ПАТУВАЊЕ – DAY 3

Like pretty much every other morning so far on this trip, Day 3 started with not nearly enough sleep.

I blame it on the Canadian girls.

Anyway, I woke up nice and early to have the chance to take a quick shower, then head on over to a bakery that Amy and Courtney had told me about that had what were supposedly the absolute best chocolate-filled pastries. In fact, they were so sure of it that they made me promise to go there in the morning to try them, and to post pictures on Facebook to prove it.

And, I did. Which turned out to be a great thing – the pastries were hot, chocolately, flaky, and everything a good chocolate pastry should be. I promised I’d get one. I may have gotten two.

Next door to the bakery (more or less) was the pizza restaurant La Luna. Notable for two things this morning – one, the group of Americans sitting on the balcony speaking American (!), and 2, as the place where I was to be picked up for my day tour to Mostar.

Mostar is a city in Bosnia-Herzegovina. More accurately, it is a city in Herzegovina; as the tour guide and pretty much every other person we encountered told us, the country is NOT called Bosnia, as much of the western world refers to it, but more accurately is called Bosnia & Herzegovina as it is actually a merging of two territories – Bosnia in the north, and Herzegovina in the south. For my trip today, I was in Herzegovina.

Most people know of Bosnia, as the capital of the country, Sarajevo, is there and it was a major part of the Yugoslavian war that resulted in NATO (including the US) intervention in the 90s. More people probably know it from the Savatage song ‘Christmas Eve (Sarajevo 12/24)’, which they also recycled onto one of their Trans-Siberian Orchestra albums. It is a tourist place – and one where you can still see the damage from the war everywhere. Many of the people I talked to wondered if the damage is still there not for its historical significance, but for its touristic significance.

Who knows.

Today, though, I was heading towards Mostar.

Mostar is a city, as I mentioned, in southern Bosnia & Herzegovina founded in 1452. It is the cultural capital of the region and is considered the most important city in Herzegovina. Its most famous site is the Stari Most, or Old Bridge, that crosses over the Neretva River. Built by the Ottomans in the 16^th century, the bridge is considered one of the best pieces of Islamic architecture in the Balkans and the city is named after the bridge keepers (mostari) who looked after and guarded it in medieval times.

To see this amazing piece of architecture, first I had to get there; the first step to that goal was waiting in front of the aforementioned La Luna.

Around 8:10, right on time, a small van pulls up. Myself and two others who were waiting are summoned by the driver with a loud shout of, “Mostar?” The van itself is a Mercedes, and a nice one. Comfortable seats, blasting AC, and not a single warning light on in the dashboard. Pretty amazing.

The van drives us about 15 minutes to the other side of town, pulls to the side of the road, and the driver says, “Now we wait.”

For what? Well, the bus. The name of the tour was ‘Mostar Small Group Tour’, so I naturally assumed that the van itself was to be our transportation. It wasn’t.

Instead, a full size bus pulls up, the driver has us get out, then we trudge on over to the bus, get on, and find a seat. It still was what I would call a small group – no more than twenty people were on the bus, and probably a few less. The bus also was very nice – well functioning AC, very comfortable seats with lots of leg room, and even hard wood flooring under the seats. Pretty classy. There was also one other thing I had never seen before: a flat screen TV perched above the windshield that actually showed video live-streaming from the front of the bus, so you could always see what was ahead no matter where on the bus you sat. It was pretty neat.

On the bus were the driver and the tour guide. The tour guide was most likely local, though she spoke English with a very definite British accent. Once we pulled out of the bus stop she kept up a running commentary on what the plan of the day was, the places we were passing, and some of the history of the region pretty much the whole way to Mostar.

One of the interesting things about Dubrovnik is that it is not connected by land to any other part of Croatia. In order for any resident to get to Split, or the capital of Zagreb, they have to either take a ferry over water, or pass through Bosnia & Herzegovina, passing through border checkpoints every time. From what I understood, in order to keep the city of Dubrovnik safe back in the time of the Ottoman empire, the Dubrovnik rulers gave up a stretch of land to their north to the Turks in order to protect themselves from the Ottomans. It provided a buffer protected by the Turkish armies, and kept Dubrovnik safe from attack. To this day, the land still does not belong to Croatia, but rather to Bosnia & Herzegovina.

Since it’s impossible to describe, I will just say that the scenery coming out of Dubrovnik was as spectacular as ever…including the Royal Caribbean cruise ship docked at the cruise port!

So, about 40 minutes outside of Dubrovnik, we hit our first border crossing. What’s interesting, is that as long as the buses are transiting straight through, and not taking the single turn off that leads inland into the country, there are no actual passport checks – the bus driver or guide just has to give a count of how many persons from each nationality are on board, then they are waived on through. I would assume that if there is someone from a country that requires a transit visa that they would then check them but we did not have any such passengers, and were quickly through the border.

On the other side of the border, once in Herzegovina, you quickly come to the town of Neum. This little waterside city (?) seems to exist mostly for tourist and transit buses. There were plenty of rest stops with little restaurants, bakeries, and souvenir shops, and each had a plethora of buses and cars parked in front. We stopped for about 20 minutes to grab some snacks, take a few pictures, and use the restroom, then we piled back on the bus and headed out.

After another short drive we passed back through the border into Croatia once again. Same procedure here – quick count of nationalities, then a wave through the checkpoint.

Once back into Croatia we turned inland, and finally crossed the border back into Bosnia & Herzegovina. This time, the crossing was more ‘real’, and we had to provide our passports, though we didn’t actually have to get off the bus. The border crossing was interesting – it was in the middle of a small town, right in the parking lot of a shopping place. Just a little, one lane each way type thing. We actually waited there a while, as the crossing was pretty busy.

Once through we drove a little while longer and made our way to a small village called Pocitelj. This village is also set up for rest stops, and has a small bakery, a restaurant, and lots and lots of vendors. It also is a bit historic – with medieval baths, an old fortress-like outpost up on a hill, and an old mosque, all connected with cobblestone streets. We were left to our own devices for 30 or 40 minutes to wander around, use the restroom, or just to do whatever. I really wanted to walk up the hill, but my ankle wasn’t having it. Even so, it was a neat little stop.

Finally, after about 3 hours of driving, we made it to Mostar.

Mostar, to me, is interesting. Before you get into the old town, you drive through the new town, and it looks as modern as any other Eastern European city I’ve seen. There really is no sign of the medieval part, its all hustle and bustle.

What you CAN see, though, are remnants of the fighting in the 90s. Buildings have bullet holes in them, and some are destroyed, left in the condition they were in when shells landed on them during the war. It’s a little bit eerie to think about.

Then, you cross a bridge.

From the bridge you can see down the river, and in the distance you can see the Stari Most. It is a pretty cool sight, and one that gets you ready to actually get there and see it up close.

The bus pulled into a bus parking area, right near a church with the highest bell tower in town (so high that it can literally be seen from anywhere in the city), and we all shuffled off the bus to be met by a local tour guide. Supposedly the bell tower was destroyed in the war, and then, just because they could, they rebuilt it even higher than it was before…

In my opinion, the name of the tour package is somewhat misleading – it’s not really a guided tour; its really a transportation, with some commentary, and an orientation class. For pretty much everything we were left on our own.

Which was fine. The tour guide that met us basically walked us down to the old city, showed us the bridge, and gave us an orientation to where everything is, as well as some restaurant recommendations. After about 30 minutes, most of it spent walking from the bus parking to the bridge, we were left to go explore on our own.

After our little orientation walk, we had just about two and a half hours to wander around; and wander I did. The old town itself is like a scene right out of an old medieval movie. Narrow, cobblestone-lined streets, vendors and craftsman on either side, with cafes and people selling snacks along the way. While this might be somewhat irreverent, I couldn’t help but think of Aladdin the movie. Just made me think of it. Or maybe Robin Hood – the one with Kevin Costner. I could see Morgan Freeman’s character, Azeem, walking down the street, scimitar strapped to his back.

One thing I thought was interesting about Mostar is it is a crossroads of cultures – in Bosnia & Herzegovina, and especially in Mostar, the people identify themselves by their religion, not their ethnicity. If someone asks what you are, you are Muslim, or Christian, or Jewish, not Bosnian or Herzegovinian. Before the war the people of each ethnicity lived by themselves, but it was common for intermingling. As the war drew closer and ethnic lines were drawn ever so sharply, the people stayed away from each other, and segregation was the name of the game. There was the Muslim side, and the Christian side. Literally – each side had their part of the city.

The war came and basically destroyed everything, and, now that its been over for a number of years, the tour guide and others we met were quick to point out how much they have now come together as one people. That didn’t always seem to be the case, but it was definitely an intermingling of backgrounds.

The interesting part of this, though, was that Mostar’s population, whether Christian or Muslim, is of the more liberal variety (not that it means they aren’t observant, just not as conservative in daily life. For example, the Muslim women wear what any women in the West would wear, and not traditional dress. The guide made sure this was very clear, and kept pointing out that any people we see in burkas are tourists, and not locals. It was a point she kept making, over and over and over again.

At the center (almost literally) of the old city was the Stari Most, the old bridge. It is a pretty impressive sight. It spans the river below that cuts the city, both old and new, in half. Built between 1557 and 1566, it was rebuilt in 2004 after being destroyed during a bombardment during the Yugoslavian civil war. It is now a UNESCO World Heritage site.

The bridge itself is 24 meters tall, just under 79 feet, and has two towers ‘protecting’ it on either side. Most notable, however, is the water down below. The river that runs beneath the bridge, and splits the city, is not very deep. I honestly can’t remember how deep exactly, but not very. The reason this is notable is that one of the ‘traditions’ of the city is the bridge jump.

To prove their manhood, young men would dive from the bridge down into the water below. If they survived – they proved their manhood.

Nowadays, there are ‘professionals’ who do the jump. Considering you are diving into shallow water from a height over double that of a traditional high dive competition height, these divers literally train their whole lives to do this. The way it works is that they stand around on the edge of the bridge, as tourists come by and give money. Once they have enough collected (usually around €30), they will climb to the apex of the bridge, and launch themselves off. It’s really interesting to see, and the fall is kind of scary – once the diver’s head pops back up above the surface everyone nearby stops and cheers.

In the past, there were problems with tourists trying to dive just to prove they can. Still to this day you can find websites advertising this ‘activitiy’. The problem is, not only is the water so shallow you really have to know how to land the dive safely, but the water is COLD. Even on a warm, sunny day, the water can be 20-30 degrees colder. So much so that it literally can shock the body and cause heart attacks or other fatal reactions. According to the tour guide they used to have 100s of people die each year from the dive for one reason or another, and even now there are always a few who ignore the warning and don’t make it.

After a few hours wandering the old city, looking at crafts, and visiting the small little ‘beach’ (I use the term loosely) down below the bridge, I made my way back to the bus, following the ever present church tower, and climbed aboard with all the other people on the ‘tour’. Right on time, we pulled out of the parking area, and after a few brief comments, the tour guide basically stopped talking for the entire ride back. Three border, two countries, and a rest stop in Neum later, we made our way back into Dubrovnik.

Instead of having to catch a second little van to transfer back to La Luna, the bus actually stopped at various places in the city dropping us off. My stop was 2^nd, and off I got. Since it was RIGHT THERE, I headed on in to La Luna, grabbed a pizza to go, and climbed the ever present stairs up to the guesthouse were I was staying.

After a failed attempt at having a conversation on Skype, I took a quick shower, tucked myself into bed, and fell asleep.

It was a pretty good day.

ПАТУВАЊЕ – DAY 2

On day 2, I still completely felt like it was day 1. Mostly due to the fact that I had gotten an entire four hours of sleep.

