Western Balkans '24

The what eh what? Thermal baths (llixhat) of (e) Benje. And Lengarica Canyon. All in one place. The place to be, is what dozens of Albanians and tourists think, too. With a light smell of sulfur in the air and the landscape full of the trash you’ll find everywhere in Albania, I’m not sure if I like this place. My headaches are back. And my camping battery is once more reaching a level that is starting to stress me out.

A small passenger car with some curious attachments passes, the driver smiles and waves at me. From the rear plate, I see that this car is registered in Québec. Canada! I know dozens of people that ship their campers – small, large and extra-large – to North America (primarily Halifax), but I’ve never heard of or seen someone ship their microcamper in the other direction. I’m intrigued.

Ignoring my challenges for the moment, I grab a towel for the baths and walk in the direction of _la voiture québecoise_. Its owner is a quirky, lighthearted man my age, eager to show me every detail of the Subaru Impreza he’s converted to a camper that’s missing _nothing_! The tiny car contains everything imaginable for permanent life on the road:

The bed, kitchen stove, separator toilet, shower are all inside the car. A roof box holds water, various supplies and the electrical setup, charged from the car alternator and two fixed solar panels. On the trailer hitch, there’s a garbage can, a _Starlink_ satellite dish and, yes, a small washing machine.

Mathieu has been on the road for two years. After circling North America twice, he shipped the car from Mexico to Spain and has been traveling through Europe for the last five months. As a professional mechanic, there’s no problem he can’t fix himself. I don’t know the full extent of his supplies, but I did get to see a multimeter (normal) and welding gear (extremely unusual).

My idea of a tiny house on a truck is decadent luxury compared to his minimalist, all-inclusive setup. Mathieu shows what’s possible if you throw out everything you don’t need (all but the driver’s seat and seatbelt!) and replace it with what you do, willing to shower and cook sitting down (in the same place). I’m inclined to say I wouldn’t want it. But if it were all I could afford or I couldn’t travel, I’d do it his way.

We sit in the thermal baths for a while, talking about his travels and my plans. As the sun sets, we shower and Mathieu helps me troubleshoot my electrical problem a bit more. Charging from the alternator has again cut out completely and with help of the aforementioned multimeter, we narrow down the failure to a single component. I’ll have to keep managing my power and replace the part at home. We relocate to a more secluded site next to the river and call it a night.

Early in the morning, I head into Lengarica Canyon and once more have a place to myself that in just a few hours will be crawling with people. And indeed, as I head back, there they are. From a tour guide who checks the canyon three times a day for stranded tourists, I learn that after the waterfalls where most turn around, the stone walls close to slot canyon dimensions. Oh, if only I had known. So I’ll be back!

As I reach the car, Mathieu is just starting to stir, we make coffee together and talk to the Ukrainian family we shared our private campsite with. Mom, dad and three kids in a passenger car, sleeping in a tent. They’re from Odesa and we hear a personal story that doesn't sound much like the tales we are fed by the TV.

And so I am once more reminded: Don’t believe what they say. Go see (and talk to people) for yourself.Weiterlesen