Around the Balkans in 20 Days - Part 2

We awoke in a daze, not only because of our previous days in Berlin catching up with us, but to the new surroundings in Skopje. Air con whirring in the corner of the room and sunlight peering through the curtains, signified a new day in new accommodation. A refreshing shower preceded our flight down stairs on to the main square in search of breakfast.

We traversed the square to a series of cafes and selected one at random. Our hunger was satisfied with a light continental breakfast and coffee. Although it may seem that we were eager to return to homely comforts, we were in the perfect location from which to observe passersby and wake up more agreeably.  Spritzers emitted a cooling mist from the canopy intending to cool us patrons, however a slow breeze turned it away from John and I, leaving a tumbler of water the only option to cool down in the mid-morning heat.

We had an appointment with our hostess’ father to take us to the police station at eleven o’clock. So we strolled back to our apartment, all 90 seconds away, and paid him a visit.

The one thing to know about Skopje is that it is basically a massive village – everyone knows everyone. Our hostess’s father (let’s call him Mr Airbnb) took us on the “ten minute” walk up to the police station. We arrived twenty minutes later, his popularity evident by the peppering of greetings to passersby along our route. Despite his self-admitted poor English, Mr Airbnb succeeded in pointing out prominent buildings and monuments along our walk.

I have never been fond of the grotesque mutilation of the modernist buildings in Skopje’s city centre. On my first visit here, in 2009, the main square was a stoic blank plaza, with either the Kale Fortress or Millennium Cross as its only backdrop. Over the years as I have revisited, additions such as statues, new government buildings, and even galleons on the Vardar, have all increased the sense that Skopje has become what many have called ‘Disneyland’. Its main square littered with poor representations of selected historic figures, the disappointment being that Macedonia has a much more varied and diverse history than that which the Government wants to present to its people and the world. Yet the resistance to these buildings and monuments, and by extension to the Government pursuing the vanity project, was all the more evident in daylight as we walked on. An ironic symbol of the vast waste of money being spent appeared as we turned a corner, the revamped Ministry of Finance, itself now the victim of the ‘Colourful Revolution’.

We entered the local police station, and John’s nerves piqued as he saw the ‘No Guns’ sign on the glass entrance door.  Several burly Macedonian officers were speaking in raised voices to and over one another, between an office to our left and a reception cubicle to our right. Being in a police station is usually an uncomfortable experience, a sense that you have done something wrong sweeping over you.  Our only comfort was Mr Airbnb being our bridge between sightseer and illegal alien. He picked up two documents, and explained that we had to complete them. After a couple of minutes, we completed our papers and returned to the reception desk to hand them and our passports over to the officer at the desk. He inspected our passports, to check that our details on the documents were identical, and then recorded our stay in a logbook. Evidently, government money had not been spent on IT equipment to register visitors.  Once we received our passports and a small docket that we had to keep on us, we departed. And so, after our first experience registering our stay in a country, we thanked Mr Airbnb and ventured off back to the main square.

As noon approached, I decided that we should do a little exploring. As the day was slightly overcast, we could spend a little longer outdoors than what we could if we had the sun and heat bearing down on us. We aimed for the Old Bazaar, having first to pass through a vanguard of kitsch neo-classical buildings on the rivers left bank, there seemingly to thwart curious visitors from proceeding any further.  The insinuation being that Macedonia was Macedonian, and its history had to reflect that. We carried on regardless, to discover another present and past that hid behind them.

The architecture of the Old Bazaar could not be more different to the modernist buildings occupying the right side of the river.  Faint yellow, single and double tier buildings, lined stone slab streets. Their terracotta roofs hinting towards their near Mediterranean location, yet the overall feel of the neighbourhood was primarily echoing its Ottoman lineage. Weaving narrow streets branched out uphill to our left, or onwards towards the main market space. Shopkeepers were making the most of the dry weather, sitting outside their cosy shops, almost as advertisements for the shops themselves rather than the wares contained within. After rambling along the main thoroughfare, we were met by the bustling general market. Located on a narrow strip of land, between the main road heading north into the Skopje suburbs, and the old town, the market was a hive of activity.

This was the heart of the predominantly Albanian part of town. Many of the stalls sold trinkets with the Albanian national flag, mirroring those flown on nearby buildings. The switch from Macedonian Cyrillic to Albanian Latin script in only a few hundred yards was keenly felt, though not altogether unfamiliar for an English speaker. Groups of older men sat with Turkish coffee and played dominos, whilst mothers and children nosed at the offerings on food stalls or those selling household items. It reminded me of my childhood in Wrexham.  Not the coffee and dominos.

