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 3

We decided to have breakfast in the apartment this morning, no doubt because of the effect our vodka and wine induced evening had on our reluctance to venture outside so early and in such searing heat. So coffee and (non fresh) chocolate croissants it was, before showering and packing for the day. Today the sky was pristine – not a cloud. Hence we packed sun cream, factor 50 naturally, and lots of water. We also packed ham and bread so that we could have a picnic later in the day. But first we had a task to complete.

We left the apartment, on to the main square, and then turned right aiming for the naff Arc de Triomphe replica. The only saving grace in my eyes were the remnants of the colourful revolution, etched on to the monument as a reminder of another triumph the citizens were seeking to achieve. Onwards from this the 11^th October Street merged with a road from the right, its name a symbol of the start of the Partisan resistance in 1941 commemorated by the Communists. And as we walked on, symbolism from the current era was evident everywhere. To our left was a park, adjacent to the brutalist mall, which contained almost a graveyard of religious, cultural, and event-marking structures. The first to appear involved Greco-Roman men linked arm in arm, with the world being held behind them. The dates and list of names pointed towards this being a memorial to the Macedonian security services that were killed during a low level insurrection in 2001. Initially a localized skirmish, involving a transfer of land between Macedonia and what was then Serbia, escalated into an ethnic conflict. No Albanian names could be seen.

A peppering of statues that had no explicit symbolic reference led us to the end of the park. Here, a latterly installed statue heralded the first meeting of the Macedonian ASNOM in 1944 – the Anti-fascist council that was led by Tito prior to the war’s end. Kiro Gligorov, the first post independence President of Macedonia, sits prominently at the table whilst a comrade speaks from the lectern. The Government seemingly had to mix it up a bit with a statue from the Communist past. It was noticeable that there was still no Albanian statue this side of the Vardar. Opposite the park stood the Macedonian unicameral Parliament. Even it didn’t escape the ‘make-over’ of the city, with tacky domes forced onto its wings and cream paneling covering its original terracotta marble effect facade. For fear of under doing it, another man on a horse was placed outside.

After our little tour of ‘Disneyland’ we walked on. Even after only leaving the apartment 10 minutes earlier, the heat was overpowering.  We took a left at the junction and walked back towards the river, turning right at another small modern shopping mall. We picked up a fellow traveler on the way – a stray dog. What was a cute addition for a few minutes soon turned into an annoyance we couldn’t shift. The dog became aggressive towards certain passersby and fellow stray dogs. I felt both lucky to have the dog ‘on our side’ but impatient for it to lose interest in us and wonder off. However it was with us all the way to the dilapidated rail and bus station. Built following the earthquake, there was a hubbub of activity at its entrance, consisting mainly of taxi drivers and food vendors chatting amicably whilst eyeing up potential custom. We walked straight in, past the row of bus company desks to our left and a waiting area to our right, through to the other side of the station. We could not find the train station area. Outside now, we turned left towards the road, then under the bridge that supported the rail platforms. We found a secretive side entrance into the dark and unwelcoming train station hall. No one was about, and only one desk was staffed. In English, I asked if there was a day train to Belgrade. We were informed that there was not, only a night train. I was really disappointed, as I wanted to see the countryside slowly pass by as we took our first train journey. We left the desk and considered our options. We decided to ask at the bus desk for times of departures and cost. They had a couple of ‘express’ buses that only departed at nighttime and took 6 hours, and other buses departing during the day that took around 8 hours. We decided against night travel so opted for one of the day buses. It cost the same amount we budgeted for the train, so we weren’t dipping into reserves. We paid for our tickets, and I left reassured that our transport to Belgrade was now confirmed.

With our task complete, we walked back to the Ramstore, our canine friend nowhere to be seen. Whilst walking over we agreed that our next visit should be the cross on top of Mount Vodno. I was eager to go following my aborted attempt the last time I visited. So at the Ramstore, we jumped into a taxi and made our way up the windy road to the cable car. Our taxi driver was a woman in her mid-50s. She spoke good but broken English and was very chatty during our drive. She explained to us, somewhat nostalgically, that when she was in school, they had a choice of languages to learn and she chose English as it was one of the most common ones. She was interested to hear that we planned on visiting Matkasee, so much so that she gave us her number so that she could take us there tomorrow. We took her business card as we departed and waved her off.

