LGBTI Rights in the Western Balkans - ERA Conference 2018

In recent months I have taken on a new role on the board of an organisation known as Rainbow Rose. It is an umbrella organisation of all the LGBTI organisations associated to social democratic and labour parties across Europe. My appointment came on the back of my two and a half year co-chairpersonship of LGBT Labour. To those of you who have read my posts, my awareness of south-east Europe came to maturity thanks to my work with the Labour Party. The board want me to lead on a new working group on the Western Balkans; so it seems that the three interests of my life – Labour politics, LGBTI activism, and south-east Europe – have come together in a new and exciting challenge for me.

So the start of this work centred on my organising a delegation of activists to the Equal Rights Association (ERA) Conference for the Western Balkans and Turkey in Skopje, Macedonia. ERA emanates from civil society, so we were lending our support as social democrats in order to learn, share our knowledge and experiences, and to create networks for our new working group. Noting my affection for Macedonia, the week we visited happened to be when Macedonia had just held the referendum on its name change.

So I organised for a delegation of 11, 7 from the board, 3 activists, and one speaker. We arrived after a Ministerial meeting took place on the Thursday morning, and went straight to the plenary hall. I was with Jose, Secretary General of Rainbow Rose, who was introducing me to a few people in the room – an ILGA Europe representative, two representatives from the Commission, and Dragana from ERA. I also met Amarildo from ERA again, as I first met him three weeks previously in London, at a Western Balkans event in Lancaster House and then Speakers’ House. It was nice of him to stop and chat for 5 minutes, given he was organising the day and I’m sure had more things to be doing. The plenary then began.

We had a couple of opening speeches, one of who was by the SDUM Minister for Labor and Social Affairs, Mila Carovska. This was my first hint of the seriousness and commitment that the new SDUM-led Government had taken LGBTI rights, as well as neighbouring countries. Especially those from Macedonia, where you would have thought they could have used the excuse of the name referendum to withdraw from participating. Over the course of three panel events throughout the day, we heard from a mixture of Ministers, MPs, NGO activists, and individuals just living their lives in the countries of the region. The one particularly striking panel was on trans and non-binary rights, as it laid bare how uneven the legal rights of trans people were across the region, but also how much depended on the state having to recognise you in order to provide for you. Unknown to me that day was the SDUM MP Pavle Bogoevski, who sat on a panel on non-discrimination. Jose and I couldn’t grab him as he left, but I soon invited him to a dinner I had planned on Saturday night for the social democrats present at the conference. After our first day, we met more of the delegation who arrived in the evening, on the central square at Pelister restaurant.

On a side note, I was in my element having returned to Skopje after 2 years. On the Wednesday, I explored a little by myself as no one else had arrived. I walked through the eastern side of Karposh district, where the hotel was located, as I had not done so on previous visits. Once you turned into the residential area between two parallel east/west main boulevards, there was a hive of cafes and bars. One of them, Radiobar, was noted in the schedule of the conference as being a ‘liberal’ bar to drink at. I popped in for a beer on the way to food. On the Thursday night, I returned to the main square. It was a lot quieter that it was when I was here last, in the hot August nights of 2016. It was mid-week, I supposed. The hideous statues and building facades remained, but I noticed that the splattered paint had now gone. The traces of the Colourful Revolution may have gone, but their legacy was established within the political ones.

The Friday of the conference was the first of the two-day ‘Open Source Technology’ workshops. An innovative approach to decide what issues should be discussed, relying on what participants bring to the table and what they want to participate in. The speaker we brought over, Cllr Bev Craig from Manchester City Council and an old friend of mine, was going to pitch in to discuss how we can create LGBTI polices at the local government level. I was to present on how LGBTI people can organise within political parties, and Arturas from our delegation was to lead a discussion on whether pride is a celebration or a protest. As participants added their interest to the workshop board, I was proud that our sessions were going to be well attended.

Over the course of the two days, we had genuine interest and participation in our sessions. The one thing I wanted to avoid was a patronising tone to come from our contribution. I would be embarrassed if we were seen to have just turned up, delivered a speech on what was wrong and how our way was the best way to solve it, and then leave. Instead what we aimed to do was provide an overview of our journey, and then provide a few questions/statements in order for participants to share experiences and decide on the best action plans in each of their countries. Macedonian and Turkish participants eagerly attended Bev’s session, with many representatives of NGOs attending my own.

