Cycling the Western Balkans: A wild, yet welcoming, mountain tour

“Hey mate!” a cyclist called to us in an Australian accent as he pedaled by on the rocky dirt road that serves as the main street of the village of Theth deep in Albania’s Dinaric Alps. Along with my friend and travel companion, Dave, I had not seen another bikepacker in four days.

In June, Dave and I rode a section of the new 2,500-mile Trans Dinarica cycling route that connects Albania and the other countries in the Western Balkans through the Dinaric Alps, known as the “Accursed Mountains.” The route starts in Slovenia, crossing through remote parts of Croatia, Bosnia and Herzegovina, Serbia, Montenegro, Albania, Kosovo and North Macedonia on public roads with a mix of gravel, dirt and asphalt. By covering so much terrain, the Trans Dinarica is able to offer something for different types of cyclists, regardless of experience and skill.

As we quickly learned, biking the Trans Dinarica is not like cycling in the French Alps or the Italian Dolomites, although with limestone and steep rock faces, some of the terrain looks strikingly similar. In France and Italy, there are cyclists on every switchback of popular climbs, bike repair shops in most towns and a decades-old cycling culture. In Albania and Montenegro, Dave and I went days without seeing a single bike shop and long stretches without even a grocery store. But the scenery is breathtaking, the roads are calm, and this rural zone is eagerly transforming into a tourist destination.

“The idea is to present the Balkans positively and to inspire people to see the Balkans from a different perspective and in a sustainable way,” said Jan Klavora, a Slovenian and one of the creators of the Trans Dinarica. “It is an economical route because it brings business to an area that needs it. It is also cultural because it brings together areas that were divided by war and connects them all.”

The Western Balkan region experienced significant political, social and cultural upheaval in the 20th century, particularly following World War II. After the disintegration of Yugoslavia into six separate states, the Yugoslav wars, a series of ethnically driven conflicts from 1991 to 2001, caused the deaths of 140,000 people.

Slowly, the region’s economy is improving, and tourism is considered a key aspect. Crowds are already flocking to Croatia and spreading down the Adriatic coast to Albania and Montenegro. But the Trans Dinarica route heads deep into the mountains, an area that is still much less visited.

“Cyclists are good customers. We eat a lot, stop for lunch and dinner, and sleep somewhere different every night. It’s a huge economical engine,” Klavora said.

Podgorica, Montenegro to Tamare, Albania

With limited time, Dave and I headed into the heart of the Dinaric Alps in Montenegro. We had packed a water filter, repair kit and GPS, and both of us had gravel bikes with 38-millimeter tires. We planned to pedal a 200-mile loop with lots of elevation gain and cross through mountains from Montenegro to Albania. We picked a route that offered breathtaking climbs into the high mountains, with quiet roads and a balance of asphalt and gravel so that we could cover a lot of ground every day but still enjoy car-free, empty sections.

We bought food along the way, stopping whenever we came across a grocery store, and booked our hotels and guesthouses in advance, using the accommodations listed on the Trans Dinarica website and paying for our rooms in cash. (I don’t love cycling with hundreds of euros, but very few places take credit cards, and ATMs were not to be found after we left Podgorica, Montenegro’s capital.)

Our loop started from Podgorica, with a climb above the Moraca canyon and views of the Mala Rijeka viaduct, the highest railway bridge in Europe. We left early, enduring a hot sun, but we met cooler temperatures after 7,200 feet of climbing into the mountains. After a short descent into a high elevation valley, we stopped at Restaurant Ribnak, a log cabin where the river flows directly beneath the deck, and the waiters catch the fish served for lunch next to your feet. It was too early in the day for lunch, but we had fried potatoes and baklava before continuing on.

The day’s 56-mile route was mainly on paved roads but we saw very little traffic. (It’s possible to split the ride into two days, staying in Kolasin, a small village on the banks of the Tara River.) After our baklava stop, we ascended another 6 miles of switchbacks to Stavna, a collection of mountain hut outposts surrounded by peaks. We were greeted at Kobil Do Guesthouse with a shot glass of rakia (or rakija), a traditional distilled plum liquor popular in the Balkans.

“The grandest climbs of the Balkans are no match for the power of plum brandy,” Dave said as we slowly sipped the 40% alcohol by volume – or 80-proof – liquor. The guesthouse serves dinner and breakfast, and rooms are in individual cottages with single beds and showers.