Maybe. Might have been less.

Why? Well, I had this great trip planned out – I was going to meet this private tour and hop on a bus. Go visit some picturesque village that was frequented by Marshal Tito back in the day, then on to an isolated port town where I was to climb aboard a charter boat through the islands, along the coast, and into Dubrovnik, Croatia.

A tour guide would meet us there, and take us to all the sights, pointing out both their historical significance, and their significance to the realms of Westeros. Yes, Dubrovnik goes by another name – King’s Landing. It is the seat of Lannister power, and has withstood many a siege.

Then, after seeing all that King’s Landin…er…Dubrovnik had to offer, it would be a car up to the guesthouse where I was staying, to settle in and enjoy the rest of the evening.

As it turned out, that didn’t quite happen. I received a pleasant, and very professional, email from the tour company – they couldn’t fill enough spaces to run the tour; my refund was on the way. Unfortunately, alternate transportation from Bar was by bus; one left late in the evening, and one early in the morning. I had counted on the day to see Dubrovnik, so morning it was.

This brings us back to the lack of sleep. In the ages old euphemism, the bus left early enough that I had to get up at the a$$ crack of dawn. Which actually was before dawn. I think the military call it zero dark thirty.

Thankfully, the owner of the guesthouse I was staying at was nice enough to get up at the same time and drive me to the bus station. I think I mentioned this already, but very nice guy.

The bus station, I’m pleased to report, was a step up from the train station. That hectic, crazy, organized chaos wasn’t present. It could have simply been that it wasn’t as busy, being before 5 am and all, or it could have just been that it was more modern. Either way, I got to the station on time, and took a seat, waiting for the bus to arrive.

Surprisingly me greatly, it pulled in on time, boarded us, and pulled out on time as well. The bus was pretty comfortable, and not overly crowded, just kind of like the bus from Skopje to Belgrade – most rows had people in them, but only one, and the ones that had two seemed to know each other.

I have to say, despite looking forward to the tour and boat ride, I am very glad I ended up on the bus. The Montenegrin coast is beautiful. I don’t think I have ever seen a coastline or scenery I enjoyed so much. We drove through two of the more ‘famous’ cities – Budva and Kotor, and I absolutely want to come back some day. I can’t even begin to describe how amazing it was. Mountains, blue water, beaches, and everything you could possibly want in a vacation spot. Amazing.

I’ve been told that different buses take different routes – if you ever find yourself going along the Adriatic, I absolutely recommend the coastal route. Words won’t do it justice, so I’m not even going to try.

I will say, that when I say they had everything you could want in a vacation, I really mean it – there were even cruise ships tendering passengers into the cities.

Leaving Montenegro we crossed the border into Croatia. Like we had to do into Serbia, we all filed out of the bus, had our passports checked, then walked across the border. Despite that, the crossing was relatively quick and painless, and we climbed back aboard and started back up on our journey into Croatia.

My first impressions of Croatia were not nearly as positive as Montenegro. Montenegro easily climbed to the top of my favorite places, Croatia, at least coming into the country, made me think of Macedonia. Maybe a Macedonia with better roads, and a few more modern-ish things, but Macedonia. The landscape, the houses, the stores. We even passed a few horse-drawn carts, farmers riding up front with their produce in the back.

Ironically, the only thing that didn’t remind me of Macedonia were the cars. While many of the brands were the same, there was not the proliferation of older cars that you see in Macedonia. I can’t remember seeing a really old, barely running car at all on the trip – no Yugos, either. The couple of older vehicles I did see seemed to hold the same status as an old VW bug in the States – a show car for people who really like those cars.

After a while we hit the coast once again. And it was incredible; honestly, not as impressive as I found Montenegro to be, but still inspiring. Then, in the distance, Dubrovnik.

Dubrovnik is a really impressive city that climbs up the side of a mountain, and reaches out on a number of promontories into the water. The old city is still an active part of the city, and still has castle walls around it. While it is a definite tourist destination, and the cafes, restaurants, museums, and shops inside cater to that demographic, people do actually live there. There are churches that are still active and hold services, houses, schools, and everything else you would need. Even a fire station.

Dotted around the outside of the walls are little beaches, and small little piers where small boats and tour boats dock. Cruise ships that tender their passengers in also drop off their guests here for the day, and as you might imagine, it is a flood of people. Granted, it is high season here, and I’ve been told that on any day there are between 3 and 8 large cruise ships docked or tendering, but the mass of humanity can be a bit overwhelming. I bet pick pockets do a nice little business.

Up above the old city and its walls sits an old fortress, looking out over the water and back in to the old and new cities. Along the coastline of the land that juts out like fingers are hiking and nature paths, beaches, and resorts. It’s a pretty incredible place, and I realized early that I wish I had more than two nights here. Especially since one of the days was completely taken up – but that’s Day 3, and we’ll get to that later.

There are lots of islands around Dubrovnik, most within a 15 or 20 minute water taxi or ferry ride. They are relatively cheap as well, and I really wish I could have gone out there. One of the islands is especially recommended – Lapad. It has beaches, a monastery, and a curse. Yep, a curse. If you have fun on the island, or in the water near it, you are supposedly cursed until you walk around the whole island with a candle dripping wax. Once the wax is cleaned up completely, you are free.

Or something like that.

Anyway, the bus arrived at the main bus station right on time, around 9:30am, and the owner of the guesthouse I was staying at came and picked me up. His house was not actually that far – but Dubrovnik is a city of hills and stairs, and walking would have been tiring. According to him.

Now, thankfully, I’ve gone two for two on guesthouses – the owner here was extremely nice, and really a good host. He had a litre box of juice waiting for me, a map of Dubrovnik, and recommendations on what to do and what not to do.

He sat me down for 15 minutes and went over the map, pointing out all the sites, telling me how much to pay for everything, and offering to take me wherever I wanted to go to start my touring. He even offered to take me on a scooter ride around town, but as Peace Corps has a big no-no on riding two-wheeled motorized vehicles, I turned it down.

Good Peace Corps Volunteer.

The house itself was really nice. I hate to say it, but much nicer than the one in Bar, but the city itself is also much more modern, and seems to have a much higher standard of living. Probably due to all the money that the tourists bring in.

The view from the house was also great – looking right over the main cruise port and the city.

Since I got there so early I decided to use the day for walking around and just seeing what was here. No big plans for going into the touristy spots, as that was on the books for Thursday, but just a meandering walk to wherever.

And I really did wind up wherever. I ended up walking through some residential area, then found some random path that seemed to lead down. So I took it. Down. Right to the water, which is what I was hoping for.

Unfortunately, what I wasn’t hoping for was the little side trip I took – right down onto the pavement when a piece of the dirt and rock road gave way and I sprained my ankle. Not fun.

But, I kept walking anyway.

I found myself at the water’s edge, the path around the coastline I was hoping to find, now found. I turned to the left, cause why not, and just started moving. I passed a number of beaches, a number of resorts, and a number of cafes and restaurants, all geared toward the modern beachgoer. The beaches here are interesting – not the sandy type we are used to back home, but rocky. Even if it looks sandy from afar, it usually is actually just small pebbles. From what I’ve been told, the pebbles are fine enough that you don’t actually need to wear shoes or sandals to walk on them. The water itself was clear and blue.

After walking for literally hours, I found myself in the city center, along a pedestrian path, flanked by more restaurants, cafes, and an endless number of tourist agencies and shops. Of course, there was also a beach.

At the end of the path was a bus stop – bus #6 to be exact. Which was exactly the bus that I was told would take me to the old city. So I hopped on, took the 15 minute (or less?) ride, and hopped off as soon as I saw the walls. Along with pretty much everyone else on the bus.

As I said, I hadn’t really intended to do all the touristy stuff this day. I just wanted a relaxing walk around seeing what was there, and deciding what I wanted to do when I came back in two days. So that’s exactly what I did, spending the next couple hours just walking around the old city, seeing what was there, people watching, and checking out a couple of the stores along the way.

It’s interesting (at least, to the geek in me) to note that not only was Game of Thrones filmed here, but so were parts of the new Star Wars. The tourist shops really play this up, having posters and signs outside letting you know, in no uncertain terms, how connected to geekdom Dubrovnik really is. What was disappointing, though, is that most of the branded products in the stores did not exploit that tie – I would have loved to have a House Stark t-shirt that also said Dubrovnik, or a shirt with a picture of King’s Landing next to the modern old city on it.

But I didn’t see those anywhere.

Eventually, my foot had had enough, and I decided I’d take a rest and grab lunch. I picked a random place in the old city, sat down, and had some really good pizza. After an hour or so, I got back up, intending to do some more walking, but my ankle had other plans. It was THROBBING. So, instead of more touristing, I ended up limping to the bus stop, getting on my bus #8, and heading back to the guesthouse.

I went into my room, intending to just relax, then woke up about 3 hours later. Going into the kitchen to grab something to drink, I ran into a couple of the other guests – a pair of Canadian girls taking their own holiday. They were teachers, and decided to use their vacation to visit Croatia. It was interesting to talk to them; they were actually in Munich when the shooting happened, and hearing their version of what they experienced was eerie. Before I knew it, it was 11pm, and I said good night and headed to bed.

Once again, I was getting up early, though not as early as I have been, to catch my lift to my day tour to a very historic city and my fourth country on this trip.

But that’ll be Day 3, and I’ll get to that one later.

ПАТУВАЊЕ – DAY 1

So, while it has been a while since I uploaded a post here, I have, in fact, started to write some. ‘Started’ being the keyword. I haven’t actually finished one. Working on it.

Really.

In the meantime, I am currently on what is my first ‘real’ vacation while overseas. I’m taking 14 days of leave and traveling all around Eastern Europe. It’s a whirlwind trip – 9 or 10 countries in two weeks. In some countries, multiple cities.

The downside of this is that I don’t really have the time I’d like to have in each place, but the upside is that I get to see all these places. And this, here, is my little journal of the trip. I plan to keep this updated, at least, before going back to my blog post slacker ways.

Let’s get started, shall we?

DAY 0

Officially, my out of country experience started on Monday, August 1^st. However, my time away from site actually started on Friday, July 29^th. In addition to needing to get my refills on my medications, Skopje seemed like a nice place to be in order to relax before starting a trip where I knew I wasn’t going to get any sleep for the first couple days.

Or more accurately, the Skopje Marriott seemed like a nice place to be…

And it turned out even better than expected.

I will admit that I have stayed at the new Marriott probably more than I should have considering that a) I am a Peace Corps Volunteer, and b) it’s only been open two months. In my defense, I say that most of the nights were actually when my mom was visiting – a reasonable excuse if I say so myself. This little self-indulgence actually paid off during this pre-vacation weekend.

You see, my bus out of Skopje didn’t actually leave Macedonia until early in the wee hours of the morning. My original plan was to check out around 4pm, see if they’d let me hang out in the lounge until it closed, then just go to the bus station and sit around until the bus left.

Instead, the Marriott staff, who actually know me by now and call me “Mr. Jeffrey”, let me keep my room as late as I wanted without having to pay an additional night. They officially checked me out on time, then just gave me the key back and told me to drop it off on my way out, whenever that is. Not only did I get the room free, but I took advantage of the lounge for some free snacks, drinks, and dinner.

I have to say that the staff at this hotel are probably the nicest hotel staff I have had the pleasure of interacting with in any place, ever.

And I’ve stayed at a lot of Marriott’s.

