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Sex chat with albanian boys

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I wasn’t sure, however, if he meant that people on bicycles had crashed right now, at this very moment, or if he had simply seem a group of bicyclists crash on this road at some distance point in the past. It is very slippery.” I waved at the man and thanked him for the warning.

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Right above his eye was a deep three-inch gash that spout dark black blood down the rider’s face and neck. Three or four cars were all that separated me from what I had been told was Europe’s poorest and most dangerous country.But even with so few people crossing the border, the wait took a good half hour.Cars leaving Montenegro were forced to sit idle at a small bridge, about 100 meters away from the actual border station.It was a bike shop of sorts, and I peeked inside to see who was running this tiny roadside business. I looked around and a spotted a woman making eye contact with me. I looked at him and he pointed to his left, to a nearby restaurant, where a man was running toward me, his eyes fixed. After what seemed like an eternity, one of the boys turned to me and said, “You see that old man on his bicycle? A tiny cash box sat on top of the table and the man stood as we entered and came out from behind the velvet curtain. Two posters of women in lingerie hung from the dresser near the window.My tour guide on a bicycle spoke to the man and explained that I needed a place to sleep for the night. And the shower in the bathroom was nothing more than a hose sticking out of the wall and a drain in the middle of the bathroom floor.The boys were trying to go as fast as the cars and slipped in the water.

We are okay.” I looked at the young man the woman was tending to and assumed it was her boyfriend.

They were just curious to see what this strange little bicycle was all about, but the swarm was blocking the bridge and I was unable to pass until three old men came over and chased the boys off with sticks, waving me adieu and pointing me across the bridge and in the direction of the city. I sat on a bench and pulled out my map, which showed no more than four or five roads leading into Shkoder and was completely useless for any type of citywide navigation.

Across the bridge I hung a left and followed a newly installed brick riverfront lined with small, shadeless tress and green metal benches. As I sat quietly on the uncomfortable wooden bench, a small boy crept over, looking interestingly at my bicycle and the strange gear I was hauling on my small-wheeled vehicle. and the boy crept closer, finally doing as the other Albanian boys had done, he squeezed my brakes, ran his hand down the frame, and patted my panniers.

Men on mules pulled trailers filled with dirt and tools and various Albanian knickknacks. “Hmm…” the girls looked at each other and giggled, the way that girls seem to do when they have a secret that is only between themselves and not intended for you. In the road, people walked on foot; bikes roamed in every direction; carts pulled by donkeys, horses, and elderly men brought traffic to a slow; and cars honked and swerved as they made their way through this wild mix of transport modes. With no street lights to direct traffic, most intersections were left empty and cars, bikers and pedestrians were left to fend for themselves.

In small villages, school children chased beside me as I rode past. And every once in a while, circular concrete bunkers would emerge from the hillsides – the remnants of a war gone past and a sure sign of the lack of money this small European country had to respectfully defend itself. Larger street crossings, however, were manned with a single police officer in a light blue uniform waving a tiny wooden board, which every bike, car and pedestrian seemed to completely ignore.

A boy with one leg wearing a roller blade was being pulled by a friend,on a bike. The boy obviously didn’t speak English, but I could tell he wanted to ride the bike. With a huge grin on his face, the small boy mounted the bike and took off like a pro. I just wanted to ask if you knew of a place where I could sleep for the night. ” The old man couldn’t understand a word I was saying.