LEAVING BULGARIA
In the morning we leave our sojourn in Bulgaria and the fine city of Sofia, to make our way further into the heart of the Balkans. We grab a couple of coffees from the noisy machine downstairs at our hotel to enhance a light breakfast of good cheese, fresh fruit, and jam on bread, before rolling our bags through a light rain to the closest Metro station. And on the way I notice a sweet little old Lada that someone has repurposed into a very basic utility vehicle with a roof rack. A peek through the rear side window shows they’ve even installed a custom back seat. Now that’s way cool.
In the rainy streets we pass yet another dramatic Soviet sculpture that’s been left on a side street outside a tobacco shop. All that inspiration and noble cause has been tossed aside, while a stone relief of a gallant, and maybe blood-thirsty, Thracian warrior graces the entry to the “Serdica” Metro station (named for the old Roman settlement here). Such is the fickle nature of humanity, and its choices of heroes and villains throughout our long and troubled history.
It’s a quick and inexpensive ride on Sofia’s clean and efficient Metro system to the central train station and bus terminal where we wait with others in a light drizzle to depart. We got our tickets a day earlier, and I noticed all the places, all the European countries, that you can access from here. So where would you like to go today? And what adventures would you hope to have? — “to lean forward to the next crazy venture beneath the skies,” in the words of Jack Kerouac. Just pick a country, any country, any city, among the many that Europe offers.
We’re soon on a bus through the pretty mountains of western Bulgaria to Skopje, the capital of North Macedonia, on the next leg of this extraordinary trek into Eastern Europe and the Balkans. Our route takes us through peaceful rural scenes of small farms with backyard gardens, piles of firewood ready for the coming winter, and solar panels.
And in the distance, the sprawling electric plant near Blagoevgrad that powers the current prosperity of booming Sofia. Bulgaria has worked to comply with EU regulations and has shut down some of the country’s worst polluting power plants. But cold winters are still a problem and the air can be toxic as many people still burn coal, and even old tires, in their fireplaces to stay warm. It’s a slow process but Bulgaria and her neighbors are gradually becoming more energy efficient.
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Here's our route map, again, to help you stay oriented:
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ENTERING MACEDONIA
After we cross the border into North Macedonia the roads are less well-maintained and they have sharper curves as they pass through small and tidy villages. Some of the failed railings at drop-offs look flimsy at best.
And when we stop for a break the local dogs, and Carolyn, intently watch a fellow passenger to see if he drops anything edible.
We soon notice that a major cross-Balkan highway project is being constructed through the hills, and sometimes it’s right beside us. When I look up the term “cross-Balkan highway,” I find a map showing several of them now connect the formerly isolated countries that once made up Yugoslavia. But later I find mention of the Pan European Corridor VIII, a major roadway and rail system to connect the Albanian coastal city of Durres, through Tirana, Skopje, and Sofia, to the Black Sea port of Varna, and I realize that it’s currently underway.
That’s sure to be a major change for many of these hidden enclaves who have long feared the next conquering army that enters their valley. And you can read their past in the numerous castles-on-hills that appear throughout all of Europe. But the new highway may also bring a welcome surge of modern comforts to these mountains, along with the diversion of heavy traffic away from their tranquil small villages.
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“History is a nightmare from which I am trying to awake.”
—James Joyce
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It would be hard to adequately describe our first impressions of Skopje. We were not prepared for the unbelievably colossal statue of a warrior on a huge horse atop a giant pedestal surrounded by larger-than-life statuary in a big fountain that dominates the central plaza.
And way over there, on the far side of the Vardar River, is another huge guy on a tall pedestal giving a sort of power salute to the warrior. They apparently represent Alexander the Great and his father Phillip. We’re told they both actually were born in Pella, Greece, near modern day Thessaloniki, although their vast empire did happen to include this part of the Balkans. And that apparently is good enough for North Macedonia to claim them for their own.
Interestingly, Alexander and his mother Olympias have been implicated by various scholars in his father’s assassination by Pausanias in 336 BC. Human history is replete with tragedies, and many outrageous crimes, which go forever unpunished. Yet the perpetrators, the “perps,” sometimes end up semi-deified with huge monuments in the public square.