We walked along a path with a shop in a wooden hut and picnic benches dotted within the ascending forest to our left. John was very impressed with the free wifi available in such a remote place. Very ‘back to nature’ I thought. We walked on to a ticket booth and the lower station of the cable car. We paid our £4 fee and boarded our private pod. We slowly slid up the side of the mountain, and as the trees departed we could see the city below us. At first, it was the entirety of our view, but as we climbed the whole valley came into range. Villages that emerged on the horizon soon came to be viewed from a Birdseye perspective.  As we neared the top you could see the crescent shaped valley from east to west, with the mountains to the north our only obstacle to peering into Kosovo. We arrived at the summit and departed our pod. The Millennium Cross stood stoically ahead of us, and to its right a run down restaurant that seemed closed for refurbishment. We visited the small kiosk in its base to buy snacks, and then decamped on to a table to eat our picnic whilst soaking up the views.

The 360-degree panoramic view was truly awesome. The clear day meant you could even see Serbia over to the east, towards the end of the mountain range. To the west emerged a motorway out of the city, partly taking form as a lengthy viaduct heading towards Tetovo, the predominantly Albanian town. After our picnic, we had a wonder along the mountain ridge. There were open circular wooden huts dotted across the mountaintop, only about 5 or 6. One was occupied with an amorous young straight couple. We walked along to the furthest hut, then back again, and on to a run down building that had a plaque marking a German Command Bunker – prime spot if any. We saw a workman in his 70’s emerge from a nearby building site and walk down the hill and into the thick forest just below. We took a few more pictures and then decided to make our way back down, waiting to avoid another group so we had a pod to ourselves again.

We reached the lower station, and walked over to the car park. There were no waiting taxis so we decided to use our phones (without 3G) to descend the mountain via the forest. We saw a large map on a billboard next to a large hotel-like building just off the roadside as we left the car park, but the colour coding was undecipherable. We could see from Google Maps a track through the forest, so decided to go for it. As we got off to a false start, we noticed the workman from earlier. He was obviously heading home on foot. We saw him dip into a slender gap in the forest on the side of the road, so we decided to follow him. He could have been anyone, but we decided to trust the stranger rather than our own technology and sense. Though as we descended, we saw coloured markings on trees every so often. It finally twigged, about half way down, that three different colors direct you in three different ways. I believe we took the easy route. After 45 minutes of walking on a dry dirt track, we came across man made works embedded in the forest – some form of water drainage system for the mountain – then re-entered civilization with a farm or two, then houses with grand gardens.

We passed a shop as we walked down hill in the up-market, hillside neighbourhood and grabbed a couple of iced teas and extra water, before heading to a café I researched before arriving. The downside of Macedonia is that it has a terrible record on LGBT rights. There is one LGBT resource centre that in the past has been attacked on a number of occasions; and the Dutch Embassy has done a lot to support civil society to make the LGBT community more visible, acting as a symbol of hope. However, I managed to research somewhere that was LGBT ‘friendly’. It was west of the main square 10 minutes on foot, tucked in a cul-de-sac just off one of the main boulevards. It had a bohemian pop-up vibe about it. There was an entrance gap between high walls either side, and in the middle of the courtyard stood a large tree, in a rather parched pond, with wooden seating constructed over and around it. We were the only patrons. Our thirst not even quenched by the iced tea and water, such a hot day that it was, we asked the waitress for a drink and was suggested a local specialty. I accepted and was offered basically an iced tea. Oh well. We sat in the shade for about half an hour whilst we regained energy and hydrated. The café leant against a 4 story high residential block, where we got our free wifi from, and was sheltered under the tree and a tarpaulin canopy. Upon leaving, we noticed a military truck parked nearby and a few officers. My suspicions were roused – was this place being watched? Was it really an LGBT friendly place or a trap to lure us in? More realistically, it was probably parked at the back of a barracks. We crept back out on the boulevard, lest we became associated with the ‘friendly’ venue.

