Bar to Prishtina

They must prefer legs to breast. Mind you my breasts are covered in hair, while my legs are, like my facial hair, slightly sparse. My legs are covered in the red blotches that can only be attributed to lovely mosquito bites.

A quick check of all my documents and I am away with a deliberate early start. My route is to hug the southbound coast heading into Albania… Plan A! An hour later and I am passing the campsite heading north. Plan A was thrown out when the road ran out, well one lane did. The thought of doing 60 miles on a single track road did not appeal. Plan B is to take a longer and miss out Albania but to cross a narrow strip of Serbia before getting to Kosovo.

I am so glad that Plan A failed. Today’s 9.5 hour journey was long, but at times breathtaking, exhilarating and downright fun. Views galore especially as I leave the Sutomore tunnel to be confronted by tranquil water and rich green trees. The road nearing Slepac Most leaves me speechless but with the most tranquil images rolling before my eyes.

The Serbian border guards don’t seem too happy today. Although the weather is nice they have no building, no booths, it's just police standing in the road checking documents by hand. The border to enter Kosovo is much different, so was the police’s mood. They were more concerned about Suzi’s looks than my documents. Eight suited-and-booted, fully-armed police men crowd round and gawp at Suzi. They even make me hold back a laugh. They are like children at Christmas with a huge present in front of them. With a smile, one guy runs off with my passport. I am left chatting to the few closest. Within five minutes, I am waved off feeling like a champ as I enter Kosovo. It's strange how little things like that make a massive difference. I have a smile on my face and a good feeling about Kosovo, although I do have a numb bum.

I am flagged down by a white van a few kilometres outside of Prishtina. I have doubts and am unsure what is going on. I keep Suzi in first and my hand on the throttle. A guy in his early forties gets out and jogs over to me, a smile across the width of his face. He shakes my hand and proceeds to explain that he has a ‘Yaiha’, with a photo I understand what he is saying. He has a ‘Haya’ as in Hayabusa, a monster of a machine that makes Suzi look like a pussycat in comparison to a lion. He invites me for a coffee, I decline as I have been on the road for so long. I also have glimpsed a sight of the city in the distance. It looks like a giant haystack, with my hostel being the needle, armed only with an address I know I am going to have my work cut out. I leave him and press on into the obis. three full lanes of traffic, no road markings, no signs and no right of way, the first roundabout engulfs me. I keep one leg dangling, just in case!