Carolyn found us another good hotel, appropriately named the Alexandar II, that was only a block or so from the main plaza. And as always, the first order of business is to find an ATM, at the "Unibanka," and get a fist-full of the local “folding money.” Macedonian Denars will be our fifth currency so far this summer (after Euros, Forints, Lei & Leva) and will be required for many transactions here, although my Apple Card is readily accepted. (1USD = 60MKD)
Our first impressions of Skopje tend toward the jaw-hanging OMG variety. The whole thing is an abundance of semi-Vegas crazy extravaganza in a cluster of recently built Neo-classical buildings erected by a former administration in direct opposition to the drab, grey, and Brutalist “Sovietisms” of the past. There’s even a small version of Paris’ Arc de Triomphe. And the result is so much ridiculous fun that people crowd the plaza all day, kids play tag among the large statuary, and brides wander through with their paparazzi in tow searching for the perfect wedding shot.
Near the river a once-important gentleman sits proud upon a horse, while the local birds that roost upon his noble head leave behind their deposits, their daily opinions about all of that. For most statues in the public square, it seems the birds always have the last word.
The sheer immensity of these and so many other such projects undertaken by a recent President might have put a strain on the budget of such a small country — especially as he went on to also remake most of the surrounding buildings into a sort of Greco-Romanesque fantasy. Apparently the public eventually felt that way and he was voted out. And now his successor has put the brakes on those efforts to recreate — or maybe to originate — the foundational myth of the city’s imperial greatness under Phillip and Alexander. And now numerous towering construction cranes stand idle over various unfinished projects. But it’s really not much different from the sort of huge works that many Roman Emperors and others erected long ago to glorify themselves and drain the public coffers, while enriching their cronies.
So one wonders what the plan is now. Will they finish these instant derelict buildings or just leave them like that? Maybe not everyone was ready to see the stodgy and predictable Soviet system replaced with the daily chaos of modern capitalism. Montaigne once said, “Each progressive soul is confronted at the crossroads to the future by a thousand men appointed to guard the past.” But still, somebody has to balance the books. Or maybe that’s not important in our modern fantasy world, where the powerful pull financial rabbits out of satin top hats to enhance their fortunes, and the poor are left with heavy debts, lost jobs, shattered families, and broken dreams. (Modern Argentina is an example to consider.)
BTW: The gigantic collection of statues arrayed across the center of Skopje does not contain any of the largest statues in the world, although we could be excused for such thoughts while gawking around the city’s central plaza. The biggest/tallest statues in the world include a bunch of Buddhas, Mother Russia, and a gigantic homage to a founder of modern India that’s almost 600 feet tall – or more than three times the height of the Statue of Liberty, not counting the pedestal under either statue. The statues of Skopje, a city of about half a million, are modest by comparison.
At any rate, the largest ones in Skopje stand tall indeed, along with a good number of others honoring many of the most ancient, and more recent, important figures in the country’s history.
For a more Brutalist-friendly take on all this Neo-classical stuff, check out this article from Failed Architecture: “How Skopje's Urban Makeover Alienated Locals.”
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On a side street, and overshadowed by the immensities at the plaza, stands the curious little Memorial House of Mother Teresa. She was born in Skopje in 1910 and baptized at a small church that once stood on this site. She is one of the city’s most famous former residents, and this odd “retro-futuristic” memorial now stands in her memory.
The capitol of North Macedonia has other sights to offer, so we’re soon strolling the various bridges, then passing through the Carsija, the old Turkish district, and trekking uphill to the brooding Tvrdina Kale fortress, the 6th century AD redoubt that overlooks the modern city below.
And this is the fortress where Dusan the Mighty (1308-1355) was crowned in 1346 as Emperor of the Serbs. The lavish painting of this event measures 13’ x 15’ and is one of twenty massive paintings in The Slav Epic completed by the brilliant Czech artist Alphonse Mucha between 1912 and 1926.
Skopje has been destroyed several times over the centuries by earthquakes, a consequence of being located in the heart of the dynamic and restless Balkan mountains. After the 1963 earthquake demolished about 65% of the city, rebuilding efforts took place under the Brutalist ideals in fashion at the time. And that’s mostly what we see while peering over the old fortress walls, although some of those recent “modern Neoclassics” also appear below us. And frankly, those generally look better than the remaining grey soviet monoliths.