We on the board had to miss out on the Saturday proceedings, as we had to take the day to plan for our General Assembly that was taking place a few weeks later. The Friday evening saw us all congregate at RadioBar. This underlined the change in atmosphere that I felt whilst I was in Skopje. Although still very conservative, and LGBTI people could not be open, having a group of 100 odd LGBT people in a bar, out on the streets, felt liberating. Someone had even gone on well-known gay social networking apps to tell people that we were at this bar and to come and meet other LGBT people. A very novel and positive thing to do, I thought.

But before we arrived at the bar, 3 of the delegation were keen to see Skopje and I was more than happy to take them on a tour. Over the course of an hour and a half, I relayed my knowledge of the history of the country and the city, as I pointed out such buildings as the Government HQ, the old, brutalist Post Office and the Kale Fortress looming over the city, hidden behind those horrid buildings. We ventured into the old town, which was buzzing with a mainly younger crowd. This area has clearly seen investment as many of the shop fronts had been done up, and many of the bars and cafes had a hipster feel to it. It also seemed that this had not led to residents being pushed out, which is pleasant to see. We had a beer at one of the cafes, as I continued my history lesson. My only hope was that I didn’t bore my colleagues.

The Saturday night saw us host our social democrats dinner at La Terrazza, just off the main square. I arrived with a small number of our delegation, the rest following half an hour later. We had Julie Ward MEP, Pavle Bogoevski MP, Danijel Kalezic from Queer Montenegro, Antonio Mihajlov from Subversive Front, and Cllr Stamat Stamatovski from Skopje. Over the course of dinner, wine, and a few Rakija, we had a great discussion on the current state of politics in Macedonia, commitments to help our Montenegrin MPs set up an LGBTI working group in their parliament, as well as the great back story of Pavle.

He worked for the LGBTI Support Centre in Skopje, and it was this organisation that he said gave him a leg up in the world of work. It was his work for this organisation, too, that gave his cousin the courage to come out to his family. I was genuinely struck by how Pavle’s work and advocacy had helped his family member, and reminded me how small acts like this can help those closest to us. His activism then spread to become one of the leaders of the Colourful Revolution. I sort of knew this, having done a quick Google search of his name. But the stories he came out with were second to none. For example, in order to not be prosecuted by the authorities, instead of breaking windows by throwing objects, which was a criminal offence, they came up with using paint to merely mark the outside of buildings, as this was only a misdemeanour. This way they could make their point, without going to jail. But then the plans had to be expanded. As the police cordoned off buildings, they had farther to send their balloons of paint. So they made huge catapults in order to reach the buildings now a hundred or so yards away.  Despite getting elected to Parliament, and the paint being washed off the walls, he said that there is still a small patch of paint at the back of the Government building. When he takes guests on a tour, he proudly points out this reminder of recent political history of which he was a leading part.

That night, as we went to a bar where his cousin was actually leading a karaoke night, we rejoined the rest of the participants. The bar was packed, and Jose and I sang a rendition of Fuego. We met the Mayor of Skopje, and we thanked him for hosting the conference. I also let my guard down as, whilst I was in the queue to the toilet, I began chatting to a young woman, who asked why I was visiting Skopje. Perhaps the Rakija Pavle fed me made me lose my inhibitions, but I said I was here for an LGBTI conference. Her non-reaction to this news led on to a short conversation about why Macedonia needed to move forward on this issue. A sense of joy rose up within me.

The next day, I left Skopje full of hope. Pavle’s story and his continuing solidarity with us was a major factor in this. I look forward to his star rising. But the ERA conference really showed the power of collective action, with the participants sharing ideas and best practice, and then going away to accelerate the work they have already begun. From our perspective, it allowed for us to gain further knowledge of the situation in each of the countries and to develop our own strategy to support the LGBTI community in each country. The obvious channel is with those countries that have PES member parties in Government. But the role of our movement is not solely in getting the low hanging fruit, but to meet the challenges head on, especially when we are not in power.

