The Highlands of Korçë – Where the Sky Begins

Some roads rise like questions. The one to Voskopoja is one of them.

We rode through apple orchards and small wooden bridges, past villages where smoke curls from chimneys even in summer. This is the high plateau of Albania—wide, silent, wind-touched. The kind of place where time isn’t measured in hours, but in how far the sheep have wandered.

Voskopoja itself feels like a forgotten kingdom, home to painted churches and echoes of when it was once one of Europe’s richest towns. Inside Saint Nicholas Church, a caretaker lit a candle for us. “For your safe journey,” he said. It felt ancient. It felt right.

We ate by the fire that night, with mountain cheese and hot cornbread dipped in honey. The stars came out sharp and uncountable.

This is why we ride. For the quiet places. For the ones that still listen.