The sun was starting to lower in the sky, so that the larger buildings were providing much appreciated shade from the heat every so often. After a long and busy day, we returned to the apartment for a snooze and refresh. By around 9pm, we woke up, got showered and changed again, then sat on the balcony drinking some red wine, recanting our day thus far and plans for tomorrow, whilst simultaneously observing the hubbub below. The screaming lady returned once more. After draining much of the bottle, we had to remind ourselves that we were intending to go out, so we locked up and went down to the Square. Tonight we decided to go to one of the restaurants along the riverside. The bridge looked amazing lit up in the night, with the byzantine museum and theatre looming grandiosely behind. Again, the square was busy with families and couples. We walked by the restaurants, checking out their menus, until we decided on a place that looked quite classy called ‘Carpe Diem’. We sat in the canopied section outside, eager again to observe Skopjians going about their evening. We had a full, three-course meal (John may have skipped the dessert), and two bottles of Tikves Alexandria white wine. The total bill, with tip, came to around £20. Half of that was the wine! We finished off the second bottle slowly, before setting off for the café we visited earlier in the day.

The cul-de-sac looked a lot more sinister in the darkness, but as we ventured in our eyes adjusted to the darkness that was only lightly dusted with moonlight from up above. We crept in to the courtyard, half expecting the atmosphere to be a bit livelier for an evening, so were disappointed to see only a handful of patrons. We sat towards the main building at the back - in a corner and opposite another couple 10 feet away. Our order for beer spoken in English piqued the curiosity of the other patrons, but that soon abated. Over the course of two beers, we either discussed plans for the rest of the holiday or fell into a relaxed silence, observing others in the vicinity. By 1am we grew tired again, so paid our bill and departed back to the apartment.

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.

Around the Balkans in 20 Days - Part 1

Berlin Schönefeld had just recently opened one of the newest Wizz Air routes, connecting the German capital with the capital of the Republic of Macedonia – Skopje. We departed the few remaining friends, gathered for a short weekend of renowned Berlin nightlife, to depart on our own trip to the states that once made up the central and eastern republics of the Socialist Federal Republic of Yugoslavia.

A short two-hour trip, on our budget yet comfy flight, saw me return to the city on the Vardar for my fourth time. For John, stepping out of arrivals at Alexander the Great Airport was his first visit to any territory once under the rule of Josip Broz Tito. I can only imagine that my feelings of familiarity were equally matched by John’s feelings of intrigue and wonder for the twenty days ahead.

Yet, as we met the hostess and her father for our Airbnb apartment, we soon changed tack as to whether we would arrive in the city centre at all. A well intended instruction of not needing to use our seat belts as we got into the car, feeling obliged to indulge in local practice, soon turned into stomach tightening regret. We awkwardly gripped on to the handrail as we zigzagged between lanes of the motorway whilst hurtling towards the city centre at 100km per hour.

Thankfully, reduced speed limit signs as we entered the city limits seemed to have an effect, slowing down the driving and making it seem less erratic. As we approached the city from the east, the Millennium Cross began to emerge, and turn towards us as we arched around the mountain upon which it was perched. The orange glow of the city soon came into competition with it, distracting us from our friendly chat with our hostess. We covered the usual – what we did for work (us, politics and charity; her, actuary), what brought us here (visiting the region, I mentioned my multiple visits that took us on a tangent), how she learned such good English (TV and school), and where was good to visit. The latter was more to confirm that the research I undertook could be confirmed as fair to explore by a local. A winery, Matkasee, the Millennium Cross, and the Kale Fortress were all met with our hostess’s approval, including directions on how best to get to them.

Once the Kale Fortress appeared to our right, a hundred or so meters above us lit up like a 1920’s cabaret stage, I knew exactly where we were and began to calculate the route that our hosts would take us to the apartment. Although approaching almost midnight, evidence of the summer’s demonstrations against the VMRO-DPMNE Government could be seen. The ‘Colourful Revolution’ saw protesters attack the newly constructed facades of state and other prominent buildings and monuments with a palette of paint worthy of Kandinsky. While I was explaining these events to John, our hostess proudly informed us that her building was one of the few in the centre not to have its façade so appallingly done up to the ‘Neo-Classical’ style now de rigueur thanks to ‘Skopje 2014’. No doubt my ‘tour guide’ act was already becoming tiresome to John. It was past midnight. John must have been thinking “Only 19 days to go!”

We pulled into a triangular courtyard off one of the side streets that leads to Macedonia Square. We collected our stuff, headed out on to the main Macedonia Street, and were met with rows of waited tables bursting in to the street from the abundance of cafes, all pumping out pop music. The cooking of corn on a makeshift barbecue along with the smell of cigarette smoke lingering in the still of the night, both lent themselves to my first noticing the enveloping heat that the evening still possessed. Romance was lost however, when a lone pensioner began wailing on a nearby bench. Over the course of our stay, we would hear her a couple of times, even at this hour, howling without interruption from residents or passersby.

