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'.