We're Not In Albania Anymore -- Bitola, Macedonia

I'm starting this post from the kitchen of a cheap hostel in Macedonia. My skin itches from two days of sleeping outside with killer mosquitoes. I'm slightly sunburned on my right shoulder (my left is unscathed) and my feet are in the process of acclimatizing to flipflops (loads of blisters all over the tops). I smell like a revolting/fascinating mixture of nature, instant coffee, cheap rosé, sweat and sour sheep cheese.

The hostel is normal. Loud.

There's a fellow from Amsterdam sitting across the table from me, working on his journal.

His handwriting is significantly better than mine. 

The rest of the men in the hostel are sitting in the living room, watching football. Like good Balkans. Or Europeans. Or the rest of the world minus America.

I'm starting this post from Bitola, Macedonia. Tessa and I decided to hitchhike here because the nice taxi driver who dropped us off in Ohrid said that Bitola was a rather pleasant place to be.

So now we're here.

We head to Skopje tomorrow, where we have our first couchsurfing host since Kristoph and his yacht. 

Ohrid.

We arrived in Ohrid around noon. The city was bustling, bursting with tourists and Tessa and I blended right in with my camera and our beasts. It was refreshing to see men and women sitting at cafes (in Albania, cafes were dominated by men. Smoking. And staring at us), so we spent a few hours at the Italian cafe and then explored the city.

Exploring a city with a 15 kilo backpack isn't as easy-peasy as it seems.

We stopped for some fast food that reminded me of Istanbul (the first time I've seen Ayran since leaving Umit and Seher). Macedonian cuisine has been heavily influenced by Turkey, so there's an abundance of meat and yogurt to be found.

While exploring (our backpacks making us feel each step), we stopped by several old churches.

Ohrid has many old churches. 365, to be exact.

They need one for every day of the year.

It generally costs 100 denar to enter this site, but the ticket taker told us we looked like students, so let us in for 30 denar each.

Tessa assumes that this good luck is because she's from New Zealand. Many good things come from being from New Zealand.

I don't argue. Kiwis are composed of seven parts "chill", one part "don't bullshit me" and two parts "magic". 
 

The building on the right is a research center Ohrid is building for theologists and archeologists. They want to invite people from around the world to study the remains of their 365 churches.

Touch my sing?

After walking until we could walk no further (Tessa could have probably kept walking, but my elephant has turned me into a veritable pansy), we decided to find a nest for the evening. Neither of us remembered whether or not wild camping was actually legal in Macedonia (neither of us knows anything about Macedonia), but we assumed that the worst that could happen was that we'd get told off by an indignant/confused Macedonian and we'd have to move somewhere less populated by indignant/confused Macedonians.

"You want to stay here?"

"It looks good. But why don't we check around the corner? I want to see where that noise is coming from."

"That looks like a nest."

"YES."

Welcome to nest #2 of Tessa and Aimee. You wish you slept here last night.

Two German tourists (we assume they were German because they cared about rules) approached us and asked whether or not we were allowed to be there.

"Excuse me, are you sleeping here tonight?"

"Maybe."

"Did you pay?"

"No."

"We're asking because we want to find a place like this. Is it allowed?"

"Is it allowed?" I turned to Tessa.

"Umm... It's legal in Albania."

"We're not in Albania anymore."

"Right. Well," she turned to the Germans, "We don't think the police will come here."

The Germans looked unconvinced.

"We're watching the sunset. No one can get upset at tourists watching the sunset. It got cold, so we took out our sleeping bags. To watch the sunset," I gave them a winning smile. 

The Germans looked unconvinced and bewildered. Then they walked away.

That used to be me. But now I walk into national parks, steal eggs from hostels, hitchhike with truck drivers and sleep in places where I may or may not be allowed to sleep. 

We listened to podcasts (Tessa generously gave me another chance) until we fell asleep, soothed by the sound of Ira Glass' relaxing voice and a nearby flock of ducks that were violently raping each other (as ducks do). 

I woke early the next morning and prepared a delicious breakfast of bananas, super fatty yogurt and perfectly ripe peaches.

We ate our fruit salad and watched a naked man washing his laundry in the lake below.

Only in the Balkans. 

