Jerome Clementz takes an optimistic ride into the forgotten reaches of the cursed Balkan mountains.
Words Jerome Clementz Photography Jérémie Reuiller
While it seems that the focus of bikes these days is on each millimetre of travel, degree of frame angle or tyre tread for a specific use, we wanted to return to the basis of the creation of the mountain bike. At its heart, it’s an instrument that allows us to explore the trails, discover new lands – places still unexplored by bicycle – or visit remote populations.
My friend Ludo and I have already visited some nice places in the world, on our own or together, for competitions, training camps or joint trips, but we’d never been to the Balkans. We each had our own ideas, but no certainty. During a conversation about travel, our friend, mountain bike and hiking guide Cyril A’CH told us about a recent hiking route called the ‘Peaks of the Balkans’ that he wanted to explore one day on foot. He added that the region looked nice for mountain biking. The route connects Kosovo, Montenegro and Albania through the ‘Cursed Mountains’ which are the most ‘alpine’ part of the Balkans.
We immersed ourselves in research, viewing all the maps and images we could find on the internet. It was indeed beautiful and steep – but surely there must be rideable sections?
Never one to turn down a project with a touch of uncertainty and a dose of challenge, we formulated our route and invited photographer Jérémie Reuiller along to share with you his beautiful images. The concept was clear to everyone: we’d go where few people have put their wheels. We knew that there would be difficult times, with hikeabike and gruelling climbs aplenty, but we were just excited at the idea of surpassing ourselves, crossing technical sections, meeting the locals and seeing if those mountains really are cursed…
Let the cursing begin!
The group meets in Pristina, Kosovo, and joins the Rugova Valley, near the small tourist town of Peja. We leave our bike bags at the Hotel Rugova Camp which will be our point of return, and the owner finds us a taxi to go to Liqenat, our starting point. The only taxi able to carry four guys and four bikes is that of Mentor, who just happens to be a guide at Outdoor Kosovo and a specialist in the Peaks of the Balkans trail.
He is an imposing man, sure of himself, who at first is a little cold in front of these chancers who think they can do this loop on mountain bikes. After questioning our research and seeing that we’re not amateurs without preparation, he turns out to be a gold mine of information, who gives us his number, saying that for any question or assistance we could just call him and he will solve any problem instantly.
It is here that we see the local mentality which would be confirmed throughout our trip; a little cold and nonchalant at first but helpful people, happy to exchange and proud to share the beauty of their region with visitors. Throughout our stay, these encounters will help us to fully enjoy these imposing mountains while learning more about the turbulent history of the region that binds the three countries together.
Snow! Bears! Snowbears!
At base camp, the evening before our departure, we meet hikers who have completed 75% of the loop. They look exhausted and are sceptical to see us with bikes. The spring weather has been a bit unusual – it snowed more than normal and hasn’t been as hot as other years. We hear that there are snow patches above 2,000m (we’ll be going up to 2,366m) depending on the exposure, but according to them, nothing is very long, which is reassuring.
The first climb is steep; we pass near Lake Leqinat for our first sumptuous view and continue towards the border with Montenegro. This valley goes up to 2,200m and quickly becomes snowy. We keep smiling because we know there’s always a beautiful ridge awaiting us on the other side. Unfortunately, this is the snowiest section of the trip and we have to push almost 8km, which greatly slows our progress and puts us in doubt about the rest of the trip. Not the ideal start, but we keep our morale high because we’ve been told the rest of the course would be less snowy. We navigate on sight and a little bit with GPS as we can’t see the trail and decide to get closer to the ridge for a better orientation.
As we walk and talk, we notice traces of animals in the snow. STOP! Regroup, analysis, discussion… We agree these are bear tracks: one adult and two or three cubs. The smile is back and we have a new goal for our trip: see the bears for real. In the end, the snow lessens enough for us to see the trail and on the rest of the trip doesn’t pose any additional problems except some fun, Megavalanche-style descending or the odd bit of pushing.