John Ruskin (1819-1900) once remarked, perhaps in counterpoint to a still-young and rapidly evolving United States, “A melting pot is naught but a tasteless stew!” And that’s kind of tangentially relevant to the formerly-grey architecture of Skopje that valued uniformity over the freedom of diversity — the often chaotic stuff that makes most cities interesting.
The Mustafa Pasha Mosque, dating from 1492, is a nice stop for peaceful contemplation on our way down from the fortress. It’s a modest place with a high colonnaded entry and a simple quiet interior, that’s well-used by the local populace.
We return to the heart of the Carsija in search of the Kapan An and some hearty traditional fare. It’s well hidden down behind a number of other tempting eateries, but it was worth the search. We each order a cold mug of Skopsko lager and indulge in the variety of platters placed before us. The beans are especially appealing to me. And the “shopska” salad, of tomatoes, olives and onions, is a Balkan specialty.
We wander onward in the evening and Carolyn spots a gorgeous array of shawls. They’re mostly for Muslim women, but they’ll look great on almost anyone, and she buys a couple of them.
The plaza is well-lit and alive with color as we cross back over the Stone Bridge.
And we get back to the hotel in time for a recap of the day’s proceedings in London. Yes, the passing of Queen Elizabeth is a big event even in the Balkans.
We had never been to North Macedonia before, and it’s likely that few of our friends had either — although our friend Perdida has actually lived there for a bit! But we had heard rumors of the oddities that grace the capital city of Skopje and it seemed to be something worth experiencing, although I wish we’d had more time to dive deeper into a few of the many other odd crannies of the place.
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But the time came too quickly for us to press onward if we wanted to explore the gorgeous landscape of Lake Ohrid, which lies along the country’s southwesterly border with Albania. We bought tickets at the bus station located under a highway bridge, and we passed several of Skopje’s iconic red double-decker city buses as we left town.
Lake Ohrid
About an hour into the trip, the driver suddenly checked his side mirror after rounding a corner on the winding mountain road at a higher speed than I found comfortable, and then he quickly stopped the bus. He backed up onto a rare wide piece of shoulder that happened to be there, and he cut the engine to step outside and onto the highway. From my seat I got an angled glance at his side mirror which seemed to confirm that the odd sound we had just heard, and which appeared to come from under the bus, was indeed the side luggage door popping open and someone’s luggage sliding out onto the highway. We hoped it wasn’t ours.
By the time I got down from the bus, whoever’s luggage had taken the tumble had been tossed back into the compartment. Everyone confirmed there was no debris left on the highway, all our bags were accounted for, and that the side door was now closed correctly. Just another adventure on an old German bus converted for use on Macedonian mountain roads. “Converted” in the sense that the seatbelts had long ago been tied away under the seats, or cut off entirely. And the side windows were obscured by a layer of grunge indicating the bus had not been washed since around the 13th century. It made for plenty of unintended “soft focus” photographic experiments.
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“Travel isn’t always pretty. It isn’t always comfortable. Sometimes it hurts; it even breaks your heart. But that’s okay. The journey changes you.”
– Anthony Bourdain
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We stop for a coffee break just next to a Lukoil gas station. It’s the second-largest company in Russia, after the Gazprom behemoth, and one of the world’s largest producers of crude oil. Lukoil has been involved in numerous scandals over the years, including several environmental disasters and being linked to efforts by Cambridge Analytica to target American voters in the 2016 election. By March of 2022, shortly after the Russian invasion of Ukraine and the application of sanctions, the company’s stock dropped by 95%. And after Ravil Maganov, the company’s Chairman of the Board, criticized the invasion, he was found dead outside his hospital window “following a severe illness.”
We soon found ourselves once again in the middle of the same massive trans-Balkan Pan European Corridor VIII highway project that we encountered at the Bulgarian border. When finished, it will create a faster link to the Adriatic Sea, and probably cut an hour or so off the trip we were taking to Lake Ohrid. And the rumble of heavy truck traffic will bring a sad end to the centuries of tranquility these mountain dwellers have known.
At the Ohrid bus station we have time to relax and enjoy a “Paket” that includes a Pepsi and a coffee, for only 60 denarii (about 1USD). We skip the Pepsi and grab a coffee as we wait for a cab.
There’s a serious “NO PARKING!!!” sign in front of our apartment, and helpful directions posted on the elevator. And very soon we’re in yet another nice place that Carolyn wrangled for us, with a fine view of the lake from our veranda. Those mountains in the distance are in exotic Albania, the mysterious land that’s next on our agenda. But that’s still several days away and we’ll have some time to explore this equally exotic part of North Macedonia.