Around the Balkans in 20 Days – Part 4

Our last full day in Skopje, and we had our sights set on leaving the city limits. Following our prompt to the taxi driver yesterday, her enthusiasm for Matkasee drove us to wanting to visit even more. So we followed our usual morning routine, including packing a lunch, and left the apartment, heading for the Ramstore. Another still and warm day, ideal for an outdoorsy day within a ravine and amongst the forest.

We dipped in to the supermarket at the Ramstore and bought plenty of water. We didn’t know how long our trek would be, so wanted to be armed with enough liquid to see us through. Now, instead of calling the chirpy taxi driver from yesterday, we decided to go rogue and just call at the taxi rank. After a minute or two of standing on the opposite side of the road to the taxi rank, with faint hope of eyeing up a suitable driver that agreed with us (and that those who didn’t would have picked up custom and moved on), we inevitable had to get in the New York style cab of a guy who was there two minutes previous. I’m sure he was baffled by our indecision!

We communicated effectively enough for him to know that we wanted to go to the Matkasee, so off we sped. The air con was a godsend, filtering us with its chilling breeze as the sun shone forcefully through the untinted windows. We coasted along the main route west out of town, lined with 1960’s, post-earthquake brutalist constructions, and over the Vardar. Once over, we followed a road that ended at a junction. To the right was the main route eastward, north and around the city, to the left the road headed towards Tetovo. We turned left and ran parallel to small parades of shops on either side of the avenue. The suburb we entered was definitely distinct from the city centre. It was a lot more of a suburb, every road leading off the avenue leading to low-rise brutalist residential accommodation. I know this because we had to detour through the side streets as the main avenue was dug up for resurfacing. As we passed through, the sanguine effect of the sun was ever present on the residents. Lackadaisically, they ambled around, perhaps from a household chore or to the shops. It was the summer after all, and the temperature was rising.

As we skirted through the suburbs, we stopped off at a petrol station so the up-til-then silent driver could fill up the tank. Swiftly back on the road, and no sooner that we were back on the main avenue, we turned left down what I would call a country road. This was our route to Matkasee, off the beaten track. Originally, I had hoped we could have taken the bus, and that would have been cheaper and a rather more real experience. However, the further away from the city we travelled, the lesser the confidence grew in me as we entered unchartered waters. I was glad of a local to guide us through.

We entered a village called Saraj, the first that was evidently Albanian. This was the first time I had seen the Albanian flag being flown in what seemed a more official capacity. The village itself stretched about half a mile or so. It obviously suffered from a lack of investment. The road was bumpy, there were pavements for all of about 400 meters of the village, a bus stop that was basically a pole in the ground, and a public building that was either run down or was never completed. You could feel the resentment, and I would too, from the lack of attention from the Government. And this from a Government that had an ethnic Albanian party as its coalition partners. Romantically, I became fond of it as we travelled through. Once Saraj passed by, we drove along a flat, country road then started going up hill and into another even smaller village. This one was more tightly knit architecturally as the road whisked past the edges of peoples houses and near to their front doors. We finished climbing as we approached a small river, heading upstream as we were. We then entered a flatter floodplain, the road and river snaking along side each other. Part of the river was now more man-made, with kayaking facilities clearly visible, but also a gathering of individuals and families bathing and sloshing around in the river. We carried on.

We scaled another small hill and before us appeared the hydroelectric dam. Signs warned not to take pictures. I couldn’t fathom what the state secret could have been! As the dam disappeared behind us, we came to a halt. Our mute driver soon explained that we should walk 500 yards or so and that would be where our trail would begin. We paid him our rather cheap £9 for a 40-minute taxi ride, and walked up a narrow path into the mouth of the ravine. A couple of groups passed us walking in the opposite direction as we weaved along a narrow path that sheltered under hanging cliffs – a momentary respite from the sun.

As we turned a corner, we opened up from a bottleneck into an open expanse. To our right, the continuing path reached a canopied bar terrace and long stone building. In the centre was a turquoise green lake that stretched on ahead. To our left were what looked like scar-damaged, chalky white-gray cliffs that rose out from the lake like pyramids to the crystal-blue sky. As we approached the canopied area, it appeared the long building was a bar and restaurant. Before reaching there and ordering a drink, we noticed that we could hire kayaks to go up the lake.  A few visitors were ambling into them as we walked on, others beginning their voyage. We decided over our beer and cola to hire a kayak from the end of the trail, so that we could return in style after visiting some caves. There was a nice mix of people there – families, couples, groups of lads, tourists – but mostly locals of Albanian background, which cheered me immensely.

