Mali Bukaniku

This past weekend I went with the High Albania group to climb Mount Bukaniku (around 1800 meters). The peak looked to be a relatively straightforward ascent, especially since we were starting from 900 m. Well, it probably is straightforward in the summer, but as it turns out there's a lot of snow there in January. In the end, it took us six hours, with around two of those hours spent post holing up a steep slope through breakable crust on top of sugar snow, sinking in up to mid-thigh (or above) with every step.

Now this is interesting because (as my loving spouse will tell you), I normally eschew post holing. In fact, my standard reaction to the least little bit of post holing is immediately to start sniveling about being wet and cold, followed by didactic discourses along the lines of "since I'm so much shorter the snow is proportionally deeper for me making it much harder for me than everyone else" etc etc etc.

Enjoying the novelty of deep snow

But I didn't snivel this time. Instead, I broke trail. Partly I did it for the warmth generated by the extra exertion (since I didn't really bring much in the way of winter hiking gear); but mostly I felt honor-bound, as the one with the most winter training and experience, to lead. I noticed that only a few of the Albanians had technical clothing (one young man actually came the whole way in what appeared to be leather street shoes and dress socks). I don't think many of them had experienced these types of snow conditions before. And I know the steepness and the post holing wore them out long before we reached the summit.

Yet, wet, cold and tired, they laughed and joked all the way to the top. There was no complaining, and certainly no sniveling. They never thought of turning back. In short, they embraced the experience.

The group's enthusiasm certainly transformed my reaction. It's so important and yet I am prone to forget - attitude is everything. I shouldn't need to travel halfway around the world to remember that simple truth; yet sometimes stripping away the familiar and routine is exactly what we need to remind us about what's important in life.

The summit at last!

Tirana Hash

Hashy terrain

The Hash House Harriers is a worldwide organization with historical roots deep in the British colonial era. Today, HHH describes itself  as "a drinking club with a running problem." With a motto like that how could it not be popular?

One can find a hash in just about every good-sized city in the world. So of course one of the first things I did upon arriving here was to find the Tirana Hash. It took me two tries to locate the unmarked cafe that serves as the meeting place on Saturday mornings, but when I finally did I was warmly welcomed. That's the beauty of Hash - you go to a foreign city, walk up to a group of complete strangers and are immediately treated as a member of their club.

All hashes share a few characteristics: socializing, some amount of walking or running through the countryside, singing of irreverent (and often risque) songs, and drinking beer in a circle to conclude the outing.

Drinking beer in the circle

Also, silliness usually is encouraged and competition is discouraged at most hashes.

What else? Well, the idea is the group goes together to a (hopefully) previously planned starting place. Then, everyone walks or runs a route that is marked by the leader (the "hare") in some way for all to follow (we mark ours with white flour).

The group spreads out on a recent hash

The rest of the pack (the hounds) then tries  to catch the hare. To make it more fun, the hare is allowed (even encouraged) to leave false trails and other tricks that cause the hounds to follow dead ends and waste time so everyone ends up at the finish roughly at the same time. After everyone is in, the group gathers in a circle and the "officials" lead the group in the singing of songs, the punishing of "sinners" (each of whom must drink down a cup of beer or else pour it on his head), and whatever other sophomoric notions come to mind.

But all hashes are slightly different. Both hashes with which I'm familiar (here and in Ulanbaatar) are more on the "relaxed" side of things. We sing the songs, drink the beer, encourage the silliness, and do the socializing; however the planning of the weekly outings is kept to a bare minimum. So we don't really pursue the hare; actually no one really even runs at all. And there are no false trails or tricks (although on a recent outing three of us did have to go back and fetch an ambassador who was having trouble negotiating a slippery downhill).

Encouraging of silliness

Also, we don't really have enough people to scout out good routes or mark trails in advance. We've been relying lately on the Vicar and Tokyo Joe (assigning of nicknames is another hashy tradition), and they've been turning in strong performances. On the days when no one's had time to plan, we just make up a destination right on the spot.

Even without a lot of organization, it's a great way to meet interesting people and see the countryside.

Kruje hash

The songs I could do without, as only a 12-year-old boy could find them amusing. But on the other hand, listening to those songs is what makes chugging beer at noon seem like a good idea (the more buzzed I am, the less offensive they seem). So it all comes together in a kind of hashy gestalt, and a good time is had by all.

Mali Gamtit

Mali Dajti near Tirana

They were a little spooked when I came by

 I'm still trying as often as possible to get out on the weekends and enjoy the Albanian countryside. Escaping the sprawl of the city is not as easy as I had hoped it might be, even though Tirana sits a mere 10-15 kilometers away from any number of lovely peaks. But as I mentioned in an earlier post, hiking as we in Alaska think of it is virtually unknown here.

For example, on a recent outing our group passed a couple of farmers working in their field. As soon as he saw us, one of them jumped up, came over and started giving us directions to the nearest road. When we explained that we weren't looking for the road, he was genuinely puzzled. One of the Albanians in our group gamely tried to explain ("We just enjoy walking around in nature") but he clearly thought we were nuts.

 On another outing in which I was solo, I came upon a shepherdess tending her flock. My limited vocabulary made conversation difficult; but one thing she said was clear even to me: "Why on earth did you come here on foot - don't you have a car?".  I had no better answer than my friend had given that poor farmer.




That's why it is especially fun to meet Albanians who like to hike in the mountains. I went with just such a group this past weekend to climb Mali Gamtit.

Reservoir

About 20 of us gathered at 9 am to drive 30 minutes or so to the base of the peak, located near the reservoir that supplies drinking water for Tirana. 

Resting on the way up

It was an interesting group. Some clearly had done this kind of thing before, while others seemed to have little idea of what was involved - namely about 900 meters of elevation gain.

No matter. One thing I have learned about Albanians is that they are highly social and very good at managing groups. We eventually separated ourselves into a variety of sub-groups. Some went to the top, others stopped halfway, and still others barely made it past the first steep uphill. This seemed perfectly natural to everyone, and it seemed to work just fine.

Looking down on the reservoir

It was a lovely day, so the ones who stopped short of the top found sunny spots in which to wait for the others.

The views were fine - we could see the ocean and the port city of Durres in the distance.

Here are a few photos of the views on the way up and from the summit.

Full moon rising

Tired but happy at the end of the day