It also turned out to be a good thing that I stayed at the Marriott instead of camping out at the bus station for hours as I got to see a little impromptu rock concert. I’m not actually sure what the group was, but a stage was set up in the main square, right outside the hotel, and they played all kinds of rock music for hours. Metallica, Pat Benetar, The Who – it was all there. And it was symphonic: they had two lead singers, a strings section, and a small choral section, all in addition to the expected crunchy guitars, electric bass, and pounding drums. Very cool, and they were actually very good.

DAY 1

So, after trying, and failing, to sleep a little, I turned in my key and headed to the bus station. I admit that I was a little unsure of walking there so late at night, but it was not a big deal. There were still people out and about, which I found odd, as it was a Sunday (Monday??). In Strumica, there is barely anyone around at all on Sunday, much less in the middle of the night.

Once I got to the bus station I had a little wait before the bus even pulled up to the…place where buses go. You know, with a number, and a parking space-like thing? I can’t remember how to say it in English, although in Macedonian its перон (peh-roan). It’ll probably come to me in the middle of the night tonight….

Anyway, I got on the bus, and it was actually the nicest bus I’ve been on so far in the country. Comfortable seats, good AC, and clean. The seats were still close together, but the bus was only about ½ full, so I had the row to myself. Actually, I think it was literally ½ full, as almost every row was taken, but only with one person in each…

After we pulled out we made our way to a quick stop at a gas station near Kumanovo where the bus pulled over, picked up another passenger, and a huge bag of fresh kifli (a pastry with cheese in it). The bus had what in Ghana would be called a mate, and who I know here as, “that other person on the bus,” and they handed out the kifli to everyone.

Once we pulled out, no more stops. In Macedonia.

We made it to the Serbian border relatively quickly – maybe another hour or so, tops. Getting through was easy, but interesting. On the Macedonian side we just gave all of our passports to the ‘mate’, and she walked them out to the border police, who did what they do, and gave them back. Onward to the Serbian side.

Once through the quick no-man’s land we were all made to get off the bus, go one by one to the border police’s booth, get stamped, then walk out the other side of the border post. The bus then pulled up, we got back on, and continued on our way.

I can’t really comment too much about the scenery here, as for most of the way it was dark. We stopped for a quick rest stop at a gas station with a bakery and minimarket inside, then headed back on towards Belgrade.

As it got light out, I could see that the landscape and the settlements we passed reminded me of Macedonia. Except for one thing.

McDonald’s.

Yes, we passed a McDonald’s. I know this is sappy, but it brought a tear to my eyes. So American.

By the time we arrived in Belgrade it had already been light out for a while, so I got a good look at the city on the way in. I have to say, while the outskirts were pretty in the Balkan hills and houses kind of way, my first impressions of the city of Belgrade were not at all positive.

The area around the bus station was run down, lots of homeless (who I actually think, now, might have been refugees), and the buildings in the area were just dirty looking.

I walked a few blocks to the train station, and my initial impressions were even more solidified in my mind. The people at the station were rude, the place was run down and not welcoming, and the police officer standing bored, hand holding the grip of a sub-machine gun, looking nervously around, did nothing to boost my confidence regarding the city as a potential tourist destination.

That being said, I had a while before my train left, so I decided to walk around a bit – and head away from the station. Within a few blocks the scenery transformed. From an ugly, inner-city, feel, to a aristocratic, functional feel, everything changed pretty quickly. Instead of run down, dirty buildings, I was now surrounded by large, architecturally interesting government and private buildings, grand columns and bell-towers everywhere. A nice little park was in the center of everything, and the nicest McDonald’s I have ever been too a few blocks up.

It was definitely a different place, and while I still felt like I was in a more-interesting and eye-pleasing version of Washington, DC, it was a place I would feel comfortable in. Not necessarily a place I want to go back to, but it was fine for when I was there.

After getting my first egg mcmuffin in years, I meandered back to the train station and hopped aboard the Tara, train #431, service from Belgrade to Bar.

Bar is a city on the southernmost part of Montenegro, one of the countries, along with Macedonia, Serbia, Kosovo, Croatia, and Bosnia & Herzegovina that made up the former Yugoslavia. The train ride between the two cities was listed on the National Geographic list of top 10 train rides in Europe, and I wanted to see what it was all about.

The train itself only sells 2^nd class tickets – in other words, basically a bus seat, but on a train. That being said, I had read that sometimes they will put 1^st class couchette cars in the consist, and count them as 2^nd class. For those who don’t know, a couchette is basically a private compartment that has six seats – three on one side and three on the other. The way they are put together they look like two couches facing each other. You can pull down the seats to make a sort of bed if the couchette isn’t full, but as this was a day trip, that didn’t really matter.

Luckily, I got one of those 1^st class cars trying to pass itself off as a 2^nd class. Arranging the ticket was interesting – you can’t buy tickets for trains originating in Serbia online, so I had to email some guy whose name was on a website that tells about train travel pretty much everywhere (quick plug here – Seat61.com!). He emailed me back and we did the entire transaction by email over the course of about a week or so. He then left the tickets for me at one of the currency exchange offices in the train station, and I just walked up, told them I had a ticket waiting, and they handed me an envelope with the tickets in it. I guess it’s a pretty common way of doing business, as she had a bunch more envelopes in there.

The train was scheduled for about 10 hours, and instead took about 11 and a half. Not too bad considering the age of the train and the geography it had to go through. It was relatively clean, and had two bathrooms in each car. Surprisingly, the bathrooms were actually very clean, if old, and stayed that way the whole time. MUCH cleaner than ANY Amtrak I’ve been on.

As with everything in Eastern Europe, smoking was prohibited, however, if you wanted to smoke, well, no one was going to stop you…or the 75% of other passangers who would be smoking with you.

Or the train attendant, who ALSO would be smoking with you.

Thankfully they actually went to the ends of the cars to smoke, so it never actually got to bad in my couchette, which was right in the middle.

For the first hour or so I was by myself, then was joined by a family with two young kids. They didn’t speak any English, but that was all good. Lots of charades was played, but it all worked out. Very nice family, and the kids, while a little rambunctious, were actually pretty good. A couple hours later, an old, grumpy, asshole of a man got on.

On the train we had assigned seating – reserved seat numbers, even in the couchette. When the family got on, I actually gave up my seat so that the kids and their parents could all sit together…moving to the one seat that was empty by the door to the couchette. On comes this man. He looks in the couchette, then starts yelling at me in Serbian.

Now, I don’t speak any Serbian, but Serbian is pretty close to Macedonian, so I knew that he was yelling that I was in his seat. No, “excuse me,” or, “do you mind if I sit there.” Just looked in and started yelling. I just kept saying I don’t understand.

At this point, the father of the family is getting frustrated and starts yelling at the old man. The seat right across from me, in the same couchette, is free, and for me to move the family would have to rearrange all their stuff. You see, in the couchette there are racks above the seats to store luggage – no luggage cars. The family had enough stuff that they took up pretty much all that space. Not a big deal, right?

Wrong. The old man was yelling about that, too. I THINK he thought it was mine (which it wasn’t), but he was motioning at the stuff above me and at his stuff and basically saying that’s where his stuff goes.

Finally, I just moved literally to the next seat over, and the family got up and rearranged all their stuff.

Just so this obnoxious old man could sit in THAT seat, not THIS seat, and put his stuff above him, not next to him.

Throughout the entire time the family was on the train (they got off about ¾ of the way through the trip), the old man would huff and puff every time one of the kids would say something, laugh, or get up. If it wasn’t for the family, my experience with the old man as well as the people in the train station would definitely put Serbians on my list of least favorite people to interact with.

Thankfully, everyone else who got on the train was friendly, even if communication was difficult.

As the train made its way through Serbia the landscape, as always, was very hilly, dotted with villages and towns, with monasteries and churches. It reminded me very much of Macedonia – just the cities were bigger, and the roads we went beside in better shape (on the whole).

Plus, of course, the advertisements for McDonald’s. We don’t have those in Macedonia.

After a while we came out of a tunnel and were in Bosnia & Herzegovina. We only spent about 15 minutes in the country before going into another tunnel and returning back into Serbia, and we didn’t need to stop for passport control or anything, as the train is not allowed to stop while in Bosnia. We could see the border checkpoint on the roadway across a river, though, so that was pretty interesting.

When we left Serbia, we stopped for passport checks right next to a monastery called Vrbnica. We seemed to be stopped there forever, and for no apparent reason. I had read that sometimes the delay here is ridiculous, and now I understand why. They came through and checked all our passports, then we still sat for about another hour. Unlike Amtrak, which eventually tells you when there’s a problem, there are NO announcements on this train.

Once we pulled out from the station and entered Montenegro, things got interesting. Very interesting. And by interesting, I mean scary. Very scary.

Montenegro is a land of mountains, and canyons, and gorges, and every one of them must be gone through, over, or around. Most of the time, through or over.

The rail line, which was only completed in 1976 and took over 20 years to build, has 254 tunnels and 435 bridges spanning over 300 miles from Belgrade to Bar. Some of the tunnels are short, and many long, over 4 miles long.

The bridges also vary in height – but here’s the kicker for someone like me who doesn’t like heights: one of the bridges, called the Mala Rijeka viaduct, was, until 2001, the highest railway bridge in the world at almost 700’ above ground (not sea level, ground).

In addition to the high bridges and tunnels, the rail line also boasts some of the steepest grade descents – over 25% in some places.

The TRULY scary part though, is when the train is going alongside the gorges. You are really high up; the train reaches a height of almost 3,400 feet, and crawls along literally the edges of the mountain. There is NOTHING but a huge drop right outside your window. Even taking the California Zephyr through the Rockies and the Sierra Nevadas I have never experienced anything like it before in my life.

As it was getting dark when we were passing some of the highest places, we could see the car lights from the road below. The only other time I have seen something similar is from an airplane. The cars looked like little toys moving along a fake little road far, far below. I take trains a lot because I don’t like to fly, this is the first time I had almost wished I had taken a plane – at least then we had wings, and could justify being so high up.

I really can’t explain the sensation or the experience – it was literally awe-inspiring, breathtaking, and beautiful all at once. Despite my fear of heights I made myself look out the window the whole time, looking down at the ground far, far below, watching the little insect-cars with their little pin-point lights moving around at times literally a thousand feet below.

It was one of the most exhilarating train rides I have ever been on, and one of the most scary and amazing.

And one, most likely, I will never do again…

When we finally pulled into the Bar train station, I’m not really sure how to classify my reaction. It was dark, so it wasn’t a really good time to judge, but I felt like I was back in Ghana. It had that hectic, organized chaos feel to it. Things seemed much less developed than even in the cities in Macedonia, and there were people aggressively coming up to you asking if you needed a taxi. The cars were in the street out front everywhere, no rhyme or reason to it, and even the smell seemed to remind me of being in Accra.

The owner of the guesthouse I was staying at was nice enough to come pick me up, despite the train arriving late, and drive me back to his place. He was very laid back, very friendly, and spoke really good English.

Next door was a little market which, again, reminded me more of Ghana than I think it should have, but was a nice place to grab a quick drink and snack. The train didn’t have any real food (actually, it did have a ‘restaurant’ car, but I had been warned away from using it; there was also some random guy who came on the train at one point selling cokes, beer, and water out of a gym bag), so it a chance to have my first ‘meal’ since the egg mcmuffin earlier in the morning.

After eating ‘dinner’ (which was one of those 7 Days chocolate-filled croissants that I used to eat all the time during PST), I literally crashed and fell right asleep. Usually I’m one of those people who lay there for an hour or two before finally falling asleep; not this night. Hit the lights, hit the bed; sleeping.

For all of four hours.

And that will bring us to day 2.

I’ll write that one tomorrow.