The locals
The end of the ridge is a beautiful descent into pastures where we meet farmers, cows and sheep, and arrive at a small guesthouse. We’re looking at the map when the owner comes to meet us. Her English is limited and we don’t speak the local language; however, we understand that she wants to help us and she asks if we are looking for accommodation. Having already booked somewhere for the night, we tell her it will be fine, but she kindly invites us to have tea and a pancake on her terrace. This isn’t organised tourism, just people happy to meet travellers and share an exchange despite the language barrier.
During the rest of our trip, we stay with different people, from the tourist Airbnb in Plav, to the small family house with a restaurant in Theth, in huts in the summer pastures with farmers, or in a small chalet freshly reopened by two grannies.
We’re always keen to chat and learn and feel our hosts have the same desire. We are able to discuss the history of the countries, their way of life, the development of tourism in this region, their visions of the future, and our bikes and other trips we’d taken. Doors were wide open, smiles and thanks were legion and everyone came away enlightened.
People live simply here, often like our great-grandparents with a small business or activity, two or three cows, a few chickens and a horse. They grow vegetables and live modestly, balancing local traditions and the advent of new technologies such as the internet. Children actively participate in family life. The adults love today’s tourism but are afraid it will develop uncontrollably. The balance between facilitating the daily life of the inhabitants and the impact of increased accessibility to tourists is a fine line. Whether it is the construction of a new road to make things easier for walkers or the arrival of new people in the village, it’s a time of change for everyone and a balance needs to be found.
The real mountains
Ten days before our arrival, two Belgian tourists died after a fall in a snowfield. We are in the Dinaric Alps, on the edge of the true high mountains. Of course, we’re on an adventure, and like a bit of a challenge and uncertainty, but there are also safety rules to be respected. The weather is threatening, with a brooding sky and clouds that nestle against the mountains. We’re moving fast and light, over steep, but rideable terrain, with a destination to reach. There are a lot of ways things could go wrong, so it is important not to do anything stupid and to respect the environment in which we are.
In Theth-Valbona we leave under a glorious sun, but during a break we see a storm arriving. We let it pass in the shelter of a small mountain café by playing UNO (the official game of the trip with 3,200 games played). A lull in the storm arrives so we decide to leave, but 200m from the Valbona Pass the storm turns around. We decide not to risk pressing on and wait for it to pass under the ridge line where the storm is less likely to hit. We know that we must cross the notoriously icy bit where the Belgians’ accident took place. Following the incident, a detour was set up but the route contains a climbing passage that we can’t do with the bikes.
At this moment the mood is a little more sombre. We laugh less, not that we’re sad or disillusioned, we just know that we are entering a critical area. The whole group monitors itself, helps each other and remains focused. The snow patch has melted well and we must only do a few steps in the snow. We each take the lead, secure our steps and everything goes well. Once this passage is cleared the smiles return and, at the same time, the rain stops.
A wonderful (but technical) descent awaits and we lap it up all the way until a meal break in Valbona. This sums up the spirit of this group – we know how to have fun and love to try technical things in rather isolated regions, but we’re also aware of the danger of the mountain, and we respect it and each other’s concerns. Be crazy by all means, just not stupid.
Real mountain biking
The loop we devised extends for about 200km with 10,000m of elevation, mainly on singletrack, most of which has probably never seen a bicycle tyre. This will be the most common remark when we meet people, local or foreign: “You are trying the Peaks of the Balkans by bike? Impossible!”, but every completed section only reinforces our optimism and our decision to come here. Indeed, we knew it would be necessary to push on certain sections, and we are carrying or pushing our machines on many bits of the climbs, but we’re able to ride 98% of the descents. This is ‘real’ mountain biking, as we understand it, with techy sections, speed and different terrain.
Our arrival into Albania by the Peja Pass is a highlight in terms of ride and confidence. The map shows a steep route, and the people we meet (even Mentor), say categorically that it will be impossible for us to ride this downhill. We were looking forward to this with a little trepidation (because no one likes to walk downhill, right?). From the top, you can see the bottom of the valley 700m below, with not much distance for such a drop. Each of us takes turns to try each switchback – and in the end, we’ll be forced to walk two (out of the 700) but everything else will be ridden with pleasure and a big smile. Cyril and Jérémie clean most of the turns complete with camera bags. After this, we know that the rest of the trip will be achievable (even though I might not recommend it to everyone).