I’m not sure just what we expected to find here at Lake Ohrid, but the place is really spectacular. There are plenty of trees and bikeways and a broad lakeside walkway, or malecón, for evening strolls and a visit to the boats riding to their moorings in the marina.
Something there is about boats on water, and especially those under masts with billowing sails, something that stirs memories of adventures past, of exploring other waters far away. Somewhere just out there on Lake Ohrid, over sparkling waters beyond those thick sheltering harbor walls, lies a quiet and protected cove, a perfect place to drop an anchor after a fine day of sailing. Small waves lap the hull all evening as we enjoy a good red wine over dinner, and then drift into a peaceful night as the dark sky overhead hosts a Van Gogh star-riot made more brilliant by the lack of nearby human lighting. None of that will happen this time, but the possibilities call us to return someday.
Lake Ohrid, at 3 million years old, is one of Europe’s oldest, and its deep water is noted for its clarity. Apparently it’s a popular summer tourist draw for much of Eastern Europe and there are enough pontoon boats to keep them amused. We’re fortunate to be here in late September, the shoulder season, when the weather is still excellent and there are lodgings available.
There are tourist shops and good restaurants, and one of the tallest guys I’ve ever seen in public. Don’t know if he’s local or a traveler, but he stood chest-and-shoulders above the rest of us. I can’t help but wonder what his life is like, what challenges he faces. Like finding longer pants.
As the evening ebbs, we settle ourselves into a fine bistro named the Restaurant Chun, with lakeside views, and we scan the extensive menu. A glass of the “Squashed Grejpfrut” sounds intriguing but some good local red wine might go better with the “Macedonian Shashlik” we ordered. And it all starts off innocently enough with a gorgeous Mediterranean salad, rich in olives, onions and tomatoes.
And then we get the “show of the evening” with a tall shashlik skewer of roasted vegetables, sausages, and meat hovering over the table. It’s an impressive presentation, and a couple of Brits at a nearby table were tempted into ordering the same thing. Just by itself, the shashlik might be reason enough to return to this lakeside village someday.
An after-dinner evening wander beckons us onward through bright streets toward the local bazaar and various jazz clubs. But not much is happening on a Tuesday night, and the chilly September winds remind us that summer is waning. So we beat a hasty retreat back to our cozy apartment and we snuggle in for the night.
In the morning we decide to check out Plan B, a little coffee shop that’s just across the street from our apartment, but all they have is coffee and a few sweet cakes to enjoy with a cigarette, which seems to be the “standard Balkan breakfast.” There’s nothing resembling protein on offer. So we enjoy a cup and head back to our place, where a tasty breakfast of more coffee with aged cheese, grain-rich bread, ajbar spread (roasted red bell peppers, oil, vinegar, and salt), and some good jam starts our day.
We spend the rest of the day exploring our immediate surrounds, and we encounter a little blue Yugo that was parked nearby. The owner, upon noticing my interest, came striding quickly out of the building to see if I’d like to buy this especially fine vehicle. For only €300. And truth be told, I actually would have considered it except for the fact that we live in Mexico and it would be exceptionally expensive to cart this charming relic home. He shrugs with disappointment and leaves me to contemplate my lost good fortune at missing such a deal. Lucky for me, in case I change my mind, there are several more fine Yugos to choose from, lurking on other nearby streets and alleys.
Some Yugo jokes (also often applied to Ladas and Trabants):
• What makes a Yugo go faster? A tow truck.
• What do you call a Yugo at the top of a hill? A miracle.
• What do you call a Yugo owner’s manual? A bus timetable.
• What do you call the second owner of a Yugo? A scrap dealer.
Etc….
Ohrid is a great little village in a spectacular location that invites us to simply wander and absorb the beauty it has to offer. There are many gorgeous places to stay, and some fine small stores to stock your pantry. And there’s an old Greek amphitheater – they were industrious folk indeed, those old Greeks – that offers up an annual Summer Festival. There are stolid old churches and beguiling vistas.
And at the end of the day’s wanderings, and when the feet are especially weary, there’s good red wine and another fine dinner.