СРЕЌНА НОВА ГОДИНА

With the inevitable passing of the holiday known as Christmas, comes the inevitable holiday known as New Year’s.  Now, here in Macedonia, New Year’s is an interesting thing.  Like in the US, it is celebrated by pretty much everyone.  There are all types of people who dress up, all kinds of little activities and photo ops on the street for kids, and all types of decorations.  There’s even a mystical person who symbolizes the holiday.

In the US, we would call these decorations Christmas decorations, and this person, Santa Claus.

All up and down the streets for the past few weeks there have been tree-shaped lights hanging from streetlamps, icicle lights stretched across and over the roadways, their white light ‘falling’ down their length over and over again, Christmas lights strung over the walking paths in town, and a big, impressive tree put up right in the middle of Center, across the way from the House of Culture.

Along the main road little huts have been built, made to look like log cabins, little pieces of holiday decoration inside, men dressed in Santa Claus suits hanging out front, ringing bells, trying to attract kids and their parents over to take a quick, posed picture, then pay a nice little sum for the opportunity.

Advertisements for Coca-Cola, and other food and drink have been hung, showing Santa Claus, and snow, and other cheery, holiday things.

All wishing everyone a very…Happy New Year.

Yep, here in Macedonia, everything we consider as part of the ‘traditional’ Christmas season is actually for New Year’s.  Christmas here is in January, and is a purely religious holiday.  New Year’s makes up for that.

Santa Claus here is also not called Santa Claus, but rather Дедо Мраз, or Grandfather Frost.  Why?  I have no idea.

Ironically, and somewhat amusingly, my host family in Sveti Nikole used to refer to him as “Merry Christmas” in English.  They would say, “Merry Christmas ке дојде за Нова Година!”  Translation – Merry Christmas will come for New Year’s!

It always made me smile.

As with Christmas, it is also a Peace Corps tradition that volunteers get together to celebrate.  This year was no exception.  On the 31^st, I hopped on the bus up to Stip where I met up with Jennica and Meghan.  We then hopped on another bus and made our way down to Prilep, where a number of volunteers are posted, including a few from our group.

While it is always exciting to go to Skopje to get to eat some real American-style Chinese food, this trip was almost just as exciting.  You see, Prilep has another genre of restaurant that is ALMOST as important – Thai.

The story is that one of the owners of the restaurant met the other on a cruise…one happened to be Thai, and one happened to be Macedonian, from Prilep.  They got married and decided to come back to Prilep, where, thankfully, they opened this great, cultural experience known as Bangkok Oriental.

Once we arrived in Prilep, and were all settled in at the place we’d be staying, we made our way to another PCVs apartment to see people, chat, and pass the little bit of time before our reservation at the Thai place.  About 20 of us were there.  It was actually pretty nice; it was the first time in a while that I had seen many of the people there, and it was good to catch up.

At the appointed hour, we filed into numerous taxis, made our way over to the Thai place, and found our seats, and got ready to eat – and eat a lot.

Unlike Strumica, Prilep is a big city.  It’s probably in the top five by size in the country.  Ironically, driving into Prilep from Stip actually felt a lot more isolated than coming into Strumica, but that probably had a lot to do with the terrain.  The bus drove through multiple mountains, sometimes right along the edges of small cliffs, along small, somewhat torn-up roads, and through a lot of countryside.  It was a beautiful ride, and at times the mountains were so close in on each side that it seemed we were passing through a tunnel.

When you finally come around the curve, and can see Prilep below, you have no doubt that that is where the final destination is.  Lots of lights, and it looks huge.

Which it was.  The taxi ride was a good 10-15 minutes, and to walk to the restaurant would have taken an hour, easily.

Inside, even more of our fellow PCVs were already sitting, along with some spring rolls waiting patiently to be devoured on the table.  Four of us, out of seven, from Sveti were there, and it actually felt normal to have us all together.  It did feel like we were missing people, but it was good to see those that were there.

Although some had pre-ordered their meals, many of us had not, or wanted to add things, and it became so hectic that one of the MAK18s, Chris, actually took on the roll of waiter, taking orders, bringing out dishes, and bringing out food from the kitchen.  The place was relatively small inside, and we took up about 60% of it.  I’m not sure they were ready for us!

But it was good!  I really enjoyed the meal, especially the vegetable tempura (or, as they spell it, tempoora), and the overall atmosphere was great.

After dinner, we piled back in taxis and made our way to one of the volunteer’s apartments to actually ring in the New Year.  I will admit, for an introvert like me, there were a LOT of people at this apartment.  Maybe too many.  But luckily, one of the MAK20’s twin sisters was there and she and I just kind of people watched and chatted.

Overall, it was a pretty chill night, and I was glad it was.

Of course, little did I know, the night was not yet over.

The на гости.  It’s a Macedonian tradition.  It’s pronounced ‘nah goh-stee’.  Google Translate says it means ‘visiting’.  But that is way to simple to get at the heart of what it really is.

When you na gosti, you don’t just visit, you VISIT.  You get tea, or coffee, you get sweets, or, in this case, offered some weird loaf of a combination of various bush meats, you get soda, or juice, and most importantly, you get rakija.  Na gosti’s aren’t always announced – sometimes people just show up; some houses keep a supply of sweets on hand just in case, sort of like you’re supposed to keep three days of water on hand, just in case.

Technically, it’s not even a noun, but we PCVs use it as such.  Our LCFs in training made fun of us for it – but somehow it works.  Sometimes they’re actually fun, but sometimes not.  Often in training someone would come in dead tired, when you ask why, “I had to na gosti last night.”  These na gostis can be quite tiring, especially when you consider that half of the time you have no idea who you are visiting, and no idea what they’re saying.

They also can last HOURS.  Literally.

So when, after we got back to Sabrina’s place, and her host family came up at 2am telling us to come down for a na gosti, what are you going to do but shrug, and go downstairs???

I will say, her family was really cool, and the na gosti was enjoyable.  I just couldn’t handle being awake that long (I mean, at my age???), so around 3am I had to give up and climb back up the stairs and crash.  Everyone else, pretty much, was still down there.

No idea for how long.

As I said, it was enjoyable, but the last thing I expected was to na gosti at 2am in the morning of New Year’s Day.  It’s good to know that Peace Corps can still surprise you.

The next day (or, more accurately, later the same day) we all just hung out watching movies and relaxing before heading out for dinner.

Where did we go?  Well, surprisingly, back to the Thai place!!!

I liked my food this time even better than the night before.

On Saturday, I made my way back to site.  As an example of how small the country really is, and how easy it is to run into people randomly, on the bus back to Stip I ran into another volunteer – Rebekah who definitely helped to pass the time.

When getting on the bus to Strumica from Stip, I ran into Melissa getting off, and Cameron onboard.

That ride was pretty cool.  We both started talking to a girl who had been in the US for a couple weeks every year for the last five years and spoke impeccable English.  It was a pretty good ride, and a pretty good end to a pretty good trip.

So, to end it, I’ll just say:  Merry Christmas wishes you a Happy New Year!!

CELL PHONE HORSING

I’ve often mentioned in these posts how serving as a Peace Corps volunteer here in Macedonia can be somewhat confusing.  There are so many things that are like being back in the US: people are educated, clean, and they dress well.  They watch TV and movies, and Star Wars and the Hunger Games were both shown in 3D in the big Cineplex in Skopje.

There’s great Chinese food, health food stores, cable and satellite TV, and there’s wireless internet everywhere.  Everyone has a cell phone, with a text message and data plan, and everyone Googles; everyone watches YouTube videos and listens to streaming music.

If I need some food, or a quick snack I run to the store, just like at home; if I need a break from the house, I go to a café or a restaurant; if I want to talk to someone, I pick up the phone, Facebook, or text.  When I’m bored, I flip on the TV; maybe watch some Animal Planet or Discovery Channel.  If I’m lucky a good movie will be on.

Just like in the US.

It’s pretty often that I sometimes forget that I am even in the Peace Corps.  I work in an office that I go to every day, I have a cubicle, and a computer.  I live in a house with heat, running water, and a toilet.  It’s an interesting case of – and here comes my favorite word – cognitive dissonance.

Because, every now and then, something happens that reminds me I really am overseas serving in the Peace Corps.

Like this past weekend.

As most people know, this past Friday was Christmas; at least in America.  Here, Christmas is observed on the Orthodox date – January 7^th.  Since it was a holiday, and since I was in the Peace Corps, obviously there had to be a Peace Corps get together…and there was; several, in fact.

One, in Skopje, focused around Chinese food.  Those who know me well would probably assume that that’s where I was headed.  But alas, no.  For the first time in 10+ years I did not have Chinese food on Christmas. Shame on me.

What I DID do was go to another volunteer’s site.

And it was amazing.

After work on Friday, I made my way over to the bus station here in Strumica to catch the sole bus that passes through the village I was headed to on its way to its final destination of Kriva Palanka.  As I was leaving work, the boss told me that as it was Christmas for me, that I didn’t have to have come in to work that day.  It was a holiday, after all.

I wish he would have told me that the day BEFORE!

Anyway, I knew right away, climbing onto the bus, that I was going to have an experience that was a bit different than the experience I have had so far here in country.  Compared to the Strumica Express buses, which, while purchased used, are very clean and look brand new, this bus was pretty dumpy.  It was dirty, the seat covers torn and stained, and trash pretty much everywhere.  Some of the stains were literally unidentifiable, and I was glad I was only the second person to get on – mostly so I could actually choose my seat.

The bus also drove at a maximum speed of MAYBE 30 miles per hour.  The trip from Strumica to Stip, the first major stop out of town, usually takes about 55 minutes on the regular buses, including a stop in a small town on the way.  This time, it took just about an hour and a half.

On the bright side, it did give me a chance to really look at the scenery, and notice everything we passed on the way.  As usual, lots of amazing animals, including eagles, sheep, goats, cows, and dogs.  The occasional horse and donkey.

And one thing that truly highlights the intersection of old world and new world here in this country.  At one point, out in the middle of nowhere, we passed an old woman driving an old wooden cart, pulled by a horse.  In the back was hay and farming tools.  She was riding down the dirt road towards some fields, kilometers away from any village or house.

And while she had the reins in one hand, she had a cell phone to her ear in the other.

Just chatting away.

After Stip, the next big stop was a town called Probistip.  Abby, my MAK19 host-sister, got on here as she was coming with me (or more accurately, I was going with her) for Christmas.  We chatted for the brief time it took us to get to the next big stop, Kratovo, where Allison, another MAK19, joined us.

Finally, around 5ish, we made it to Rankovce and Christina, the MAK18 who was hosting us, came down to the drop off to get us.

Rankovce is a village.  It’s not a town, and not a city; it’s a village.  It’s the first place I have been in this country so far where I have been hit with the, “I am in the Peace Corps,” moment since that very first light bulb going on in Orientation Week, driving into Tetovo for the first time.

It wasn’t just the size of the village, but also the actual atmosphere and feel.  It FELT like what I remembered in Ghana.  In Strumica, and many of the larger cities I’ve been in, people just go about their daily business like in the US.  No one really pays attention to anyone else, no one greets or acknowledges you, and everyone feels like a stranger.  Hopefully over time this will change as I get to know more people, but for now, this is pretty much how it goes.

Now, in Rankovce, it wasn’t like that at all.  As soon as we got off the bus and looked lost, two or three people came up to us, asking where we were going, and if they could help.  One even offered to call Christina for us.  They all knew where the American lived.

As we walked around over the next couple of days people greeted us, or at least acknowledged us, and everyone seemed to know who everyone else was.  Christina pointed out that this person does this, or that person that, or that’s the one who did this that time.  It was amazing, and actually made me think about what I really wanted out of this experience versus what I thought I wanted.