We turned back on ourselves, and instantly took a right turn to begin walking up the hill. I knew that ahead of us was the one experimental modernist building in the neighbourhood – the Museum of Macedonia. I was aware of how empty the exhibition was from a previous visit, but the grounds of the museum contained an Ottoman building that I was curious to see.  As we turned a corner, we entered the concrete stone plaza that gradually rose to the museum further up the hill. We veered right to investigate the rundown Ottoman structure. Kurshumli An was an old caravanserai, or what we would call an inn. Although not open for us to have a look around, we studied the architectural style - rather byzantine in look, with the use of slim terracotta bricks. A hidden gem juxtaposed next to its modernist neighbour.  A group of 5 or so children played football on the weed-strewn plaza, indifferent to us whilst we took pictures. The marvel of these two buildings, and that they were not looked after, brought home the extent to which the governments – both city and national – fail to grasp the potential for tourism with the existing historical buildings and monuments. But a part of me also felt that it was an adventure was to seek them out, and an onslaught of tourists would begin to tarnish their untouched grandeur.

And so onwards we went, scaling the hill still further. After passing yet another small group of domino players in this quieter area, we saw one of the neighbourhood’s larger mosques peaking out above buildings ahead of us.  And this was the moment we were caught off guard. A smaller mosque we were walking past sounded up its tannoy to deliver the mid afternoon call to prayer. Then the main mosque ahead of us, evidently with a greater number of tannoys producing a roaring loudness, competed with the smaller mosque for attention. Then in the distance two or three more calls to prayer erupted.  Although I had experienced the call to prayer here previously, for John this was his first ever experience. An immediate fear – had we trespassed on to someone’s land, or was some other trouble imminent - immediately turned into marvel at the spectacle around us.  

As the calls receded, we continued our climb around past the main mosque, and up towards the Museum of Modern Art. From its grounds we had spectacular views of the city below and beyond. The Philip II stadium dominated the foreground to the south west, the river snaking around it towards us, and then swerving to pass us below. Southward, over and above the city, the Millennium Cross emphasised the Orthodox Christian population residing on the right bank of the Vardar. We descended the hill via the Kale Fortress. This was the first time I had managed to explore its grounds, blocked on my previous visits by ongoing excavations. The grounds contained very few standing structures, those being a number of guard towers on the perimeter facing the city. Aside from the walls of the fortress, the only things of note were the vaults that had been uncovered that resembled mere stone trenches.  We did a return trip along the fortress wall, gauging the drop from its ledge to the ground outside and pointing out possible past entrances Ottoman soldiers may have used.

The sun was starting the break through the overcast sky as we returned back to the city via the Stone Bridge. But I, with the strange copious amounts of energy I tend to have, was eager to point out further sights from my past visits. A burning desire to ‘show off’ Skopje came over me. John knew he had to keep up regardless. We followed the river towards the City Park to gaze upon the monument marking the Partisan take over of Skopje in 1944, in the grounds of the government building. Unhappy bedfellows I am sure. We toured the block that would lead us back in to the city, passing dated air con-pocked residential tower blocks resting next to the byzantine looking Cathedral of St Clement of Ohrid. Avoiding a return to the square, we turned south towards the City of Skopje Museum. This is housed in the former Skopje Railway Station. Only a third of the modernist 1920s building remains, but the simplistic clock still points to the time the devastating 1963 earthquake struck. The reason for a lot of the brutalist 1960s architecture rose out of the ashes of this disaster, mostly as gifts from an array foreign capital cities and countries. A nod to Yugoslavia’s then widely regarded non-aligned status.

A natural finish to the busy day led us next door to Ramstore Mall. I knew of a cheap supermarket in the basement where we could grab basics for breakfast and lunch. We did a shop to last us our stay, and strolled back to our apartment. Needless to say, by 5pm we had knackered ourselves into an afternoon nap. Air con naturally on.

Around mid evening time we woke up, just as the sun was beginning to set on the city. Our apartment came with a narrow balcony that overlooked the square, so we sat on the two campstools that were there to take in the transition to twilight. At the supermarket I was keen to get my hands on some wine from the Tikves region. M&S had only recently begun to stock it at £8 a bottle back home. Here, it was £3.50 for the priciest. I bought one to take back home with me, and another to enjoy now, as we soaked up the views from up on high. In the summer heat of Skopje, a glass or two of red from the region eased me into the relaxing evening that lay ahead.

Once refreshed and dressed, we went down to the busy square and were seated on an outside table at Pelister. An easy first choice for us to eat at, for it has an eclectic mix of local and pan European food to satisfy our tastes at reasonable prices. We could also people watch – our favourite pastime – as couples and families strolled around Alexander the Great and his horses. After devouring my risotto, washed down with a local crisp white, we departed the restaurant and walked along the riverside embankment strewn with cafes and bars where we earlier had breakfast. You had two sections to each bar; the main bar that protruded from the brutalist shopping mall, and across a pathway from it an outdoor part with seating, fans and TV screens. Beyond that, another pathway and then the river. We chose a particularly rowdy bar, unsure whether the night may develop into a club or party. Two strong vodka cokes, on par with Spanish resort levels, arrived at our table, so that we finished our busy first full day in Skopje sat outside taking in the mildly chaotic nightlife that Wednesday offered us.

