Ferry ride from Koman to Fierza

Our ride came promptly at 7am, just as we were about to finish our ‘light’ breakfast of byrek (triangular pastry made of filo dough filled with cheese; the whole thing was larger than my face) and chocolate croissant. Altogether there were nine of us from the hostel going to Valbonë; we made friends with a few of them last night and over breakfast this morning. There was no more room in the larger (more comfortable) bus, so we took the smaller van – more a wagon than a van – with two guys from the UK and a girl from Canada.

The driver a.k.a. Albanian Steve (because he looked like Gabriel’s friend, Steve), and his friend talked — or argued, we couldn’t tell — the whole ride, interrupted only when they had to stop and pick up cargo from various shops along the way. They stopped at a seed store, a bakery and a general supply store. Each time they stopped, shifted the gear to neutral, pulled up the parking brake, kept the car running, made a dash to the store to pick up goods and they were back in the car in less than a minute stashing their purchase under the seats or under their legs. Then they raced back on the road to catch up with the other bus, and picked up their conversation (or argument) where they had left it.

We were on our way to Koman, by Lake Koman, to take the ferry up the man-made reservoir to Fierza, where a bus would take us to Valbonë, right in the center of the Albanian Alps. Our plan was to stay in Valbonë tonight and hike the pass tomorrow to Theth and stayed there for a few days before figuring out what’s next.

After an hour or so, the bus and the car pulled over on the side of the road. The driver of the bus in front of us – he looked like the boss – told everyone to get out and “stretch legs and enjoy the view.” It seemed we had gained some elevation in the last hour without our realizing it. The air felt cooler. We could see Lake Koman below with a fish farm nearby, large round enclosures arranged in neat rows like crop circles on water.

An hour later, we got to a narrow tunnel that opened up to the ferry terminal. We could see the terminal in front of us but a traffic jam had developed and we were stuck in the tunnel. It seemed that the ferry terminal was too small to accommodate all the tourist buses and vans and all the cars and motorcycles that were trying to get on the ferry. The recent tourism boom must have stretched the capacity of this “terminal”, which was no more than a small parking lot by the side of the dam. But in the usual Albanian style, everyone was calm and composed. There was no angry shouting or frustrated yelling. Someone figured out that our bus and van and the car behind us needed to back up the tunnel to allow a few vans who had already dropped off their passengers to get out of the parking lot. Someone volunteered to make sure no one else was coming into the tunnel and someone coordinated the whole shuffle.

By the ferry “terminal” in Koman. Those were the boat taxis and the dam in the background.

Meanwhile, we got on the ferry, which was already quite full. There were 50 passengers or so on the top deck and 4-5 cars and a dozen motorcycles on the lower deck. We found a prime spot by the railing on the lower deck where we could sit somewhat comfortably.

It’s the second most scenic ferry ride in the world,” I overheard someone saying. Who’s the judge? It didn’t matter. For the next three hours we were treated to a beautiful movie of all the steep hillside and majestic valleys that surrounded us as the ferry glided upstream along the meandering lake. Occasionally the view would be marred by random plastic trash floating on the surface. Milk crate. Rubber gloves. Half of a car tire. Where did they come from?

The water changed its hue, from teal to sapphire blue to light mossy green to aquamarine as the underlying bedrock changed along the lake. There were tiny houses and farms perched on the hillside with no roads leading to them. They looked so impossibly remote and cut off from civilization that we wondered how the people who lived there got around. Then we saw our answer: a smaller boat had taken the role of a water taxi, ferrying passengers and goods along the lake. Whereas our ferry would have been too large to maneuver around, the smaller boats could make stops along the river, edging as close to the bank as it could without cutting the rotor against the bedrock.

Three hours later we were welcomed by another chaotic scene at the ferry ‘terminal’ in Firenze. There was no dock. They just parked the ferry as close to the edge as possible, lowered the ramp and opened the gate. Like sheep being let loose from their pen, everyone rushed out of the ferry and dispersed in all directions within seconds trying to find their next ride, while avoiding the cars and motorcycles that were exiting the ferry at the same time. I didn’t remember how we managed to find our bus amidst all the chaos. But we did, and off we went to Valbonë. We got a nice preview of what our hike tomorrow would look like: gorgeous mountains with pockets of snow dotting the landscape and the rapids below.

We had left our tents and sleeping bags at the hostel, only carrying the necessary clothes and other essential items for a few days. We reckoned since this was still shoulder season we should be able to find accommodations at BnBs without any advance reservations and bargained for a cheaper deal in-person. When we shared our plan with our travel companion from Barcelona (he had stayed in the same hostel in Shkodrë) he looked a bit concerned and amused. “Summer months are not the best time to do that,” he gently offered, trying not to sound judgmental. “It’s very crowded everywhere in Europe and most places would be fully booked.” I realized we must have looked a bit naive to him then.

Anyway, he was actually a pretty interesting character. He reminded me of Ernest, my friend from grad school. They both have this gentle way of moving about and talking that immediately assured you of their good nature and intention. Last night he told us, upon finding out that I was from Indonesia, that he had spent a month in an island near Pulau Nias, west of Sumatra. It’s very rare to find people who have visited Indonesia. And those who did, probably only visited Bali, Jakarta, Yogyakarta – the usual tourist circuits. So I’m always impressed by anyone who have visited the less traveled routes in Indonesia.

We considered our options and asked the bus driver to drop us near the trailhead. We figured we would go from guesthouse to guesthouse looking for a place to stay, starting from the one closest to the trailhead. Alas, we quickly realized that, in the mountains, the distance between guesthouses can be a few kilometers. Luckily we found a lunch place with an okay Internet connection and good cell reception. We started calling places and the first place we called was labeled a “guesthouse” on Google Maps and descriptively named “Mark’s House.” A woman answered in English and she told us that yes they had availabilities. It would be 13 euros which included dinner, breakfast and packed lunch. What a steal, we thought. Maybe Lady Luck was on our side!

One Comment

  1. The lake, the river, the beauty and the lines filled with detailed stories, photos and travel-adventure… I felt there with you… it is wonderful to follow even if I already know what came after. It’s freedom, joy and simplicity you share and I learn. Thank you for the slow boat… keep on writing dear Selina… looking forward to the next ones, looking forward to your walk with Pilar… gracias, los queremos desde Boyacá! Yayo

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