Part 21: Macedonia, the only place to go

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FYROM

The country doesn’t really have a name.
The official name of this nation of 2 million, by default, is The Former Yugoslavian Republic of Macedonia, which basically means, “we used to call it Macedonia,” with the implication that you can call it whatever the hell you want to call it now. So some people call it Macedonia, but honestly the whole Greek peninsula used to be called Macedonia as a geographic region. They really don’t know what to call it.

They have a distinct flag that amounts to something like “Japan meets New Mexico” and I applaud their originality.

I visited Macedonia with my friends from Kosovo because of proximity and because, it’s essentially the only place Kosovans can visit. Because, despite the fact that Kosovo is an established, modern democracy, it hasn’t secured solid diplomatic relations with all countries so far. As a result, it’s citizens can only visit three countries without a special visa – the neighboring states of Macedonia, Albania and Montenegro. They’re pretty much trapped in the southeastern Balkans, sadly.

Skopje, the capital

I didn’t take the best notes from Skopje. What I remember was an enormous, illuminated cross, perhaps to remind the Albanians across the border that they are a Christians nation. It felt like overcompensation to me. Skopje also features the largest US Embassy in the Balkans.

As you cross into Skopje, a dramatic stone bridge leads you over the Vardar River. We took photos as we crossed, and noticed a statuesque woman had decided to go swimming in the river, on the warm spring night we visited.

The city was very clean, and the architecture was worthy of an up-and-coming Southeastern European Capital. It met my approval.

Mother Teresa

The highlight of our trip, for me, was sitting at a café across the courtyard from the childhood home of Mother Teresa.

While we sat, staring at the humble structure, local gypsies (roma) came along to beg as is common in this area. My friends initially shoed them away, as they are accustomed to doing in their home; I was unable to. Sitting there, staring at the childhood home of one of the last century’s most selfless individuals, I was compelled to empty my pockets. My friends soon followed my example, and we made a few gypsies very happy that night.

Soon I would be flying home, through Denmark, to the American Northwest. My time was running short in dreamland. I wanted to remember this.

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Photos

Brennan on a bridge
Standing on the Bridge leading into Skopje