After our drink we decided to set off. I used the wifi to try and map our walk but, with little satellite mapping, only a limited amount could be done. After we passed the restaurant there was a large sign for walkers. Mostly in Cyrillic, but accompanied by pictures. The one that shone out for me was of a snake. Bloody SNAKES! Poisonous or not, I didn’t care. Their slithery bodies would freak the hell out of me anyway. Included in this collage were the flora and fauna of the canyon, as well as lizards. Surely I could deal with them. So our walk began with my heart rate at a rather higher pace than anticipated.

My movements through the rocky and dusty path were commando-esque. I flinched at any sound I heard, and recoiled at any movement that emanated from the steep hillside or rock face to our right. The only promising escape at times was a 50-foot drop into the lake. John just giggled most of the way at my paranoia and hysteria. The start of the walk was beautiful, the water twinkling in the sun, and the historic cliff faces showcasing scars from an age gone by. Kayakers paddled on by, with the odd accompaniment of a diesel powered boat chugging through. The first lizard really did make me jump. It was the more the realisation that it was there that scared me, not that it could do anything to me. On the contrary, it merely scarpered as it saw me. We continued.

After 30 minutes or so we started to question where the end was. After 45 minutes, we did so even more. After an hour, we asked people coming back the other way if the end was near. In patchy and unclear English, they said “Yes, not far” and pointed ahead. Thrilled that the end was near, we walked on with more of a spring in our step. 20 minutes later we reached the end - a green barrier, and a path that evaporated into the ether. An exhausted and exasperated look crossed our faces, similar to Wily Coyote when he fails to catch Roadrunner and the anvil lands on his head instead.  After holding our toilet break for over an hour, we climbed a few yards into the lizardy mountain and relieved ourselves. We could both see and hear the boats mooring nearby for the promised caves, on the opposite side of the canyon. No bridge or boat to connect us, and no boats for us to hire to take us downstream.  So now my thoughts turned to those wretched snakes, almost as if they had planned this trek, leading me to a dead end so that they could haunt me further on my return to sanctuary. My initial relief at reaching the end of the walking element of our exploration now turned into an even more insufferable return to a tortured path littered with imaginary snakes. As usual on a return journey, it seemed shorter. And so, I celebrated my return with a drink or two, John paying for a couple of rounds of beers to relive my stress.

Whilst there, and with access to wifi, I decided to FaceTime Michelle from the lakeside. A drunken call for 20 minutes went by in a blur. Back I went – now onto cocktails. 20-something Albanian lads occupied a rock jutting out into the lake partaking in camaraderie and diving into the lake. It then dawned upon me that I had no cash, and John had just spent his last on the drinks. No kayaking for us, although we had enough for the planned bus we planned to take back to Skopje.

So we departed, I slightly annoyed that we couldn’t go kayaking, but relieved that the organiser in me knew we had scant information on when and where to get the bus back to Skopje. We walked back where the taxi dropped us off earlier in tandem with other visitors now heading back home. We walked down towards the man-made kayaking facility as no bus stop seemed evident up to that point. A little further on, a busy car park was emptying slowly – cars doing u-turns and queuing whilst spitting up dust from the chalky road. We carried on past a couple of buildings, one housing a pedestrian bridge to the other side of the river, and onwards to a restaurant placed opposite an exposed, wooden hut. This may be our bus stop, as there were a couple of people there who looked like tourists. I persuaded John to go to the restaurant to double check. The waiter confirmed this.

It was getting late in the day, deceptively so as the sun was ‘setting’ behind the hills to the west. After 30 minutes or so, 4 young lads came to join the small but growing contingent in the wooden shack. After overhearing their conversation, we knew they were British. At a guess, they were 19 or 20. One asked if this was the bus stop, and John replied yes. This opened up conversation starting with the Matkasee and led on to our travelling plans. It seems that they were heading from Skopje to Belgrade by night train, then Berlin via Budapest, and onwards to Amsterdam. John and I affectionately called them the ‘In-betweeners’. They had the same characters in each of them – Briefcase, English ‘lad’, the dopey one, and average one obsessed with Carly. After 20 minutes a clapped-out old bus with no passengers onboard came from the direction of Saraj and passed us. In the immediate confusion of whether the bus stop was actually back up the road, one of the In-betweeners went off to explore just beyond the bend where the pedestrian bridge was. He came back and said that it was attempting to turn around.

