We wonder if that was their car. There are few buildings. They do not smile and we do not wave. The wagon is packed with refugees, huddled under plastic sheeting, their faces expressionless. We are reminded why we are going to Kukes.
Waterfalls spill down the mountainsides and pass through culverts under the road.
We are driving slowly, but throw huge sheets of brown water on passing cars, and get the same in return. But we are warm and comfortable in our big car even with five passengers. The photographer jokes that he may buy a used Mercedes when he gets home. It begins to hail. We pass more tractors and dozens of small, overcrowded vehicles without license plates.