Last Stop Istanbul

Istanbul, once again. I can't get enough of this city. In 2010 I heard there were twelve million people living here. This time I heard fifteen million and can't imagine that it happened so fast. Maybe it's just a rumor, but I believe it. Istanbul is packed with people, cars and stray cats. It verges on madness but its a madness I love.

I saw most of the tourist sights on a previous trip but missed the Chora, a church with beginnings around 500 AD. A ressuration in the 12th century is when the mosaics were added and those are what Chora is best known for now, though they are considerably worse for wear. I found my way by city bus only to find that the main part of the church is closed for repairs.I was not happy about missing so much but I really admired the stone used it its interior walls, granite, I think, cut into thin slabs and placed side by side to produce patterns.

 There was a time when most of the buildings in Istanbul were of wood.but time and the elements took their toll and few of the originals remain. There were many in this neighborhood near Chora, not genuine ancient artifacts; still they are old and built in the old style. I found them interesting enough to sketch with an audience of curious young boys looking over my shoulder. My favorite is the one near my hostel with corners that jut out from the upper stories.

One can't go to Istanbul without visiting the Grand Bazaar. It isn't far from my hostel so I went more than once. I am a firm believer in never leaving by the same entrance or following the same streets home two times in a row. This bazaar is so big that finding the same entrance to leave by is tricky anyway. As for the streets, I never know where I might wind up but that's half the adventure.

Back to the fountain in Sultanhamet my last evening, the one before that, and even before that. I was spending down my money at that point, buying tissue packs I don't need and dropping coins in the boxes of the very young buskers with their plastic recorders. Roasted corn and fresh squeezed juice vendors, perfect night temperatures, tourists with their cameras, women in headscarves, all are part of the picture. A prefect ending, I say. Tomorrow the long flight home.

Prizren, Kosovo

Entering Kosovo the changes in scenery were subtle: mountains a little steeper. looser rock, concrete plants, small towns so similar it doesn't feel as though a border was crossed. There are still mosques, minarets pointing skyward, but they are not brand new like so many in Macedonia. I found that refreshing. Kosovo looks like a place where people live, not a fake, flashy showplace for tourists. I hope it stays that way.

Prizren's favorite tourist shot.

My bed and breakfast in Prizren had no map but was very close to the big mosque, the old town square and the castle walls, so I set out on foot. My first impression was that this was a town in a delightful state of disrepair. Old buildings with hundreds of years of history and as many stories within their walls stood wobbly between buildings of varying age and design. Gentrification is happening, lots of repair and hotels rising among these old gems, but it wasn't blatant enough to dampen my enthusiasm.

It was late afternoon and the cobblestone area that passes as a square was filling with people. They sat at cafes eating pizza and ice cream. Families, couples, groups of youngsters and oldsters strolled the square calling out to one another, greeting, smiling, even at me. A young boy shyly patting a small drum tried to solicit coins from those seated at cafe tables with no sign of interest. I perched on a nearby wall to watch and was spotted right away. I had only Macedonian denars to offer and the boy was glad to accept. His friends gathered with their hands out and we had a playful little interchange before I walked off. The revelry went on well into the night. Where I live, gathering on the town square is a thing of the past, strongly discouraged now, so this is an event I find fun, even exciting.

The fortress atop the hill is a steep hike, great for the heart if it doesn't kill you. Inside the fortress are crumbling walls, mounds of yet unexcavated rooms, and open chambers full of trash and the smell of the sheep and goats that decorate the trails with their dung. There is repair going on, walls covered in plastic sheeting in varying stages of reconstruction. Red poppies bloom everywhere.

On the path below the fortress is an old religious complex, perhaps a monastery, roofless, a couple of columns still standing, others broken sections in neat rows. A small chapel within the walls gives barely a hint of the once colorful icons that lined its walls.

On one of my rambles, I found a church with high fencing, razor wire and a policeman posted on guard. So I asked him why. In 2004 and I think 2007, there was a rash of church burnings, all of the victims Orthodox, and this church was a victim. The structure was still sound, the roof intact, but icons were badly damaged. An international team is now working on restoring them with support from UNESCO. When asked who was to blame, the man could only offer the opinion that the burnings might have been politically motivated. I did not get a guided tour.

 I was an obvious tourist, walking around with a camera, and people were curious. They would approach me asking, Deutch?, Holland? Polish? and then be very pleased to find that I am American. It was really nice to be greeted in passing and always helped along my way. Interactions with people that made this trip memorable and Kosovo ranks high on my favorites list.

Skopje, Macedonia

Skopje, Macedonia, the capitol, is not a huge city and the first impression is not of affluence, but that of a modest city on the rise. My hostel was a short walk from the bus station, across a littered vacant space the remnants of the oldest neighborhood of Skopje. My landmarrk was a large bank building, the plainest I've ever seen; across the busy four lane was a new shopping center and across the river stood a tall black modern building with a lot of glass. I couldn't possibly get lost.

A paved walkway ran alongside the river so I took it. A short walk down it became a busy place, cafes lining the left side full of people. Then two marble bridges on the right lined with statues representing every important person Macedonian history can lay claim to. On the other side stood a few huge, flashy new buildings looking very important. So I crossed over, walked a short distance and there it was, an amazing display of fountains with roaring lions, galloping horses, women doing maternal things, so over the top it was almost obscene. Throw in a few more huge statues, a new theater, museums…and loads of tourists photographing themselves in all that grandeur.

You can even have a 'VIP' wedding.

The 'glittler district'.