I felt so comfortable in the village, I actually sort of regret pushing so hard for a city during all of my site placement conversations.  I admit, I pushed HARD, and made it perfectly clear I did NOT want the village experience.   Now, I think that might have been a mistake.

One of the reasons I pushed so hard for a city was that I didn’t ever fall in love with the village in Ghana.  It was an experience, and there were some great people there, but I didn’t ever feel that connection to it that you hear of many volunteers forming with their sites.  With individual people at the village, with Ghana as a whole, and with the experience of being a PCV in West Africa, yes, I fell in love with all that; but not the village experience.

Many of the reasons that was true did not seem to exist here.  It really is hard to put into words, but all of the things that I DID like about the village in Ghana were present, while many (most?) of the things that kept me from crossing that invisible line into ‘loving it’ didn’t seem to be.

Anyway, from what I’ve been told, my destiny was never to be in a village anyway, as even before I had my site placement interviews I was already slotted for Strumica…which does, in fact, have its own charms.

That’s sort of a lesson for any future PCVs reading this – try to never actually think you KNOW what you want in the Peace Corps.  This is one experience where the grass always seems greener…

So, after Allison and I got picked up from the ‘bus station’, we made our way up to drop our stuff off at Christina’s.  One thing I didn’t realize how much I have missed since I’ve been here is pets.  Yes, pets.

Here in Macedonia, unlike Ghana, people do in fact keep pets.  However, most pets seem to be kept for a purpose; warning dogs, sheep dogs, or mousers.  They are (almost) never allowed inside, and don’t have that same relationship with their owners that we do in with pets in the States.  In fact, pets are often considered ‘dirty’, and if a landlord or host family finds out you had a dog or cat in the house, it can get pretty intense.  Granted, there are exceptions, but this is a pretty standard rule.

But not at Christina’s.  She has two dogs that are inside dogs.  And they are incredibly cute.  When I first got there, they were extremely nervous of me.  One of them literally shied away every time I even twitched.  She wouldn’t come near at all, running the other way if I even hinted at sliding in her direction.  The other one, though, came right on up, plopped down, and wanted to be pet.

Now, the first dog, obviously, did not like this arrangement.  How dare I only pet ONE of the dogs, and that one not be her.  Somehow, this jealousy completely overcame ANY fear there might have been of the big, scary man, and she came running up, squeezed under the other puppy, and DEMANDED attention.

Which, of course, she got.

Just sitting there with two puppies vying for attention, petting away, was honestly one of the most relaxing and enjoyable things I have done since getting here.  Crazy how much something that simple can do for your mental state.

Friday night the three of us boarded a kombi with a bunch of Christina’s fellow teachers and headed out to a nearby town called Kriva Palanka.  The name actually translates to ‘curvy small town’, and it’s name was prophetic.  Not only was it curvy, but hilly.  It’s in northeastern Macedonia just a few kilometers from Bulgaria, and not overly far from Serbia, built up a mountain.  At one point we turned off the ‘main’ road onto this dark and extremely narrow side road.  We had no idea where we were going, and at least once I thought that the drive might not either.

Then, out of nowhere, we stop.  We’re there.  An incredible, landscaped, amazing, little venue and restaurant.  There’s a water mill out front with a stream going through it, a bridge covered in Christmas lights and a gazebo, packed up for the winter.

Inside, to the right, is the small little restaurant place, and the to the left, where we went, was an open banquet hall, tables for 10-20 people set up throughout.  In the back right corner was a live band, and right by the entrance a bar.  Our group, at this point about 20 or so, took over one of the tables and throughout the night we had dinner the Macedonian way.

Within an hour or two the Oro started up, as you can’t have a party of any kind without the Oro, but, shocking me to the core, so too was there non-Oro dancing.  First time I have seen Macedonians at a party dance anything but one of the Oros.  The band even had a light show, and at one point, smoke started billowing from a smoke machine on stage.  Abby had joined us by this time, and overall, it was a pretty amazing night.

At the end of the night we piled back on the kombi and got back to the house around 2am.

Saturday was a good day – just sleeping in a bit, getting ‘supplies’, eating junk food, hanging out, chatting, and watching movies.  Lots of good food for dinner, and good company.  One of the married couples from the MAK20s joined us, as did two other MAK19s, and it was a pretty full house.

Sunday Abby and I took a late taxi into town where I could catch the bus back to site, and we spent most of the day walking around the village with Christina and the two pups.  It was a really good day, and I’m really glad I decided to have the ‘local’ Christmas rather than the big city Christmas.  It was also good to get to hang out with and know some of the people from some of the other groups – as I’ve mentioned before, we didn’t get the chance to really do that during PST.

On my way back on Sunday I had to go through Stip, so I met up quickly with Jennica and Meghan before heading down to Strumica.

Overall, a really great Christmas with some really great people and a nice reminder of what it’s like to be in the Peace Corps.

Not much more to say than that.

COS REFLECTIONS

Today at work, I didn’t have overly much to do.  Now, I did in fact do some work-related things, filling out paperwork for the Peace Corps with my counterpart, and discussing possibly trying to get some recycling happening here in Strumica.

But other than that, not so much.

So I did what any other person with some extra time would do – I read the entire Health of the Volunteer 2014 statistical report from Peace Corps.

It was somewhat enlightening.  I discovered the following.

So far in these three months here in Macedonia, I may have contributed to these tracked categories:

Environmental Health Concerns, Gastrointestinal Conditions (bacterial diarrhea), Gastrointestinal Conditions (viral diarrhea), Injuries (unintentional, other), and Febrile Illness (other).

For comparison’s sake, here’s what I’ve learned I probably contributed to in Ghana:

Cardiovascular Problems, Dental Problems, Dermatitis (infectious), Febrile Illness (other), Gastrointestinal Conditions (amebiasis), Gastrointestinal Conditions (giardiasis), Gastrointestinal Conditions (bacterial diarrhea), Gastrointestinal Conditions (viral diarrhea), Gastrointestinal Conditions (other), Injuries (pedestrian), Injuries (unintentional, other), Malaria Chemoprophylaxis (mefloquine), Malaria Chemoprophylaxis (doxycycline), Malaria (falciparum, on mefloquine), and Malaria (presumptive, on doxycycline).

There’s at least two more to add to that Ghana list, as I can’t quite figure out where the worm I coughed up or the mefloquine-induced hearing loss fits in.  Overall, though, I’ve got to say, I much prefer the list here.

Knock on wood that it stays that way!

So, back to the story.

The next day after my no credit fiasco with at the bus station was Friday.  This was a pretty significant Friday, actually: the next day was my birthday.  It was also the day I was heading BACK to Skopje (yes, I got back Thursday night, then went right back Friday), though this time for an entire weekend.  I have to admit, I was looking forward to staying at the hotel again – when I got back to my house here in Strumica, there still wasn’t heat.  There’s excellent heat in the hotel!

Anyway, after work myself and Grace, the ‘current’ PCV here, hopped on the bus and rode the few hours up to the capital.  When we got there, Grace took off with one of her non-PCV friends, and I waited a bit for Katie to show up.

We walked around a bit, then did what any sane PCV would do when in the capital city of their country – we got Chinese food.  For me, this was literally the third day in a row; but I’m ok with that.

The next day was the party for our current country director’s going away.  It was being held at her house, and a whole bunch of volunteers were attending from a variety of groups.  Before the party a bunch of us MAK20s met up and wandered around a bit, then (more or less) successfully found our way to the house.

As an introvert, I will honestly say it was a bit overwhelming how many people were shoved into that place – but it was fun.  There were some great snacks (like fresh baked brownies and brownie-cookies with M&Ms and chocolate pieces); there was also something even better: I have to give a shout out to Miranda here, she baked me some peppermint cookies for my birthday.  They were amazing; really amazing.  I even had some for breakfast the next day!

Lunch (Macedonian lunch – it was like 4pm) was also something amazing – Dominos.  Yes, Dominos; the pizza place.  There is an actual Dominos in Skopje, and seeing those boxes come in the door was somewhat surreal…in Peace Corps ordering Dominos.  Craziness.

After some speeches and tears, and an impromptu singing of happy birthday to me, everyone filtered out for their evening activities.  I went along with a few other PCVs, both MAK19s and 20s, to a rakija bar.  Rakija, for those who don’t remember, is the local akapetshie; for those who don’t remember what akapetshie is, it’s basically homemade liquor.  It was fun, and the weekend was pretty good.

On Sunday, I walked around a bit with Kyle and Laura, then caught the bus back to Strumica.  When I got back, something amazing had happened.

There was heat!

I literally smiled and cheered.

Of course, there’s no heat in the bathroom, but that’s all good.  I can handle that.  I mean, that’s what empty bottles are for, right?

Ok, just kidding on that one.

Sort of.

The rest of that week was pretty normal.  I met up with both Cameron and Priscilla in town, on different days, but other than that, just work.

As for work, there are some few projects I am starting to finally work on and research, but every single one of them is something outside of my experience.  The pace and organization of how work is done here is very different from what I am used to, and I would have to say that that is more of a challenge for me than being here in a new work environment in and of itself.  It’s hard to explain – things are a lot more laid back in some ways, but also much more hectic in others.  What is being worked on literally changes day to day, if not even hour to hour, and often we’ll be told the plan for the week, then the next day everything is different, and what was discussed in the plan is not even touched on.

It’s a bit confusing.

But, as I said, I’m getting used to it.

On Friday of last week, Katie, Leah, and Meghan came in to town, and I had the chance to catch up with them and Priscilla.  We went to a place called Bonita for dinner, and it was ok.  Not the best I’ve had, but it had a decent atmosphere, and it was good enough.

Saturday I met up with the girls again, went to a café and then ended up heading over to Grace’s place.  She had just CoSed the day before, and is back in Strumica for a few days before heading back to the States.  I have to say, it made me think about two things: 1) how far we have to go until our CoS, and 2) what it was like to CoS from Ghana.

CoSing sort of surprised me the first time.  I remember sitting in the airport with Andi and Anna, the feeling so surreal.  On one hand, it was exciting that we were finally going home – I hadn’t seen the US, or even left Ghana, in over two years at that point.  We were going to travel through Europe, and take a cruise across the Atlantic.  In many ways we had been counting down to this point since we got to Ghana: this many months till swear-in, this many months until IST, this many until mid-service medical, this many until CoS conference, then so many more until we could, finally, CoS.

And there we were, having done just that, no longer PCVs, but RPCVs, waiting for our flight out of what was both the most intense experience of my life, and literally my life for the past two years.  That’s where the other side of it came in – what was I going to find when I got back?  Would I find a job?  Would I be stuck living with my parents for a long time?  Would I be able to reconnect with not just the people I left behind, but the LIFESTYLE I left behind??  While my US-based life was put on hold for two years, everyone else back there was still moving forward.

In my experience, the adjustment back to life in the US was much harder than the adjustment to Ghana.  It’s hard to explain, but things were just so fast, so overwhelming.  There’s also the thought of, “I’m American, it’ll be fine going back; its home,” that made each struggle a little bit more pronounced.  When I sat there talking to Grace about going home I had to wonder if that’ll be the case this time.

Macedonia is such a different reality than Africa was, there’s more in common with the US than there was my first time through; yet, at the same time, so many things are different.  Will that commonality make readjustment easier, or will the surface-level similarities make the differences when I get back so much more apparent?

I’ve probably got a long time before I find out, so who knows.

But it’s something that I’m definitely curious about.

НЕМА КРЕДИТ

This past week has somehow been the exact definition of my Macedonian Peace Corps experience so far. I had those moments where I didn’t feel at ALL like I was in the Peace Corps, and those moments where I absolutely did.