In terms of landscape, we are greeted with new scenery every time we move into a new valley. In Kosovo we start with Vosges-type forests before arriving in Siberian-style steppes, then we switch to Montenegro with alpine meadows and Mediterranean pine forests. The arrival in Albania reminds us of the Dolomites with their white rock. Now we’re whisked to New Zealand where the greenery is wall to wall. Finally, when we return to the eastern part, we will be in high Alpine valleys, somewhere between Scotland and Mongolia. There is a real diversity despite never straying far from our starting point as the crow flies.
A cow? A bear!
Ludo came here with a dream in mind, and the animal prints on the first day only strengthened his conviction and hope. Bear spotting became the common thread of our itinerary and conversations. We looked around with interest at every stop, the subject came up at every meeting of locals. “Have you ever seen a bear?” Many replied that they had never seen any, or perhaps some traces, but very rarely a firm ‘yes’. We didn’t lose hope despite the passing days and scepticism of our hosts. At the end of the day towards Dobërdoll, we stop to take pictures in a beautiful flowery alpine pasture, it starts to rain. As we put the cameras away, Ludo sees something moving on the mountainside higher up. A cow? But, no – it’s a bear with three cubs. A cliff separates us from them which keeps us safe and allows us to fully take in this moment as we watch them walking nimbly on the mountain. The level of excitement is off the scale, and yet we have to keep silent so as not to disturb them. We stand there in the rain, taking in every moment of this spectacle of nature. The beast is huge and agile, with lively and playful cubs. This moment will remain engraved in our memories and we thank nature for having offered it to us. Ludo is delighted and will dream about it for nights afterwards.
The link
Coming here we wanted to discover the links and differences between these three countries. Our border permits define the approximate time to cross the border and the direction – it is, in our opinion, what separates these inhabitants the most.
However, although we note small differences between each country and their different histories, the fact that these people all live remotely in the mountains means they have a lot in common. First of all their way of life, but also by their attachment and relationship with nature. Families are very supportive, often with a member living abroad who comes back regularly to help – the generations being very supportive together. The food is similar with a base of tomato, cucumber, fresh cheese and bread, supplemented with dishes specific to each valley. Finally, more than a country or a defined border, it is the place where they live and the difficulties to which they must adapt that forge traditions, culture and a strong mountain identity.
For us, these eight days together has also created links, mainly due to endless games of UNO, the sharing of the weight in our bags, or who will jump first into a river to wash or to take a visit to the barber. More seriously, getting slightly lost in the mountains is also a great way to discuss many things, to swap opinions or our visions for the future. Finally, just having shared these unique moments will remain engraved in our memories and make a lasting link between us.
Devil may care
The Prokletije Mountains (or ‘Cursed Mountains’ in Montenegro) in the heart of the Balkans, were still almost unknown until about 30 years ago. It is one of the last mostly unexplored areas in Europe. One of the reasons is that it was a military border between Albania and Montenegro, forbidden except for the soldiers who protected it. However, if we go back even further in time the local legend says these jagged glacial karsts were created by the devil who escaped from hell or that Slavic soldiers gave them this name while they fought to cross them.
Many legends, assumptions and conflicts have left this land still very undiscovered internationally and, generally, the unknown is scary. Indeed, these mountains can be intimidating as we experienced ourselves when we entered the Rugova canyon. They deserve respect and caution, but once nestled at altitude, we could marvel at their beauties, ride in wonderful places on splendid trails, and meet open and welcoming people eager to exchange and make known their region and tradition.
It’s still a route for the experienced rider otherwise you’ll find that you’re pushing more than you’re riding, in which case it’s us that you will curse, but, for us, we had a great and rewarding experience.
We came with uncertainties and doubts, but we leave with the feeling of having achieved an extraordinary, beautiful adventure that, in addition to satisfying our need for adrenaline and challenge, also allowed us to discover people, cultures and new lands. Sometimes you have to go beyond legends, get out of your comfort zone to see reality and make your own vision of things. In any case, we are convinced of it and we are already talking about our next cycling trip to discover a new region of the world.