The other side of the river.

I spoke to several locals who did not feel kindly to this ostentageous display that one called 'Disneyland, but I call 'the glitter district'. Some spoke of the price of one statue's cost, the huge sums spent, their tax money and they did not approve especially with the nation's high unemployment rate. An ethnic Albanian, and there are many in Macedonia, spoke bitterly about how many of the statues were of people descended from the Illyrians, their heritage, and that Macedonia was trying to rewrite history, claiming it as her own. This was not the first time I was made aware of friction between the people of these two countries.

Alexander the Great at the airport named in his honor.

I finally found an area not swamped with tourists in the old Turkish Quarter. Turning a corner, I spotted two men, one carving on a panel with Arabic lettering, a commission for a mosque. I asked if I could watch and was brought out a large block of wood and a couple small rugs, the seat of honor. Male members of the family showed up: the carver's nine year old son who showed off a carving of his own, a nephew, his friend, and tea was served. We must have talked for a couple hours, during which time the carver worked on his piece with sure stokes of chisel and hammer. This exchange was the highlight of my visit to Skopje.

His gift came from God, I was told.

One side trip took me to Matka about an hour's bus ride from Skopje. Here the mountains were steep and rocky, with a dammed lake and hydro plant. For the tourists there is a small Orthodox church, a cafe or two, and guided boat trips to a cave. I waited for a group to form and found myself with two Polish sisters I met on the bus from Ohrid. The cave had a small area open to us with some formations, not spectacular but nice. Our guide told us this is Europe's deepest underground lake, most of it not easily accessible. I wondered how they knew if it hasn't been explored. On the way out I bought a bag of some kind of coated peanut sold on open bags from a small stand to munch while waiting for the bus.

Tomorrow I escape Macedonia for a short hop to Kosovo.

Moving into Macedonia

On a bright sunny morning I hopped a minibus to the Pogradec and the nearby border. It was a pleasant green journey not unlike any other in this country save for the fact that, suddenly Hoxha's mushroom bunkers are everywhere, especially around Lake Ohrid. Dropped off at border post Tuschemisht, I walked out of Albania and a short distance further I walked into Macedonia. I joined two young sweethearts who were taking a day trip alone, not really acceptable in their culture. Her mother called her every ten minutes worrying and was not willing to believe that they had an older American in tow to make certain they behaved themselves.

We followed an arrow pointing to Svte Naum that turned out to be not a shortcut but a herders path, rocky, muddy with plenty of small cloven hoof prints...and me lugging a suitcase. Svte Naum is yet another monestary with a chapel of the same domed brick Byzantine architecture I saw in Greece and Albania. They all seem the same to me now but one was right on the edge of Lake Ohrid, a beautiful setting. There were peacocks on the grounds and the boys strut their stuff, fanning feathers and rattling them to impress each other and hopefully the lone female who pretended to ignore them.

Ohrid, Macedonia is on the other side of the lake, another Balkan city with an  old town of twisty-windy, cobbled streets and stairs. I was given a map which promptly got me lost, found, then lost again, and found again until I knew it well. There was the fortress atop the hill, the lake,Roman ruins and a new pedestrian walkway teeming with tourists. Too many.

Ah, Ste Sophia, a church ancient and worn, dating back to the 11th century, I believe. No explanations were posted, no little brass plaques, simply a huge vaulted room, walls decorated with faded icons, many sporting scratched out faces and eyes, initials etched on and other signs of abuse. This cathedral really showed its age. Toward the front was a row of modern icons behind glass and I watched as a woman stood for a moment before each one, kissed the glass, then moved onto the next. Photos were not allowed and I was sure my shutter would create a resounding echo so I sneaked a quick one, then beat a hasty retreat. Outside, I noticed that the columns along the front were not all the same material as though they had been scrounged from various Roman ruins for Ste Sophia's construction. If I had to describe the feel of Ste Sophia in one word, that would be 'reverent'.

Ruins of Butrint

The ancient Roman ruins of Butrint occupy a spit of land a short distance from the beach resort Saranda in southeast Albania. I took a day trip to visit the ruins, now a national park, because I wanted to see the mosaics on the floor of the 6th century Baptisary only to find that they are covered in order to protect them from people and the elements, exposed for viewing for short periods every few years or so. Too bad I missed it.

Butrint's history is interesting enough to make the visit worthwhile. According to classical mythology, the settlement was founded by refugees from Troy. It was named Buthrotum in honor of an ox that was sacrificed and wounded, struggled to the shore and died there, supposedly a good omen. In its early days there was a sanitorium where people came to take cures, sometimes leaving sacrifices or donations, sometimes in coin. Julius Caesar and Augustus founded a Roman colony on the site complete with temples, baths, an amphitheater and bridge that  extended across the channel. Over the centuries Butrint was occupied by Normans, Venetians and Ottomans to name a few. The settlement had its ups and downs and finally, after so many transitions, it became just another Roman ruin being excavated in a land where there are so many. It isn't as grand as those in Rome, Athens, Turkey, in fact it seems rather small but I found  the remains of this little civilization to be interesting and beautiful as well.

I left Gjirokastra on the earliest bus and was lucky enough not to have to deal with the crowds that were milling around the gate as I made my way out of the park. Tour buses, hawkers, beggars had all taken their places. As I waited for the bus back to Sarana, I watched the locals cross the water on a platform large enough for a couple of cars and standing room only as it was pulled across by a winch and cables to the other side. I was tempted to join them but my bus pulled up and I hopped on.