After dinner, and with the best of luck, we manage to stumble upon an excellent, and free, concert beside the old Sveti Sofia Cathedral. And shortly thereafter, it’s bedtime once more for the exhausted travelers.
On another fine day we’re back on an extended wander through parkways and flowers, and again along the broad lakefront malecón. At the western end we slip into narrow alleys skirting the coastline, where we find ancient church walls and monasteries.
There’s an enticing hidden waterfront bistro down a vine-covered side alley and we stop for lunch. Sometimes it must seem like all we do on these trips is eat. Well, yeah….
Further along the alleyways we come to the famous Ohrid Boardwalk which looks (gulp!) to be missing more than a few pieces, perhaps from past storm-driven wave damage. I stay in the center as we carefully walk the length of it to a place of safety. Other wanderers seemed completely at ease and unbothered by the numerous tripping hazards – and a probable coldwater plunge – offered by the uneven boards.
The Church of Sveti Jovan at Kaneo occupies a tranquil headland at the end of the Boardwalk, and gives an excellent view across the lake. We paused to enjoy the moment, while others partook of a ceremony within.
And from the Church, it’s onward up the hill overlooking the village below, on our way to the castle – another castle! – at the top.
Ah yes, we’ve found another European castle, and more of the strategic and gorgeous views that royalty commands. From the top we can see the very highway that will lead us too soon onward out of this fine village, past fertile fields and around a rocky hill, on its way toward the distant mountains. It leads to our next destination, to mysterious Albania.
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Balkan thoughts...
Every time we contemplate yet another castle or fortress we’re reminded again not only of the fraught history of this small corner of Eastern Europe, but of Europe in general. And really, of the entirety of human history on every continent. We have always run to the high walls of the closest fortification for protection from brigands and barbarian hordes. And little it matters if they’re led by local alley-dwelling cutthroats or self-styled “emperors” leading an army, the result is the same. And the desire for freedom from these terrors remains ever strong. The current example of Ukraine against the Russian hordes comes again to mind.
I have long been inspired by the powerful image on an old postage stamp of a man breaking the chains of bondage. The image commemorated the overthrow of the Austro-Hungarian Empire at the end of World War I, and the liberation of the Slavic peoples. The stamp was issued in 1918 by the State of Slovenes, Croats and Serbs, a predecessor of Yugoslavia, and the various Slavic states that currently occupy the Balkans.
Nine countries, excluding Greece, are generally considered to be in “the Balkans,” and the entire area is slightly smaller than Spain. The largest Balkan nation is Bulgaria, at about the size of Virginia; Slovenia, the smallest, is a bit larger than Rhode Island. The area is still a work in progress as there are many unsettled disputes regarding the borders and ethnic enclaves that emerged from the Balkan Wars of the 1990s. Doubtless, this corner of Europe containing so many small countries will continue to be an interesting area to watch in coming years.
Slovenian philosopher Slavoj Žižek said (regarding definitions of the modern Balkans),
This very alibi confronts us with the first of many paradoxes concerning Balkan: its geographic delimitation was never precise. It is as if one can never receive a definitive answer to the question, “Where does it begin?” For Serbs, it begins down there in Kosovo or Bosnia, and they defend the Christian civilization against this Europe's Other. For Croats, it begins with the Orthodox, despotic, Byzantine Serbia, against which Croatia defends the values of democratic Western civilization. For Slovenes, it begins with Croatia, and we Slovenes are the last outpost of the peaceful Mitteleuropa. For Italians and Austrians, it begins with Slovenia, where the reign of the Slavic hordes starts. For Germans, Austria itself, on account of its historic connections, is already tainted by Balkanic corruption and inefficiency. For some arrogant Frenchmen, Germany is associated with the Balkanian Eastern savagery—up to the extreme case of some conservative anti-European-Union Englishmen for whom, in an implicit way, it is ultimately the whole of continental Europe itself that functions as a kind of Balkan Turkish global empire with Brussels as the new Constantinople, the capricious despotic center threatening English freedom and sovereignty. So Balkan is always the Other: it lies somewhere else, always a little bit more to the southeast, with the paradox that, when we reach the very bottom of the Balkan peninsula, we again magically escape Balkan. Greece is no longer Balkan proper, but the cradle of our Western civilization.
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Please join us in our next Dispatch, for a look at the last of the Balkan countries that we’ll be able to visit this year, the long-forbidden lands of Albania. — PRW