I know I’ve mentioned this before, but it’s really an interesting dichotomy here between a first world experience, and a 2^nd world life. On the surface level it’s so much like the United States in so many ways, especially in the capital, yet on other levels there are things that would never be experienced back home. Ironically, and I believe I’ve mentioned this as well, it makes the experience somewhat more of a challenge in a way I never expected.

In Ghana, you never actually felt like you were in the US. Sure, there were moments where you had a more familiar experience – especially in Accra or at certain hotels – but you never could escape the fact that you were in West Africa.   The people, the landscape, the culture, the dress, EVERYTHING; and though it was familiar after two years, it was too different.

Here, you often feel like you are in the US. The way people dress, many aspects of city life, the restaurants, the TV; all of it lends itself to a strange pseudo-American experience. But then you look deeper; the motivations, the cultural meanings, the approach – all are not quite the same as they seem, and very different than what we are used to.

To use my favorite term – it causes a type of cognitive dissonance that didn’t exist in my previous experience, and despite coming into this country fully aware that it will be different, was something I did not consciously expect.

It’s sort of messing with my mind…

This week was a perfect example of why.

Tuesday this week was a holiday. The government here seems to declare holidays all the time – some are religious-based, others are not. For example, last week they had a holiday to celebrate and plant trees. Not at all religious based, and as a result, government offices are still closed, but they make up for the missed day on the following Saturday. Not really a holiday if you ask me – just a moving around of the work week.

Anyway, Tuesday’s holiday was religious based. I’m not really sure how, but it was. Since work was closed (nothing like having a day off on your second day of work!), and I had just moved into my new place and still needed a bunch of stuff, I decided to hop the bus on up to Stip. I’ve mentioned Stip before, but just as a reminder (since, obviously, you’ve all read the previous updates, right??) is a decent sized city where those of us doing PST in Sveti Nikole would go for joint sessions with the trainees there. Its only about 25-30 minutes from Sveti, and happily, only about 55 minutes, including a stop, from Strumica.

There are three volunteers from the MAK20s posted there, one of whom is Jennica, who was also with me in Sveti, and a nice side benefit of heading to Stip to shop, was getting to see them. In the morning, my host father drove me to the bus station, and saw me off on the bus. The ride is just under an hour in length, and includes a quick stop in another town. The scenery along the way, as is true in most of this country, is beautiful. Mountains on every side, grape fields, farms, and houses dot the landscape; I saw sheep, goats, dogs, eagles, and a few of these really neat looking birds that are black and have white stripe across their wings and in their tails.

When you come into Stip, for a short few minutes you ride along a river, at the bottom of a hill, and in the river are fishermen, dogs, and the occasional horse. Built up into the rocky hillside are houses, and on the other side of the road you pass a really amazing church.

Stip itself is a pretty big city by Macedonian standards, and houses anywhere from 40,000 to 55,000 people, depending on who you ask. It’s also a university town, with lots of what are called faculties here. There’s lots of shopping, a shoe factory, and many, many cafes and restaurants, including an Irish Pub.

The store I was looking for was called Elkoes, and had one very important thing I needed – a beard trimmer. Granted, there are beard trimmers you can buy in Strumica, but the ones from Elkoes work well, and, more importantly on a Peace Corps ‘salary’, are less than ½ the price. Even paying for the bus the total cost of the ticket plus the trimmer was cheaper than just buying a decent one here.

When I got to Stip, I met up with Emi near the bus station, then we walked over to one of the restaurants there where we met up with Dana and Jennica. After a quick lunch, we made our way on foot over to Elkoes. One thing about Stip that is different than other places I have ‘lived’ in here in Macedonia – while a city, it is not what I like to call a ‘center-based’ city.

In Sveti Nikole, and in Strumica, there is a central square referred to as Center, where everyone congregates. There are cafes, a park, and shops. It’s where you go when you go somewhere.

In Stip, everything is spread out. They still have an area they call Center, but to me, it’s more in the sense of us in the US saying we are going ‘downtown’, and not actually referring to a central square. That being said, it took us a good 30-40 minutes to walk from the ‘center’ over to the store. Unlike Strumica, Stip is HILLY! It’s some pretty good exercise any time you walk around.

Anyway, I got what I needed (and then some), and after some more quick hanging out, made my way back to the bus station for the trip back to Strumica. Thanks to the whole winter thing and all, it gets dark here around 4 or 430pm; by 445 its pitch black out. Normally this wouldn’t be an issue for me, but it definitely contributed to my first little panicky moment here at site (ok, I didn’t ACTUALLY panic, but I could have…).

One thing that I should clarify about life here is how cell phones work. While you CAN get post-paid plans for your phone like we usually use in the States, here, Peace Corps recommends and sets up for us pre-paid plans. You purchase a certain number of credits, and everything you do costs so much – a phone call is so many denari per minute, a text so many, and using a megabyte of data so much more. Now, usually, I make sure that my settings have cellular data off, as that is a surefire way to drain credits REALLY quickly.

I thought I had turned it off this day.

I hadn’t.

Previous times when I had come to the Strumica bus station (all two!), there were plenty of taxis waiting. Plenty of taxis.

This time, none.

Not a single one.

Ok, maybe one, but the first person off the bus quickly grabbed that one.

After that, there really were none.

Not a single one.

Another thing of which there was none – credits on my phone.

Not a single one.

I tried calling the taxi.

The recording yelled at me.

In Macedonian.

But one thing I clearly understood – “Нема Кредит.” No credit.

So, while it wasn’t late, it was pitch black outside. Nowadays it gets completely dark out by 430. Kind of crazy. And, while I’ve driven the route from the bus station to my house many a time (twice!!), I’ve never really paid too much attention. I mean, I know how to get to Center, and isn’t that what’s important???

I was stuck. No idea how to go, too dark to recognize anything, with no credit on my phone, and no one nearby to call a taxi for me. Somehow a Peace Corps moment.

Finally, luckily, someone walked into the station, and a taxi pulled in to pick him up. Most of the taxis here are called and dispatched – you can catch them randomly at places sometimes, but usually, you call. So I know the only reason that taxi showed up was because that one person happened to call it.

I literally ran over to the taxi, asked him in my VERY broken Macedonian if he could call another one, and skipped happily away when he did so.

Mission accomplished.

Later that evening, I met Priscilla in center and, needless to say, one of the first things we did was walk around trying to find some place to get credit.

That mission too, was successful.

Priscilla and I walked around center a bit, she going all giddy over the lights and tree they have up in center with what I have been told are called icicle lights (many pictures were taken). It was actually fun to watch – at one point she even climbed up on a bench to get better pictures!

After a quick drink at a place called Que Pasa, we piled into our separate taxis, and my first holiday as a true PCV came to an end.

A cold end – as my house doesn’t have any heat of any type, but an end. One comment I will make – I’ve always said how I like things to be cold, so I can cuddle up under the blankets in bed and warm up.

I’ve now learned there are limits to that statement.

See the kinds of things Peace Corps teaches you??

The next day was back to work. I got up a little early to pack, as I was heading to Skopje after the work day, and set out on my walk to the office. I have to give my host father credit here – every morning he passes me walking in his car; he too works for the Општина (ohp-shteena, Municipality), and every morning he stops just to make sure I really want to walk.

It’s cold out, he tells me, and tries to get me to get in the warm car. He spends at least two minutes motioning me in, and just sort of shakes his head in defeat when I won’t. My walk is my exercise, and I actually enjoy it.

Work was, well, work. I’m still feeling it out, and I think they’re doing the same. It’ll be somewhat of a balancing act, but that’s not a bad thing. All life is about compromise; this experience is no exception.

After work, I made my way up to the bus station to grab my ride to Skopje. I managed to catch the direct bus, which is only 2 hours rather than 3 ½, and got there pretty quick. After checking into the hotel, I had myself a nice evening, a very nostalgic one, actually, of Chinese take-out and a movie on my computer in my hotel room. Back in the States I spent literally months out of every year doing that same thing – Chinese take-out with a movie on my computer in a hotel room. Granted, the capital city of an Eastern European country is very different than a small hotel on the Mexican border, but, it was nostalgic none-the-less.

The next day we had training with the Peace Corps. It was actually pretty fun and another chance to meet some more of the MAK19 group that I hadn’t really associated with yet. Again, I ate Chinese.

After the meeting, I hopped back on the bus, but this time, instead of going right back to Strumica, I made a stop in Stip.

I’ve mentioned Stip many times, so I’m not going to redescribe it, but this time I went for something more ‘work’ related – the American Corner. One of the main activities that Peace Corps volunteers do are secondary projects. Every one of us has a primary worksite that we are assigned to, be it a non-governmental organization, a school, or as in my case, a municipality.

But that’s only part of the story. In addition to that all of us are encouraged (though, to be fair, not required) to participate in secondary activities. Many of the activities support the second goal of Peace Corps – to help host country nationals learn about the US and US culture. One of the primary means of doing this in Macedonia is the American Corner.

Sponsored by the US Embassy, the American Corner provides a lot of services that help local people to understand and experience some of what makes the US the US. They have a lending library with books, movies, CDs, games, and pretty much anything else you can think of that kids or adults in the US might be interested in. They also host seminars and cultural programs, and it was to one of these that I was going.

One of the MAK19s, Abby, had been asked to talk with a group of 8-12 year olds about what education and school is like in the US, and she invited a couple of us to help out. I can honestly say I didn’t know what to expect. In Ghana, when you dealt with kids, “Obruni, how are you, I am fine, thank you” was usually the limit of the English, even though they theoretically took English class every day during school. I was worried it was going to be the same here.

Boy was I wrong.

At 6pm, Abby brought myself, Emi, Jennica, and Dana over to the American Corner and introduced us to the staff there. I’ve got to say, I’ve heard a lot of great things about the staff from not only Peace Corps, but from the volunteer I’m replacing, and it was all true. They spoke better English than we did, and were amazingly nice people.

Only one or two kids were there at this point, but over the next twenty minutes or so they slowly filtered in; by the end of the talk there were probably a good twenty or twenty five there.

And they all spoke really good English. Some of them were a bit shy about using it, but they were amazing. Not only did they use the ‘proper’ words, but there was a lot of English slang thrown in as well. It was really impressive.

We talked for a little over an hour, and it was great. A little slow start just due to shyness I think, but by the end, it was talking over talking. It was really fun, and I’m glad I went. I definitely plan on going again.

While these may not be as funny as they were at the time, two of my favorite moments came from the kids.

There was one boy who brought up the Legend of Bloody Mary. He lamented the fact that he’s tried it many times, and it’s never worked. Then, a girl who was sitting near me stated, in a very matter of fact tone, that it was stupid, and fake, and not real, and she doesn’t believe in it at all.

The girl sitting next to her, obvious anxiety in her voice, piped in with the fact that she NEVER likes looking in the mirror, she’s too afraid because of Bloody Mary. The two went back and forth for a minute or so, then at once, fingers pointing back and forth between them, the state, “We’re BFFs.”

Completely unexpected, and very funny!

Then, another boy asked me if I liked to play games; I said yes. He asked if I played GTA5 (Grand Theft Auto 5). I said no. The look of disappointment on his face was intense. He then put his arms in the air and shouted, pure despair in his voice, “Doesn’t anyone play GTA5? Anyone???”

Very funny.

After the session, we all went out for a quick drink with one of the staff from the American Corner. I wasn’t rushing – after all, there are buses every hour from Stip down to Strumica, all the way up until 10pm at night.

Right?

Sort of.

The illusion is shattered once again, and the fact that I’m in the Peace Corps reared its head again.

