scoped out and gives the recent history of the fall of communism and the current state of lack of land ownership and confused citizens. The locals that farmed the land in recent past refuse to plant since land ownership is still at the fate of the politicians. Elections are coming soon and politics are the buzzword, anywhere you stop. A friendly meeting with the farmer or home-based restaurant owner transforms into a shouting match, both seeming firm in their position on government. A well practiced, thriving ritual among Albanian men.

The pasture fences contain 10-foot tall spears about every fourth fence post placed there to impale an invading and unsuspecting paratrooper from an opposing army. Machine gun turret bunkers also litter the countryside. The citizens work for the motherland for 6 days a week and on the seventh day they donate labor to building these bunkers at the request of their past leader Hoaxma, the ultimate communist leader. He ran the purist form of communism until his death in the late 60s. Hoaxma was known to be such a notorious bad guy that one evening when he was kept awake by a barking dog, his morning orders were to have every dog in the country destroyed.

Arriving at the border of Tirana we pass stack-up, prison looking apartments, a true style of communist architecture. In the center of town our bus passes the town Center Square that was once a modern focal point of government and official buildings. The perimeter was surrounded by concrete office buildings containing more broken glass. A bit further we pass through a major street where locals hang out discussing politics, smoking cigarettes, and many men holding hands, a common show of friendship.

We finally arrive at the finest hotel in the capital of Albania. A 5 story concrete building with folks loitering on the wide front steps. The hotel is about as rough as the airport tower but once was a nice place. Places like this are what make up the Twilight Zone. I Checked in and headed up to our room with Jack Morison, the trip leader and promoter of this expedition. We are informed that the water will still be on for the remainder of the 2 hours a day rationing program. The pressure is so low that I have to shower on my knees to gain enough pressure to barely rinse while Jack documents our arrival and shower on film.

Shawn, one of the other boatmen that arrived 2 days earlier to shop for food, arrives at our door smiling and happy to see up. He’s boiling over with stories about trying to find food in town when he plops down on my bed bottoming the thin mattress and splintering the 1 by slats, landing on the floor. Simultaneously we say, "now that’s rafting". The evening agenda has been previously planned with a dinner at a local restaurant and an embassy party for us later.

Walking is the transportation of choice since a car and fuel are rare as ever. Like the pied Piper, Shawn leads us through narrow streets and down boulevards until we arrive at a small, glass fronted, store with one long table set up for our party. Cold beer, salad, and pasta shells with a red sauce. More cold beer. We’re thinking “this ain't so bad” not realizing this will be the last real dinner and cold drinks we will see for about 2 weeks. The group is in good spirits just knowing we're doing something that any explorer would die for. We were making history. As always, there are questions about the river we have come to face but it hasn't sunk in yet that no living westerner has seen any part of the upper section we intend on rafting.

On to the embassy for our cameo appearance. Again on foot, we the guest of honors serpentine through the city streets looking for the government building shaped like a pyramid. Later that evening we even try to scale this steep wall but even with plenty of liquid courage we find it a bit sketchy. We arrive to find dignitaries smiling and welcoming us to their confused country. The ones that do speak English are very interested in the scientific expedition we are about to depart on. Little do they know that we came for the whitewater and some new cultural experiences. Actually I don't know what I am looking for. I just know it will be an adventure. Extra special since not many other has been before. Were also told that no one has ever rafted this section of river.

The party is light and friendly with wine and beer free flowing. The group is seated in sets of 4 around low tables with tall back chairs. The conversation is funny. We talk, they listen, and no one understands. A couple of biologists with a pinch of English skills want to join the expedition and in our alcohol-induced state we invite them along.

Shawn, a boatman and my tent-mate for the next 5 weeks, takes his video camera and sneaks up the stairs of the embassy finding some interesting Communism propaganda and other seemingly important stuff. Forbidden fruit I guess.

As we depart the event, I found I have made a friend. His name is Freddie and he is Auni our interpreter and tour guide’s uncle. He will be joining us on the trip as our bodyguard. Says he was a high-ranking soldier in the army until they decided to downsize the military. The story sounds a bit stretched but what the heck. Freddie is a short-stout guy, a little gruff, and earned a bit of a potbelly since he isn’t working much theses days. On the walk back to the hotel he takes my hand and I find myself walking hand in hand with my new comrade just like a high school date. Boy, do I feel silly. Hope I’m not his Bubba tonight.

In the morning after a light breakfast, we gather the folks, a school style bus, a pickup truck with a homemade wooden shell on the back, and after several hours of packing and stuffing, we're ready to head down the road. With the pickup truck full of gear following, and the entire group in the bus, we head out of town toasting and cheering, happy to be on the road to our adventure. Into the mountains, past rivers and lakes, we continue along some fairly maintained 2-lane roads. Although they are the main artery from the capital to the northern region, their not much better than a rural 2 lane of the county roads of Auburn back home.

Six or so hours of driving the road turns into dirt and head up higher in the foothills. Logging roads and villages its beginning to look like National forest in the Sierras. Not really sure where we're headed Jack, the trip leader, and Terry the balloonist decide we should camp soon before we lose light. One problem, We haven't seen the truck that was supposed to be following us since we left town. We unpack the people, their personal gear, and decide to go hunting for our truck and driver that’s carrying the boats and some of our personal gear. Jack, Shawn, Ani, the bus driver, and I find ourselves back on the road in pursuit of our lost truck. Its dark outside and the road seems much rougher trying to sleep sideways on the bus seats.

Back in Tirana, 6 hours later, we find the trucking firm’s yard that the pickup was rented from. It’s the early morning hours and the chain link fence is secured for the night but we can see the truck inside. After scaling the fence and snooping around we find the driver asleep in the small dirty field office. When he lost sight of the bus in town traffic, he got nervous having all of that expensive gear and decided to go back where it would be safe. He had no idea that we would have to travel another 6 hours each way just to lead him to our destination. Auni jumped up front with the driver while Shawn, Jack and myself nestled ourselves amongst the large pile of gear, trying to prepare for the 6 hour return trip in the back of a pickup complete with the rusty nails poking through the inside of this homemade wooden shell camper. I find a couple of beers and a small bottle of Yeager mister that I had picked up at the Zurich train station a few days before. The one common denominator of getting to the put-in of any river trip is the mode of transportation. It’s usually some kind of truck and we’ve ridden like this on many occasions. It all makes the naming of our new book (we're about to write) easy to decide on.
"The trip begins in the back of a truck".

Cheers or as they say in Albania "Gasure".