The next day started with a long, steep, chunky gravel descent to the town of Andrijevica and the valley along the Lim River below. (A nearby paved road is an alternative option, but to us, the panoramic views were worth the slightly spicy descent.) I took my only fall of the trip when I bailed into a bush to avoid skidding out of a switchback. I was fine. Wildflowers were blooming, and even with smoke from wildfires in Greece, the view of Kucki Kom, the highest peak of the Komovi massif, was spectacular.

After rejoining the asphalt 9 miles later, we rode through the valley for a gentle climb then a descent into the village of Gusinje. Once at the intersection of the Ottoman trade routes between northern Albania, Montenegro and Kosovo, today Gusinje is transforming, with a renovation of its central bazaar and a push to become a sporting event hub – hosting triathlons and the Skyrunning European Championships, in which runners navigate steep ridges, all above 6,600 feet.

It’s a 4-mile ride from Gusinje to the Albanian border, where we had our passports stamped in a small wooden building by a border agent who seemed surprised to see anyone at all, let alone two cyclists. Over the border, we dunked ourselves in the clean waters of the Vermosh River, a reprieve from the afternoon heat. Our day’s last climb had views of the Tamara Gorge on the Cem River, one of Europe’s last free-flowing rivers.

With the temperatures over 90 degrees Fahrenheit, the descent felt like riding through a blow dryer, but we were greeted by a friendly host and excellent air conditioning at Guesthouse Rireyiana in the village of Tamare. Across the town square, the staff at the newly opened Ujevara restaurant were more than happy to serve us an excellent and early 4:45 p.m. dinner of local trout and Greek salad.

Tamare to Shkoder

From Tamare to Theth would be another big day of climbing, with nearly 7,000 feet of elevation gain over 50 miles, and after the previous afternoon’s heat, we decided to leave early. Waking at 5 a.m. for a breakfast of cookies, bananas and peach juice – grocery store options were, shall we say, limited – we ascended some very beautiful switchbacks and then a more gradual climb to Boge, the last outpost before Theth. Not so much a town, Boge does offer accommodation options and small rest stops with cold water and other beverages. It was only 9:30 a.m., but with temperatures rising, we paused only briefly before the last long ascent, which brings you into Theth National Park, which has most of Albania’s peaks above 6,500 feet.

Before the trip, I imagined rugged mountains, small villages and long, empty stretches of road, but I was still surprised by how few cyclists we saw, especially on roads and gravel trails that were perfect for cycling. The sheer remoteness also surprised me.

“Albania feels like the Italian Dolomites, but with less pasta and more wilderness,” Dave said at the top of a climb, where we stumbled across a stone memorial for Baron Franz Nopcsa, a Hungarian geologist, paleontologist and specialist in Albanian studies who died in 1933.

A long descent found us at Theth, a small village mainly composed of guesthouses and several restaurants. We were done riding that day, and celebrated with a three-hour lunch of lamb, Fergese (a traditional Albanian dish with roasted red peppers, tomatoes and cottage cheese), cornbread, Greek salad and local beer at Bar Restaurant Jezerca. We shared a table with a couple who were hitchhiking and backpacking from Austria to Greece. Theth is a popular hiking destination with a 400-year-old “lock-in tower,” which historically offered shelter to people engaged in blood feuds.

After a night at Kompleksi Zorgji, a family home transformed into a guesthouse, we started our final day climbing back up the same descent and headed down toward Shkoder, an important city in northern Albania with nearly 2,200 years of recorded history that sits between Lake Skadar (known also as Lake Scutari, Lake Shkoder and other names) and the foothills of the Albanian Alps. Completing the loop, we took a taxi back across the border to Podgorica for 60 euros ($65) with a driver who had spent 40 years in the Albanian police before retiring. We stopped at his house on the way to unload 15 3-gallon water jugs for his family. I wished I spoke Albanian, because he seemed to have excellent stories.

“They said it’s the wildest part of Europe, and it never once disappointed,” Dave said as we loaded our bikes into the taxi.

Practical Tips

Accommodation options, restaurants, water refills and scenic stops are all marked in the Trans Dinarica route data, available for download. The organizers recommend using a gravel bike with 38- to 42-milimeter tires. Wider tires will offer more stability on the gravel sections, but you lose speed and efficiency on the paved sections. Bring enough cash for food, lodging and emergencies for the entirety of the trip. Expect to pay about 50 euros per night for two-person accommodations, and anywhere from 10 to 30 euros per person for meals, depending on what you ordered. We got pizzas for 7 euros, but splurged for a multicourse lunch in Theth that ended up being about 30 euros each with drinks. Most places do not have a credit card reader and everyone accepts euros, sometimes even Swiss francs and U.S. dollars, but will typically make change in local currency.

This article originally appeared in The New York Times.