According to the published schedule, and according to the staff at the bus station, there is a bus to Strumica at 9:05pm. So, being the responsible person I am, I managed to get to the station around 8:45pm, a good 20 minutes early.

I did not get on the bus.

It left 35 minutes early. It got into Stip from Skopje really early, didn’t want to wait, and just left. I was stuck at the bus station until 10:15, when the next bus showed up. For a while, I was the only one there.

Which wasn’t too horrible, as they had Animal Planet (in English) showing on the TV, and I got there just in time to grab a snack and drink from the small store there.

By the time I got home it was midnight, and I was exhausted.

The next morning, I got up early to head to work, but I’ll get into that in another update.

After all, this one is way too long already.

AND SO IT BEGINS…

Yesterday was my first full day at my new site, in my new house, and with my new homestay family. To say it was surreal, and a bit awkward, would be something of an understatement. I had become used to the life I had in Sveti, and the change between what life was like there – both daily life and the family – and what it is like here, is a big one.

On the flip side, to say that my first full day in my new city was a good one, would also be an understatement. I actually had a pretty darn good day.

Except for the 2^nd degree burns.

But I’ll save that story for later.

My first night here, I decided to sleep on the couch. When you arrange the couch pieces just so, it effectively works as a pretty comfortable king size bed. Much better than the two small, seemingly kid-sized beds in the actual bedroom. I had originally thought I would just push those together, but the frames they are on will leave a big gap between the two. Not a good thing when you are as likely to fall between the two as I am.

So, I decided to basically treat the apartment as an efficiency, one that just happens to have an extra room with two small beds, and a wardrobe for my clothes. This actually will probably work out well, as I can have guests over and they have a place to stay. Really, they’ll have their own room.

There are a few things that are missing – namely a fridge, a stove, and any way to heat the place, but that should all be in place by the end of this week. I think we are going to grab some things later today. I’m not overly stressed about it, but it’ll be nice to have.

Anyway.

I managed to successfully sleep (or at least stay in bed) until almost 10am, a pretty darn good accomplishment here if I say so myself. I probably could have stayed in bed longer, but my host father came knocking on my door saying that breakfast was ready.

After getting dressed, I walked downstairs and walked into the host family’s ‘apartment’. It was very warm in there – after what I’ve been used to in Sveti, it was downright blastingly hot. Within minutes I was sweating. Unlike places I had been previously in this country, this family actually uses inverters, and not wood stoves.

Not only was it hot in there, but my host father was actively watching the Discovery Wild channel. He loves that channel, and I’ve been told he watches it whenever he’s home. It is in English, with no subtitles, but he’s fascinated by the animals and shows. The language barrier doesn’t really matter – it’s the show’s contents that he loves.

So, I sat down to eat, and was joined by my host father, my host mother, his mother (the all important baba), and a heaping plate of ѓеврек (gyev-rek), which is basically a round, fried dough. The one I was served was similar to the one I’ve been given in Sveti, but some of the volunteers (then trainees, oh, so long ago…) told me that what they’ve called ѓеврек is a little bit different in appearance, but basically the same. It was eaten with cheese on top and a whole heaping of sugar. Which is NOT the way I’m used to.

It was also a bit funny (or maybe, ironic??) as my host family are pretty much health nuts. They don’t drink alcohol, don’t eat sweets, and stay away from soda. They also run a mountain every weekend.

Really.

But, I’ll get into that later.

Anyway, they are health nuts, yet here they are eating mass amounts of fried bread, liberally bathed in pure sugar. To me, call me crazy, but that qualifies as a ‘sweet’.

After our ‘healthy’ breakfast, we headed out on the town. Right to a на гости (basically, a visit) at my host mother’s parent’s house. The house itself was in what I’ve been told is the ‘old town’ part of the city, and is actually really nice. It does have that old European feel to it, and is two stories. In some ways it’s like a compound in and of itself. When you first walk in from ground level, there’s a small ‘tunnel’ leading to an open yard in the back. Lining the tunnel on one side are boxes and boxes of eggs and egg cartons. It seems that her parents are egg distributors, and they use their house to conduct business. There were A LOT of eggs. On the other side, logs for the wood-burning stove. Lots and lots of logs; they need to last through the whole winter.

In the yard, a small shed, a couple fruit trees, and a cat. A really cute cat.

The stairs here led up to the apartment where they actually live; when you go in the door it’s like entering a mini-museum. They have all kinds of pieces of art, mostly painted wood, with a few rugs and carpet-like things thrown in. It was really cool. The room itself is not used, solely as a hallway into their ‘main’ apartment, and as a showpiece.

Once you get past the exhibits, and enter the kitchen, the rest of the apartment branches off, and its basically a normal apartment. It really reminded me of being in my grandparent’s apartments, with the TV near the kitchen table that they didn’t really know how to use.

Both of her parents were really nice, and VERY welcoming. They told me to call them Баба and Дедо (baba and dedo, basically, grandma and grandpa), and were in incredible shape for their age. They seem to be in their sixties, maybe seventy, but they told me there were 80. The дедо was a basketball coach as his career, and traveled all over for it. He has one grandson who lives in Virginia (small world!), and a granddaughter who lives here (but, obviously, would like to go to the US!).

They gave me tea, and we chatted for a while, before taking our leave and heading up the mountain. Yep, the mountain. Normally, my host father and mother walk and run up to the ruins and church in the mountains overlooking the city, but this time, for me, they were going to drive. Also factored in was the fact that we were supposed to be back in a couple hours for ручек (roo-check), aka, lunch.

The drive up the mountain was incredible. Very steep, and in some cases, very scary. At times, the car was literally at the edge; to fall over was to really and truly FALL. But as we went up we passed donkeys, a fox, horses, sheep, goats, and cows. Huge birds were circling overhead, mainly crows and eagles.

As an interesting aside, the eagles here are called Eastern Imperial Eagles, and while their population is diminishing, from what I was told, here in the Bulgaria-Macedonia border region they are actually somewhat stable. I’ve seen quite a few – on a bus ride I took yesterday I saw at least three, one in a tree right along the roadway, staring at the bus as it passed by.

After driving for what seemed a long time, we made it to our first destination – the Цареви Кули, or Czar’s Towers. The Czar’s Towers are the ruins of a fortress dating from the 11^th century that was abandoned after the armies of Constantinople took revenge on the inhabitants for their attempt to rise up. As the story goes, every one of the defenders was blinded, their eyes removed, except for one out of every one hundred – who only had one eye removed. There is evidence that the site was utilized even earlier than the time from which the fortress dates, as artifacts dating to the 4^th century BC have been found.

After we walked around the ruins for a little bit (which was amazing, just being able to look out over the city like that, and looking DOWN on Strumica’s hill cross), we piled back in the car and headed a little bit lower on the mountain. We parked and got out for what I was told was a quick, 200m hike. As it turned out, it was more like a quick 2.5km hike. But it’s all good.

Where we ended up was at the Monastery of St. Ilija. Although there are some who think it’s older, conventional agreement is that it was built sometime in the 16^th century. It was destroyed in 1923, then rebuilt, and currently houses lodging quarters in addition to the monastery itself. It’s relatively small, but nicely isolated and has a good ‘vibe’ about it.

After visiting the monastery, we walked back to the car, headed back down the mountain, and back to the Баба’s and Дедо’s place for lunch. Lunch was good, and the most exciting part was it was the first time I have been here in country that I actually had fresh, steamed vegetables (broccoli and cauliflower). It was amazing.

Except for one part.

This is where those 2^nd degree burns I mentioned come into play.

While eating, they were bringing out some stuff from the kitchen. One of the things they were putting down to put the hot pots on fell, and without thinking about it, I reached out to catch it; which, unfortunately I did. It too turned out to be fresh from the stove…and needless to say, REALLY hot.

My fingers blistered pretty much immediately, and the pain only took a few seconds to catch up. Not how I was hoping to end the meal – eating with one hand while the other was soaking in cool water.

After that we headed back to the house, via a few shops to try to do some shopping. One nice thing about this country, especially compared to Ghana, is that every city, even every town, has some sort of supermarket that has some actual claim to be called a supermarket. Pretty much everything you could need can be found here, including many of the brands I used in the States. I managed to get my Head & Shoulders, and my Dove soap. I was happy.

The next day, Monday, was my first day of work, and the day I began writing this here post. It was somehow a weird of mix of anxiety and, ‘let’s get this started.’ It’s sort of hard to explain.

I live out in the ‘suburbs’, in a residential area, and it took me about 25 minutes to walk to the building I work in; maybe 30 minutes including the quick stop to buy my morning coffee substitute – Coke. From site visit, thankfully, I remembered how to get here, and remembered where the office was once I got to the building.

I walked in, walked up the stairs, and into where I will be working for (hopefully) the next two years. It was kind of a crazy feeling. The day went pretty much as I expected, some meetings with the boss, some really boring times, and some craziness here and there. We spent a little bit of time at the police station, as we, as foreigners, have to register in each city we are living in. Unfortunately, the officer on duty (basically, what I would call a desk sergeant) didn’t have the authority to issue a card for more than 3 months, and directed us to come back in two days (the next day is a holiday) in order to speak with an inspector about getting a two-year authorization. Normally, they wouldn’t do that, but as PC volunteers we have a special ID card issued by the Macedonian government, and they said that should do the trick. As with the Border Police when I arrived, it was a really good interaction, and the officer was very nice and professional (somehow different than some of the interactions I had in Ghana!).

One thing I will admit is that, even as it was just day one, there were a few things that happened that really frustrated me. To the point that I found myself thinking whether or not I really want to work in this atmosphere for the next two years. It may seem odd to be thinking about ETing on day 1, but in reality, I don’t think it is that uncommon. I’ve talked to other volunteers (I almost wrote trainees!) from my group, and they have said the same. The thing is, I don’t think any of us really would ET from just a one-day experience, but day 1 is a very impactful, emotional, and tough day. In many ways, its hard not to see what happens as what will be the tone for the whole two years, but I know, logically, from my previous experience, that it takes time to work out how the host organization and the volunteer will actually end up working together, what the respective roles will be, and what other things will come out of the partnership between the HCNs and the PCV.

It’s something I think some of the people I talked to were not expecting; as I’ve said before, the general tone through PST was to not have current PCVs talk to us (then) trainees about their experiences, especially the negative parts. This is one example of why I think that has the opposite impact than intended.

While the thought did enter my mind (three times??), I’ve got to say, in reality, I’m not going to ET. Nor do I think the other volunteers I talked to will.

I’m going to give this experience the time it requires to see what happens. I’m going to be frustrated again, and stressed out, but that’s just part of being a Peace Corps Volunteer. It’s something I knew I’d face, consciously, when I applied and accepted my invitation, and it’s something I just have to deal with in order to have those moments that are amazing, and will be what, 10 years from now, I tell in stories over and over and over again.

THE BIG MILESTONE

A little over 12 years ago, I wrote this email to my family and friends: https://doingittwice.wordpress.com/2003/11/21/pst-the-opi-a-pcv-and-professional-criers/.

The email started with an admonition to never again call me a PCT, as I had just sworn-in and was now a PCV. Over a decade later, the same holds true. I am no longer a PCT, I am a full-fledged, sworn-in, Peace Corps Volunteer.

Again.

Yesterday was probably the biggest day, after CoS, in the cycle of the Peace Corps experience. While I will do my usual story-based post here, I think it’s important to make a couple comments. This blog is not just about my day-to-day activities (although, I admit, it mostly is), but also about how some of those activities and events make me feel; what it’s like to be not only a PCV here in Macedonia, but a RPCV serving again.

It’s that second thing that I want to comment on.