Hitching out of Ohrid required a half hour walk to the outskirts of town and ten minutes of holding up our signs.

After our six second waits in Albania, ten minutes felt like forever.

We're just spoiled now. 

But we were eventually picked up by two men heading straight to Bitola. They were dairy farmers who commuted between Bitola and Ohrid nearly every day and seemed happy to have some extra company.

They spent quite a while talking about the former Yugoslavia. And how wonderful it was and how much they miss it. This seems to be a theme throughout the Balkans. Croatians miss Yugoslavia. Montenegrins miss Yugoslavia. Macedonians miss Yugoslavia.

"Life was good then. Everyone had work. Everyone had free healthcare and free education. Everyone had a place to live. Now that we are separated, we want to be together again."

At Tessa's request, the farmers dropped us off in front of their favorite burek restaurant.

Once again, Tessa was disappointed by the flaky pastry. The best she ever had was in Bosnia, and it has been declining in quality ever since.

"I think it's time to let burek go. You can't force things like this."

We stopped at a cafe to research a good place to spend the night. We're rather reluctant to leave sleeping outside up to chance after our unfortunate/disastrous experience sleeping on the patio of a halfway abandoned restaurant in the marshes of Shkoder. 

"Well, there's this park..." Tessa showed me some forest on google maps.

"We could sleep there!" I forced enthusiasm. I'm very good at forcing enthusiasm.

"We could... or we could just get a cheap hostel for tonight."

"We could also do that," enthusiasm came much more naturally to this option.

"We've just had two amazing nights wild camping, and it doesn't seem like something we should force."

"Like burek. Wild camping should be something we can enjoy. Something to celebrate."

"So, we're staying in a hostel?"

"Yeah."

The Macedonian language is written in Cyrillic, which makes plugging names into google maps an adventure in and of itself. It also makes understanding street names rather tedious, so we were more than a little relieved to see this sign --

We walked up the stairs and burst into the reception area.

"Hello, we'd like to sleep here tonight."

I love that this is my life. 

The pony-tailed Macedonian fellow working the reception desk took our passports, our money and gave us a bunkbed, peach juice and kittens to pet.

Tessa was especially pleased about the kitten part of the equation.

After we'd sloughed off our bags and finished our juice, we set off to explore the city.

"It doesn't feel like we're paying for a place to sleep. It feels like we're paying for a babysitter for our backpacks," I commented to Tessa, feeling remarkably light and enjoying the sensation of walking without the extra 15 kilos.

"Look at us kicking up our heels."

This is why Macedonian is hard. Try typing that into google. Go.

 We found the grand bazaar and bought cheese and honey.

Tessa finally purchased her travel hat for a grand total of two euros. It is the perfect combination of funky, useful and ridiculous.

Cafe street.

Then Tessa bought sunglasses. For a grand total of four euros. They match her funky hat and playful personality just about perfectly. I love them.

Tessa did not purchase these sunglasses. Even Tessa can't manage to pull off this funk. And if Tessa can't, no one can.

I love it when street signs give the directions to different countries. Hey there, Greece.

Random pony crossings.

We strolled out of town, past a zoo, through a park and to the Heraclea Lyncestis ruins. It was originally built by the Phillip II of Macedon, conquered by the Greeks, and then dibsed (I want this to be a word) by the Romans.

Its crumbling buildings include a theatre built by emperor Hadrian and early Byzantine mosaic tile floors.

Peacocks seem to be a motif of Macedonia. They're everywhere. Including the 10 cent coin (and the 10 cent bill)

You wish you were this classy.

We bought some cheap rosé and sat in a park with small horses and small Macedonian munchkins, drinking, halfway napping and halfway listening to podcasts (my goal is to get Tessa addicted to NPR before the end of our adventure).

On the way back, we stopped for a dirt cheap meal (two euros) of baked cheese, bacon and mushrooms. 

Macedonia. I LIKE you. I have no idea how to feel about Albania, Montenegro or Croatia, but I LIKE you, Macedonia. You're lovely and everyone should visit you. Drink your rosé, eat your cheese, see your ruins and wild camp by your lakes.

Tessa and I head to Skopje tomorrow. 200 km of hitchhiking (our longest trek thus far).

Wish us luck.