Thoughts on Karl Kasers' The Balkans and the Near East

Most texts that seek to provide an historical perspective tend to focus on a time span of no more than a couple of centuries, or focus on an area defined by modern state boundaries. Some may even focus on a ‘people’ and cover a more expansive time. Yet none attempt what Karl Kaser has, which is to tie together a shared history over an expansive area known as the Balkans and the Near East.

He diverges from the norm by his approach to time and space. The earliest time that the book covers is from the formation of sedentary communities; that time when nomadic communities began to remain in one place, usually due to agriculture and the domestication of animals. The geography covered avoids modern state boundaries, but focuses on the territorial extents of the former Byzantium and Ottoman Empires.  It is within these two demarcations that he writes his shared history of the region. Yet this notion of shared does not seek to account for similarities only. It also looks at how different areas within this region diverge from each other, and seeks to explain why it is they do.

An example of this would be his observation of preindustrial modes of economy. One group being tied to the land, and the other as roaming, highlights the difference between sedentary and nomadic peoples. But what makes a group stay or move can be for many reasons. Whether they deal with livestock or crops, whether the climate is arid or wet, the degree of contours to determine seasonal economy (shorter distances to higher climes can lead to a diverse economy all year round, as opposed to a seasonal economy); and from these, lead on to the need to develop new technologies for a non-suitable environment, different modes of exchange of commodities once people move to production for surplus, and new ways of structuring society.

This highlights Kaser’s style in the book. The focus on a theme usually covers a time from several millennia BC up to the time of one of the empires, aside from a couple - such as pre- and post-industrial economic structures. Others complement each other such as the section on ‘Migrations’ and a later one on ‘Demographic Developments’, or ‘Family and Kinship’ followed by ‘Gender Relations’. Only on a few occasions did you feel a sense of repetition, but the ability to weave in something already mentioned symbolises the unity of the themes, underscoring the objective of the book being that of a shared history, temporally, spatially and thematically.

One chapter stuck out for me especially; that on ‘The Relevance of Writing Systems’. This chapter reflected the writings of Michel Foucault in ‘The Order of Things’. In that, he looks at the development of language from an oral expression to indicate hunger in the guise of a whimper, via the growing development of complex oral sounds to indicate further things, to the ability to draw a mark (either on wall or in sand) abstractly to indicate an object or a motion; finally to reach a nuanced and diverse set of linguistics and literature the world over. Kaser looks at this development in the region, and places emphasis on the development of language, especially written language, for the Book religions. The script was meant to keep the message for eternity and remain unchangeable. Those able to read it had the power to interpret the messages so had considerable leverage. But even if the written text remained the same, the interpretation could alter – and thus lead to schism and separations. Kaser deals with the religions earlier in the book, but this provides a neat summing up of how world religions are divided within themselves.

The overall conclusion, which Kaser threads seamlessly through the entire book, finds its origins in the first chapter – ‘Power and Dominance’. What he observes is a shift of power and dominance, both in its geographic sense and in its content, over the time frame of the book. He sees this shift as moving away from the Near East toward the Atlantic overall, with the content of this power and domination gradually being asserted in the economic sphere. He pinpoints the 500 years from the 11^th century as the period where a turning point was reached. Accidental factors, developmental dynamics, and Eurasia Minor’s economic-spatial and socio-cultural handicaps (lack of natural resources, deteriorating agriculture, late coming to printing, thus knock on to education and knowledge economy) as internal and external forces, lent themselves to this shift.

Given the breadth of knowledge that the book attempts to cover in its geography and time, it does provide a rounded and novel approach to the history of a wide region often studied across factitious disciplines. Although the depth of knowledge is lacking, the further reading lists do allow the specialist to delve further into a specific theme. Overall it successfully compels the reader to think differently by forging two hitherto academically separated regions – Oriental and Occidental – into one innovative approach to history of such a diverse region.

My Images of SEE – 15:34, Tue 9th August

Our last day in Thessaloniki today, so we packed up and left our quaint hotel room for the last time. The hotel kindly kept our bags for us until later. We set off walking in the mild heat towards the White Tower, going via backstreets to keep in the shade. We decided to stop in Starbucks for an hour to pass time and read. Even Starbucks wasn’t a no-go area for the street sellers.

At 12:00 we departed for the Museum of Byzantine History, near to the Archeological Museum and adjacent to City Hall. For €4 apiece we wondered around a well laid out exhibition and architecturally easy to walk building. We saw paintings, mosaics, coins, tombs, photo’s of digs, kitchenware etc. All very interesting. It had a definite ‘Macedonian’ edge to it as opposed to a ‘Greek’ theme.

