The changeable weather in the interior is predicted to be over so that's a good reason to leave the coast and head back to the mountains. A so-called scenic route runs along the Skadarsko lake, which seems to be very beautiful. By the way, half of this lake is Albanian territory and is called Lake Shkodra there. The route, towards the Albanian border, is indeed beautiful and has countless small bends, descents, climbs and just as many impressive viewpoints.
Before I know it, I'm at the Albanian border, which, as it turns out, combines two posts. The Montenegran border guard writes down my details and motorcycle registration number on a list and the Albanian customs officer, who is exactly 1 meter away, does exactly the same again.
Immediately behind the border post is a complete market with vegetables, fruit and local products. Youthful Albanians wave SIM cards and even younger children, with a cigarette in their mouth, ask for money from the driving visitors. I hadn't seen this coming for a while.
Driving slowly inland I let the impressions and the landscape work on me. It is clear that Albania is a poor country. Even more waste everywhere and on the roads are cars and trucks that would no longer pass the APK inspection in the Netherlands. This also makes driving a bit more difficult because there are many oil and grease traces on the asphalt. But caution is advised here anyway because many roads are in very bad condition. That is not remedied, but indicated by warning signs painted on the asphalt.
However, nature is again breathtaking. Beautiful. Mountains never bore me.
Around 3 pm I am at the foot of a mountain pass that leads to my chosen campsite, but it turns out to be unpaved for the next 45 km. The only other way to get there is about 90 km back on the bad road that brought me to this point. I google the mountain pass and this turns out to be one of the most dangerous roads in Albania. A tour of 2.5 to 3 hours with a high degree of off-road driving difficulty. That doesn't seem like a good idea, especially at the end of the day, and I look for the nearest campsite.
Ten kilometers further I turn into camping Suç, a grassy field near a small church and a house where 3 nuns appear to live.
In the absence of the nuns, the campsite is overseen by a Dutch couple who have been camping on the site in their off-road truck since the spring and who welcome me warmly. They tell me that I can pay by card and do my shopping 8 km away and when I have done that I still enjoy my pasta meal and the sun setting behind the mountains.