A taxi soon passed by with the driver offering anyone a lift to Skopje for about £14. We declined and said that we would wait for the bus, to which he replied that it was broken down. We didn’t want this potential ruse to lure us into paying over the odds, so we declined again. No one else took up the offer. The In-betweeners were relying on the bus, as they hadn’t brought enough cash for a taxi. Our conversation with them soon drifted. After another 25 minutes of waiting, John unilaterally decided to take the next taxi – we could get cash on the way.

One passed by soon enough and John leapt into it, no doubt getting tired and restless. The taxi was metered and the driver suggested the fare would be about £12. We just nodded and off he drove. As we coasted along towards Saraj, we had hit upon a turned over truck in the road with a set of tyre marks veering off to the right. A black, expensive car was at the end of these marks, down a steep embankment. Clearly the car was trying to overtake the lorry but must have misjudged and ended up on a sort of car park area below. We skirted around the chaos, with the driver expelling grunts of disapproval. We sped on through the village and onwards to the main boulevard. As we merged onto a roundabout, a car to our left veered on to our lane and clipped the taxi. A near miss that sent our driver off on another tirade of grunts. We just wanted to get back, undamaged preferably.

A shattered John asked the driver to pull up at an ATM near the police station we registered at. He came back with a wad of cash, happy to be able to pay for the easier journey home. However, he got ten times as much cash out as needed. Instead of 10,000 denars he got 100,000 - £100. His tiredness was clearly showing. He found an exchange office and changed the rest into Serbian dinars ready for our bus journey north.

We headed back to the apartment, where we showered, changed and undertook some preliminary packing of our belongings. We had our last drink on the balcony as the sun was setting before returning to the police station. We had the police officer complete our small registration form to say that we were exiting the country in the morning, and he signed this off in his official book. We then returned to the main square and onward to Carpe Diem again for food. The halloumi with honey and sesame seed starter was to die for. As we had to get up very early, we finished up our food and wine and decided to get as much sleep as possible ahead of our mammoth trek tomorrow.

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.

My Images of SEE – 10:41, Fri 12th August

After coffee, we meandered our way back to the square, and to an Italian restaurant facing into the square. I had a pesto lasagne which was lovely. However we didn’t spend all of our time there, as we were harassed by a wasp. So we went over to Trend for a beer until 19:45. We then slowly walked back to the train station, bidding farewell to Skopje. We arrived at 20:10 and went direct to left luggage. We paid our 77 Denars and collected our belongings. We then went up to Platform 4. The train was already there, but the lights were out as people boarded. We just followed. The toilets look vile, however, in my condition, I think I can bear it. We found a cabin that was free and put our bags in the overhead holders. The cabin was old school in its set up. 3 chairs in a row, twice, with a sliding door and curtains to boot. It was dark outside now.

At 20:45 on the dot, we left. But that was about as much luck as we got last night. We had a nice and bouncy ride out of Skopje, when we suddenly stopped 10 minutes. 3 minutes later we continued, discovering our delay to be a road crossing. We bumped along to the border, 10 minutes late, and had our passports checked; the lady asked if we had anything to declare. 10 minutes later we stopped on the Serbian side. A repeat of the border procedure here too. Then we were still waiting. And waiting. The drilling began. About an hour later I saw, 2 carriages down, a worker drilling then climbing into the roof. They then came into our cabin. We had to move as they suspected something up in the roof. How odd. Didn’t look like there was enough room.

1 ½ hours later we had the all clear and departed. We were in a cabin with two local women, who Liam noticed were fascinated with my piercings. We then moved into another carriage as ours was shut off! So we knew that we would miss our connection, and confirmed this by the guard. So we sat there glum. It then dawned on us that we would need a hotel. So we fretted over that as the guidebook said that Nis train station was 2km out of the city.