We left just after 13:00 and walked back to the White Tower. Local police were still monitoring the area in anticipation of a repeat of recent protests. We walked along the front to a small café and ordered food. One thing I noticed more and more was the Greek passion for smoking. Everywhere we were, people lit up. A filthy habit. The waiter apologized as the oven failed to start, so my pizza was late. Liam’s Greek Salad looked lovely.

We then left. I was convinced I saw a ‘Spar’ shop, so we walked the length of the shopping street, past the Ladidika area. I must have been mistaken, as there was no shop. So we meandered back to Aristotle Square, then up to the park further up the hill for the last hour before picking up our luggage.

My current thoughts on my visit to the Byzantine Museum, and the observation of the ‘Macedonian’ presentation of history on show, continues my observations made in a previous post – that of nation building in the new state of Greece, and nationalism as a goal and process.

To put the first idea of nation building in context, the modern interest in Greece began around 200-300 years ago, and revolved around the West’s rediscovered fascination with Hellenism. This connected Ancient Greek writers, philosophy, architecture, etc, to the present and was dubbed Philhellenism. This developing sense of common Greekness allowed the disparate populations to become even more strongly identified as Greek across the Ottoman Empire and claim almost 2,000 years of common descent. The Orthodox Church acted as the strongest pillar of unity via the millet system at the time. However, only a small grouping pursued this idea. Indeed the first hope of a Greek state was actually in the Ottoman vassal Danubian Principalities of Moldavia and Wallachia. The Phanariots – Greeks who lived in a quarter of Constantinople and exercised great power in the Ottoman administration – ruled here and were seen as harbourers of Greek culture. An initial revolt there, soon suppressed, led to the uprising surfacing in the area now occupied in contemporary southern Greece.

Concepts of time and space shifted to allow for the perennial linking of modern Greeks to the Ancients and for the disparate groups to sense their commonality even over distances. Whilst not disputing that culturally similar tribes of Greeks existed prior to modernity, the fact is that only by a small group being able to (re)invent and communicate a national Greek narrative could people gain a sense of belonging to similarly defined peoples across space and time. But only the tools that states possess could accelerate these processes to ‘awaken’ those not already so. Education, a bureaucracy, the ability to communicate swiftly, all lent themselves to expanding the notion of a Greek national identity. But I’m getting ahead of myself as this is nationalism as a process.

Nationalism as a goal, according to Eric Hobsbawm, seeks to make the nation and the state congruent. And social constructivist authors, like Hobsbawm, all agree on the order in which this occurs. “Nations do not make states and nationalisms but the other way around”. So in the 1830s a Greek state was established not by a mass uprising of all Greek nationals, but by small segments of the population possessing nationalism as an ideal to achieve a national state for Greeks, as they saw them in their definition of what it meant to be Greek.

Yet by the 1830s, they had their state but it was in no way homogenous or national. The reality on the ground shows the folly in such nationalising and homogenising projects led by Greek nationalists – Greece at present still has Albanian, Turkish, Bulgarian and Macedonian minorities, however they are recorded or treated. Prior to World War Two it was in effect a multinational state. Thus nationalism as a goal, taken up by Greek nationalists, sought to create a homogenous Greek nation-state. But only by possessing a state could homogenisation take place.

Going back to the concept of time, opens up another observation. The link to Ancient Greek was only one era of history the Greek nationalists drew on. Many eras and empires existed between these two snapshots in time: Roman, Byzantine, Macedonian, and Ottoman. E. H Carr’s quote, that millions have crossed the Rubicon but it was Julius Caesar’s crossing that history documents, highlights’ the selective nature of historians (and through them nationalists) to mould their national narrative. This selectivity, by different people for different purposes, results in differing interpretations or frames which one can present a version of history by highlighting certain events or eras (or avoiding events and eras altogether). One example is Greek nationalists erasing Greece’s Ottoman past, as evidenced in Thessaloniki mentioned previously, as it did not fit their national narrative.

Conversely, at the start and end of the 20^th century, Greece laid claim to a Macedonian past centred on the ancient Kingdom of Macedon. However the Republic of Macedonia also laid claim to this. So we have a resulting conflict by two nations over one period of history in time and space (territory), both of which are seeking it solely for themselves. The recent Greek reasoning stems less from their historical claim to this heritage (which does play its part), and more from the desire to deprive the Republic of Macedonia of it as they see them utilizing it for territorial claims upon Greece. This dispute is still present today with the withholding of NATO membership and

EU accession talks.

I will discuss further the issue of disputed claims to history later on in this blog, but I wanted to give a flavour of how museums, whether archaeological, historical, national or even city focussed, all have a function in providing a narrative. More often than not it is presenting the national narrative of the state within which the museum resides.