We made our way up to the 6^th and top floor of the apartment block, the entrance to which was opposite the wailing lady, and entered through the door to the left. Our studio apartment was ideal for the two of us, but the balcony that overlooked Macedonia Square was its USP. Once our hostess made arrangements for our morning visit to the police station to record our visit, we unpacked essentials for the morning, turned on the air con, and called it a night.

LGBTI Rights, Social Democracy and South East Europe

The coming together of three of my passions – The Labour Party, LGBTI rights, and the countries of South East Europe. This conference/workshop was a follow up from one held in Belgrade last year. Initiated by the European Forum for Democracy and Solidarity, and hosted by the Labour Party through the Westminster Foundation for Democracy; this session sought to provide practical aims and objectives for delegates, from the social democratic sister parties of the region, to pursue further LGBTI rights.

To put LGBTI rights in context of the countries of South East Europe, one only needs to look at ILGA Europe’s ‘Rainbow Europe Map’. The range amongst all the countries of the former Yugoslavia sees Croatia place 10^th and Macedonia 39^th out of the 49 countries of Europe. And this is solely on legislative terms. The attitude of society towards LGBTI people is overwhelmingly negative, and is hardening.

So the objectives for the conference delegates – representing Bosnia & Hercegovina, Croatia, Macedonia, Montenegro, Serbia, Slovenia and Vojvodina; as well as leads on LGBTI groups from Sweden and the Netherlands – were threefold.

First, the delegates had to contextualize the struggle for LGBTI rights. This came from speaking about their experience of furthering LGBTI rights both in society and within the party, the uneven passing of LGBTI legislation across the countries in the region and its relation to EU accession, and learning from the experiences of LGBTI social democratic groups in Sweden, the Netherlands and the UK.

Second, the delegates had to analyse and evaluate the successes and failures of integrating LGBTI rights into their social democratic parties. Here, breaking into three groups helped each group focus on one or two countries at a time, but allowing the entire delegation to pick out differences and similarities during the roundup at the end.

Third, the delegates had to then draw together an action plan for them to take practical steps to further LGBTI rights.

Throughout the conference, many shared observations were made. One of the agents of change in advancing LGBTI rights that was mentioned was the EU. Delegates commented that the EU guided the hand of Governments into passing legislation, even if only as a ‘box ticking’ exercise. Governments could easily ‘blame’ the EU on the need to pass these changes in order to achieve the overarching objective to join the EU. However, these changes have not yet acted as an agent of change in society.

Another observation was that the party leadership’s seemed to be positive towards the LGBTI community in most countries, but it was the middling and lower ranking membership of those parties that had a problem of accepting LGBTI rights. However, it was pointed out that future leaders and representatives of the parties were where delegates could exert pressure to further LGBTI rights, both in the culture of the party and future party policy. The youth sections were agreed as a starting point to entrench political education on LGBTI rights and increase activism.

And so it followed that many delegates agreed there seemed to be no comprehension amongst party members or some leaders as to how or why LGBTI rights were central to the values of social democracy. This turned into a debate on the meaning of social democracy, which the delegates would take back to their parties.

The lack of leaders, local and national, to either come out as LGBTI or be pro-LGBTI was a constant weakness most delegates raised, especially from Macedonia. Lack of visibility meant there was a lack of seriousness to accept the LGBTI agenda, as it is seen as an electoral negative rather than a potential electoral positive. Those contributors not from the region emphasised the parallel processes of greater visibility meaning greater social acceptance – and hence less electoral disadvantage.

The conference ended after delegates from each country agreed to small, achievable steps to take. These included arranging a meeting with the leader of their party, asking for a safe space in Headquarters for LGBTI members to meet, asking for an email to go out to all party members to make them aware of the existence of an LGBTI party group, setting up a Facebook group, and looking towards future local government elections to develop cost-free pro-LGBTI policies.

The success of this conference will be seen in the actions that these individual delegates take. As I said in my remarks at the start of one of the sessions, they are the founders of the LGBTI rights movements in their parties, and through those they will change laws and societies, and continue the march towards LGBTI equality. A heavy burden for them to shoulder, but one this conference motivated them to lead.