When we swore-in in Ghana, it was a cultural event. We all had to dress in traditional clothing, we had to perform skits in the language we had learned, playing the part of traditional members of a village, and we had to drum and dance. The speeches were minimal, one from each language group, and a quick one from the Deputy Chief of Mission from the US Embassy before he led us through the oath.

We sat outside, under canopies, sweating as usual in the African heat, sitting in plastic chairs with the “Gye Nyame” symbol carved in the back, the atmosphere somewhat electric, yet relaxed and festive. We had a traditional blessing, and I remember feeling like a part of a place so different than the one I grew up in.

Here, in Macedonia, the occasion was just as important. As I’ve said, swearing-in is probably, in my opinion, the single greatest milestone other than CoSing that a Peace Corps volunteer reaches.

This time, however, the setting, and the atmosphere was very different. At 10:30 in the morning, all of us trainees, along with most of our host families, gathered in front of the municipality, where we usually waited for our mini-bus to hub days. This time, we were dressed in suits, and formal dresses. The host families had on a range of clothing, but in every case they had cleaned up well.

We boarded a big tour-style bus, the trainees and host families from Stip already onboard, also done up for the day’s events. After our two hour drive to the capital, we arrived at the City Hall Center, an event venue that looked very nice from the inside.

Outside the entrance were some of the PST staff, name badges proclaiming their names, and their positions, serving as greeters and hustling us inside. Other staff waited just inside, showing us to the coat room, directing the host families and guests to seats in the big hall, while the trainees were shown a waiting area.

In the lobby, a three-piece string orchestra played music in their own suits and formal dresses. A bar stretched across the designated waiting place, tables set out for us to sit at, drinks available for a price.

Eventually we were lined up, two-by-two, alphabetically, and led into a room, behind a curtain for the ceremony to start, waiting for our cue to enter. As the ceremony started, streamed live online for all to see, we were called in, the curtains pushed aside, and the two adjacent lines began to move into the hall, down the aisle between the two sets of seats, guests sitting and clapping for us, as we took our seats, our names on the backs so that we would sit in the proper order, three or four rows to a side, sitting in the prescribed manner, walking down the rows in an orderly fashion.

The program for the day was on each of our seats, and we went through various speeches, and introductions of each of the trainees to the audience. The US ambassador spoke, as did the Turkish ambassador to Macedonia. He, 40 years prior, had been taught by Peace Corps volunteers in the village in which he grew up, and he had asked, as a special favor, to be allowed to make some comments as a way to say thank you to the PCVs who had helped to shape who he is today.

We sang the US national anthem, then the Macedonian. The US ambassador then had us raise our right hands, and take the oath of office, followed a little later by the Peace Corps pledge.

After the ceremony we received our certificates, and our pins. We took pictures with the whole group, and with our LCFs.

We then were led into the adjacent rooms, where hor d’oeuvres and drinks were waiting. There was a cake, with the symbol of the Peace Corps.

After some time the buses came back, and we were shuffled back on board to travel back to our sites.

It was very formal, and very much like any ceremony I have been to with my job back in the US. While it symbolized something amazing, and represented a true accomplishment, it felt to me to be somewhat….sterile. I didn’t feel the cultural impact of the day, nor the relaxed, festive atmosphere that we had in Ghana. We weren’t allowed to spend the evening together, our last as a training group, catching up and talking about our worries, and our anxiety about moving to our permanent sites.

I absolutely know that many of the volunteers felt the emotional impact of the day, but honestly, it didn’t hit me. It seemed one more government ceremony. I truly wish there had been more of Macedonia in it.

That’s not to say it was bad…in fact, as far as ceremonies go, it was a great one. I’m proud of not only myself, but of all the trainees who swore-in. Just by being there, and raising our hands, we have accomplished something that only a small percentage of the US has every accomplished. We made it through 11 weeks that may have just been the toughest, most frustrating, and most rewarding we will ever have.

It IS a great feeling to know that you’ve made it.

After the ceremony, some of us went out, for one last time, to Pizzeria Lea. This place has been a staple of our Sveti Nikole experience; so much so that we know the staff, and they know us. I start to say what I want to eat, and the waiters finish it, already knowing exactly what I’m going to get, including all my crazy little tweaks.

It was surreal. Consciously I think we all knew we were leaving, and separating the next day, but none of us I think really had processed it. I mean, we WERE sitting in Pizzeria Lea, eating pastramilija and pizza, drinking beer and soda, just like normal.

I’m also not sure it hit us that we were no longer trainees at that point, but actual, full-fledged volunteers. I don’t think any of us mentioned that at any time during that whole evening.

This morning, Saturday, was even more surreal. I had to pack, it became real. In the morning I went out and met Nana to give her back some stuff of hers that I had. Chris walked by, and we hung out at Café Mexico for a bit, before heading our separate ways.

My host father made me pastramilija for lunch, and made me an extra one for dinner. My host mother made some homemade rolls, and packed them for me to make sure I had something to eat for breakfast tomorrow.

They told me to call them in the evening, to make sure I was ok, and safe, and happy.

The new volunteers that were now going to be in Sveti for their permanent site came in and I hung out with them a bit, showing them around the town, feeling like the proud local, showing off his city.

Then, it was time.

At 4:30, Goran, one of the taxi drivers that we really like, showed up in front of my house. My host father and mother helped me carry out my bags, and we filled up the car. I then said goodbye, and it was a bittersweet moment.

Very bittersweet. I am, I admit, ready to move on, to get to the next stage of this experience. But, at the same time, I really like Sveti Nikole, and I felt so comfortable with my host parents there. That never happened to me in Ghana, I never felt that connection to Asuoso or to my host parents; but here, it just clicked.

I know I’ll be back to visit, and I already feel strange not being in my bed, or playing on my laptop in the living room, while Vasil watches TV, occasionally nodding off, and waking himself up with his snoring, while Makedonka is in the kitchen, on the love seat, doing her puzzles.

The ride to Strumica took about an hour and 15 minutes; not far. My counterpart and my new host father met me at the bus station, rather than trying to describe to Goran how to get to the house.

We transferred my bags, then headed ‘home.

At the house, my host mother and one of my host sisters were finishing cleaning out where I will live. They were both very nice, and very accommodating. My host sister actually normally lives in Switzerland, but is here for a little bit of time. She doesn’t actually live here in the house, but I think was here to help out.

My host mother is a teacher by trade, but recently started working at the school library. She says she misses working with the kids, but seems to like what she’s doing. I do have another host sister, but she is also in Switzerland, and lives there with her husband, so is not here in Strumica.

The place itself is very nice. It’s recently been remodeled, and it shows. While there are subtle reminders that this is not an apartment in the US, on a surface level, it feels that way. I have a big couch, that ‘combines’ into a bed; it faces the TV, which I am now, as I type this, watching (my first TV show in my new place – Warm Bodies; in English).

There’s a nice, wood-paneled kitchen area, brand new, and a glass dining table. The bedroom has two small beds, and a really nice wardrobe.

The bathroom, which only I use, has a nice shower, with a place to clip the shower hose so it can function like the showers we are used to in the US. A brand new toilet, and a nice sink. The nicest part – 24/7 hot water. Even the sink has a hot and cold faucet, not something I am used to here.

After settling in, my counterpart, my host parents, my host sister, and I made our way downstairs to their ‘apartment’. There I met the баба (grandmother); here, in Macedonia, the baba is a position of power, authority, and respect. In some ways, the baba is all. I did not have a baba in Sveti. I do now.

And she is one of the sweetest, nicest, old women I have ever met. She brought out chocolate for us, and helped my host sister make us tea and coffee.

I’m really kind of looking forward to seeing what happens here. As I’ve mentioned, I do feel strange here; it doesn’t yet feel like home.

But I think it could. I also think it could be a good balance between living independently and living as part of the family. The host father doesn’t drink alcohol, which is VERY unusual here, and that actually makes things a bit easier for me, as I don’t drink either. It avoids a very awkward potential situation, when the host family offers you rakija and you have to refuse to drink it.

After sitting with the family for a while, I said good night and made my way upstairs.

All in all, I think today has gone as well as it could. I’m happy with how it turned out.

Tomorrow’s a new day, and hopefully it’ll be just as good.

A QUICK REFLECTION

In previous updates, I have often talked about the various milestones that come up in any Peace Corps Volunteer’s service. As I’ve said, some are small, some are big; some seem insignificant, and some literally change the entire experience.

Tomorrow, myself and the 40 other remaining trainees will pass what I think is the biggest milestone there is in the entire 27 months: swearing-in.

It’s honestly somewhat difficult to explain in writing how I am feeling today. Swearing-in is the end of Pre-Service Training, the most stressful, busy, crazy, rewarding, and difficult time in a volunteer’s life. We are babied, hand-held in everything we do, our days defined for us by some staff member back in the capital, who’s only interest is making sure that the required number of training hours in language, culture, health, safety and technical are met somehow; our lives are fully controlled by someone who ‘doesn’t know what it’s like’.

At least, that’s how it feels.

But looking back, and seeing where I am now compared to how I was when I started, well, I can sort of see why they do what they do. I’ll never admit it to them, but I get it.

I’ve said before that in some ways, being a second time volunteer, especially one whose first service was in a third-world country, is actually not the boon that many people seem to think it is. I often hear, “This is probably nothing for you.” I’ve been told that I shouldn’t be having any issues here, that “You’ve been in the real Peace Corps, this must be easy.”

But, unexpectedly, I’m finding that that experience in Ghana is actually making this experience harder. I find myself, unfortunately, constantly comparing what I experienced there with what I am going through here. Many of my expectations, unconsciously, are formed from what happened in a place on another continent, in another culture, that has a totally different standard of living, and that occurred over a decade ago.

PST is a prime example. In Ghana, we still had many rules to follow, and it was still the hardest phase of service, but we had freedoms that we don’t here. We could hop on a tro-tro and visit other volunteers whenever we needed outside of our few hours of language class each day. Compared to here, the PC staff in Ghana seemed to put a priority on mental support, and ensuring that trainees could decompress when needed, being around each other for at least one night a week during our overnight hub days, taking us on field trips just for fun, and letting us meet and get to know some of the currently serving volunteers.

Even site visit had a built in evening for us to meet and get dinner with the current PCVs, and our field trip wasn’t to a park in the capital for a few hours one day, but to a currently serving volunteer’s site, to see how they lived, how they worked, and how they’ve adjusted.

Maybe here in Macedonia we don’t need that. Everyone always tells us how small the country is, and how easy it is to hang out and meet up. But so far, I haven’t felt that way. It may only be a few hours from one side of the country to the other, but effectively, it feels like I’m living worlds apart from those not in my training community. Even more so with the other groups.

For me, it’s been a challenge here. More so than I expected. And oddly, I think being a RPCV from a place that is so different is a major part of why.

I truly never expected that.

But as I said, our needs here are different, and the philosophy of the PC staff is different. I’m not going to say better or worse, but different.

When I joined the PC in Ghana, the motto of the Peace Corps was, ‘The Toughest Job You’ll Ever Love.”

When I joined the PC this time, the motto was, “How Far Are You Willing to Go?”

In my opinion, it should have been the opposite. In Ghana, I was so far outside of my comfort zone, doing things I literally had said I would never voluntarily do. I went much farther than I ever thought I could.

This time, I feel like I have a job; we are often reminded of that fact by the staff. That being said, I really do like it here, and as it comes time to close out the first phase of my service here, and swear-in, I’m adjusting my thinking, slowly, to better match the expectations of THIS country, and stop trying to match the expectations of what it used to be like in THAT country.

Many people refer to swear-in as a transition, and I am trying to take that to hear, to transition my life and my approach.

We’ll see how it goes.