At 03:05 we arrived at Nis. In vain, I asked if the Sofia train was late at the desk. It had gone. So we walked out of the station, and right, to the main road. It was quiet. We looked right and noticed two adverts for a hostel and a hotel. We opted for the hotel as it took credit cards. This was our 3^rd country, albeit unintentionally. We walked up a road off the main road; a wall had daubed on it a swastika. Our fears were raised. We then reached a junction, so decided on left. We then saw a pack of dogs. Fears raised more, but subsided once passed. The road was quiet and claustrophobic, and odd car would pass raising our heartbeats should they stop near us.

At another junction, we saw a sign with further directions to Hotel Tami. We walked 200m, then left at the lights for 1300m. We hugged a park to our left that curved left then straightened out. The odd car still passed, and we were now walking up hill. After what seemed like an eternity, we saw a sign pointing right. After 2 minutes up hill we saw in big red neon lights the hotel sign. What a relief. 

A fast pace took us to its doors. They had rooms, a twin, for €65 – excellent. It was 4* too! We handed over our passports then went upstairs to collapse. I returned to collect our passports and was relieved that they took Euro’s for Dinars. We drifted off at 04:30 until 09:00. We then had breakfast and prepared for the day.

My Images of SEE – 17:30, Thu 11th August

After another snooze at the hostel last night, I collected enough energy, and given enough prompting from Liam, to go out to eat. That was at 21:15. We walked along 11 October to the square. We just settled on the Pelister again. We sat down – busy as last night there too – and ordered a medium Margarita to share. We didn’t want to mis-judge the meal size again. So I managed a couple of slices and also some ice cream to cool my stomach. We then walked back to the hostel for 23:00. It was to be another restless night.

We woke up slowly at 08:00, and understood we had to pack. So we half did so, before we went out to the pharmacy 150 yards away to get medicine. Armed with my Eastern European phrasebook, I (hopefully) ordered the correct medication. We then went back, showered, then packed up. We left the key in the door to our room for our host then left. We walked to the train station where I again asked if the train to Nis. A different lady gave me the answer I wanted. “20:45, Platform 4” Excellent. And no need to book either.

We walked around the dark, dingy and altogether sinister train station to the baggage room. No-one was there, so we returned to the lady at the ticket booth. She said to go to the man at information. We did, and he off loaded our bags for us. He gave Liam a chitty and wrote down ‘YY’ that we interpreted as seventy seven to pay when we return. So we left the train station for the old train station, now home to the City of Skopje museum. 

Somewhat surprised that it was free, we appreciated a free visit. However, the exhibit was tiny. However it was informative about the earthquake and local archaeological finds. We then walked into the square, then left, to the post office. I then posted my postcard to Kirsty and Sean for 36 denars – bargain. I just made note of our progress, and where we were going to next.

I then walked Liam past the nearby Government buildings, who didn’t appreciate its architecture at all. Neither did I to be honest. We then turned a corner to observe the St Kliment Orthodox Church. Almost tent-like in its shape, the domes I felt owed more to the Ottoman Empire than any Christian theme. It was new however, and perhaps wanted to fit into its historical surroundings. 

We then went to a café between the river and the mall for a beverage. After that we ventured across the bridge again to the bazaar and beyond to the National Museum of Macedonia. Again, architecturally it looked more like a disused school, but inside this dated building were interesting documents on the history of Macedonia covering the last 150 years. 

A small section had archaeological finds. The other side of the building had the ethnographic exhibition. This I found the most interesting. It had 40 + mannequins of past national dress and small models of how houses and homes looked like in times past. 

Before leaving, the nearby Mustapha Pasha mosque began its call to prayer. It was an amazing experience. It felt far removed from ‘Europe’ but also fit in with our location. We then made our way further up to the Museum of Contemporary Arts. The exhibition was ‘Balkans: Love it or leave it’ and had some provocative pieces and some excellent political messages. One focused on the various names the ‘West’ cast him/her as ‘East Europe, Central Europe, South East Europe, Balkan’ all the while remaining in Bucharest. Very interesting. 

We took in the magnificent views of the city on this glorious day, then walked back down the hill to the square, and on to the Irish bar. Here we ate and had drinks for 2 hours, just to relax and use up our time. We then headed over to the Ramstore to buy some local wine to take home, and snacks for the train. I then exchanged 2,000 denars back for €30 and we then had coffee.