Part 1/2: Prologue

Part 1: New York LaGuardia (LGA) to Washington National on US Airways

Part 2: Washington Dulles (IAD) to Frankfurt (FRA) on United

Part 3: FRA – Vienna (VIE) – Skopje (SKP) on Austrian

Part 4: Arrival in Skopje, and Day 1 in Skopje

Part 5: Day 2 in Skopje

Part 6: A bit more Skopje

Part 7: Daytrip to Pristina, Kosovo

Part 8: SKP – Zagreb (ZAG) – VIE on Croatian Airlines

Part 9: VIE – Erbil, Iraq (EBL) on Austrian

Part 10: Erbil, Iraq

Part 11: EBL – VIE on Austrian

Part 12: Hilton Vienna Stadtpark

Part 13: VIE – Zurich (ZRH) – JFK on Swiss

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

Part 5: Day 2 in Skopje

Nine hours of sleep.

Permit me to expound upon this miracle accomplishment after my first night in Skopje, Macedonia. I had retired at about 12.30am, that morning, and woken at around 9.30am. I exult because I had managed to finally find a way to gather a full night’s sleep after arrival in a wacky time zone. Normally, when I travel, though I fight to stay awake though it feels as if someone is trying to pinch my eyeballs shut with a Vice grip, I manage to fall asleep for a few hours, only two awaken, disoriented, for another two, at some odd hour of the morning, and then, if I do fall back asleep, it’s more another gritty two hours. And, as always, jetlag’s death grip takes hold of me the next day, after I awaken at 7am, feel good until about 2pm, then, hope that I am hit by a bus just so I do not have to stay awake. In another recent trip to Uzbekistan, my first night in Tashkent, I had arrived at my hotel at 5.30am, and had only been able to sleep until 7.30am, which made for an utterly wonderful next day.

Not today, though. I’m going to sound like a druggie as I write this paragraph, but I finally found the solution that slowly tucked me into a blissful sleep known only to angels, cherubs, and other higher deities, a little friend with a few benzene rings, a carbonyl, and a scientifically name known as zolpidem tartrate – or, better known by it’s cool-kid nickname, Ambien. Goodness gracious – I’ve never had major surgery (knock on wood) but, I imagine the effect is similar to when the anesthesiologist asks you to count backwards from ten. I remember putting my head on the pillow, and then, waking up to the brilliant Skopje sun. I had grown so tired of jetlag ruining trips, and was so pleased to find a solution.

I clad myself in shorts, a t-shirt,  flip flops, and my quasi-douchebag Boston Red Sox cap (well, anything associated with the Red Sox is quasi-douchebag) that I swear I only purchased because I liked the particular design of the log with two angled red socks, and that I am not some bandwagon tool celebrating a baseball team with the second highest payroll in the sport, but I digress), knowing the that sun would show up in full force that day. I was ready for my first full day of touring Skopje – except, I had no map, and utterly no idea where to find anything in the general area. Not a problem, at all. It was, I must admit, the type of travel I enjoy most – no general plan, no hurry, no constraints, and best of all, no idea. I would simply wind my way around the city, only limited by my own capriciousness, and stop and admire anything the piqued my interest. No guidebook would be necessary.

I did, however, want to purchase a map, just for a general idea of the city’s layout. I would also need to purchase a bottle of water, and some sunscreen, or I would be covered with melanoma by the end of the hour. Luckily, for some reason, my hotel was a block and a half within three pharmacies, for some reason. I stepped into the boiling morning, and made the short walk to the pharmacy, on a bustling main drag. The streets from my hotel leading to the busy street were wonderfully calm and pleasant, dotted with a few quiet stores and offices, only have the placidity shattered by a Macedonian driver redlining his Skoda up the street with the fervor of a competitor at Le Mans. On sort of a side note, I found the Macedonians, in general (save for the cab driver who was the unfortunate antagonist of my previous segment) simply wonderful people – pretty much always kind, smiling, or at least cheerful in their interactions. That demeanor seemed to peel away like rubber burning off their tires when they entered their cars, and took to the streets with vicious numbers of RPMs, treating the road like their own personal test course. I would have to fling myself out of the way many a time in my days in Skopje, to avoid being hit and afflicted with the type of injury that would require my femurs to be pinned together with metal screws.

Personally, I couldn’t wait to buy sunscreen. As a traveler, these types of experiences – the ones that best mimic the quotidian – are my most memorable travel moments. I love foist myself into the reality of everyday life in a foreign country. Sure, I love site-seeing, admiring museums, and drinking so much on the hostel pub crawl that I end up making out with a Swedish au pair traveling through Europe that will have to leave at 3.30am that morning to catch her FlyBaboo flight back to Arlanda, but to me, the richest and most profound travel experiences come from when I get to sample the everyday life of a citizen – where do I purchase my office supplies? A spark plug? An industrial-sized tin of cocktail sauce?  Those experiences make me feel as if I am truly there, and not just some temporary itinerant with a passport and a hotel reservation.

I strode into a pharmacy, and said, using my finest English,  to the pharmacist, “Do you speak English?”

“Yes,” she replied with a confident nod and blink of the eyes, as if idiots dressed in Red Sox caps from America strode into Macedonian pharmacies all the time.

“Do you sell sunscreen?” I asked. That didn’t seem to work. “Uh, protection – from the sun,” I added.

“Yes, we do. How powerful would you like?”

Oh, I didn’t know. I did some calculations in my head based on what I had seen at drugstores back home – and thought that technology had us up to SPF 60 by now. I figured that 60 most likely inflicted more damage than it offered protection, so I should go a bit lower. “About 40 or 50 would be fine,” I replied.

She jumped, startled, wide-eyed, as if I had just told her I wanted to splash myself with hydrochloric acid. Apparently, anything above 30 is unheard of in Macedonia – or, perhaps there exists some sort of metric system type conversions of which I am truly ignorant for SPF, like miles and kilometers. Nevertheless, I settled for 30.

“Would you like cream, or milk?” she asked.

“What’s the difference?” I inquired.

“Milk has a bit more, uh, uh, uh . . . ” She pause, and tried to motion.

“Consistency?” I offered.

“Yes!” she said, chuckling. “Consistency. Milk is very good.”

With my SPF-30 milk sunscreen in hand, I happily strode out of the pharmacy, buoyed by another seemingly real-life and everyday experience. I got the same type of high buying contact lens solution in Rome. Yes, I have issues.

I bought a bottle of water at one of the ubiquitous small roadside stands, where I was also greatly overcharged for a map of Skopje that looked as if it had been used to wash a car. The guy selling it actually had to refold it to sell it to me, and even then, he couldn’t hide the rips in the corners and smears of who the hell knows what that covered the map. I was ready to begin touring.

I knew of the general direction of the supposed downtown. I figured I would explore the main part of the city first, then make my way back to my hotel in the late afternoon via the huge fort on a hill that overlooked the city. I began to walk along the main street, stopping to peek at the map, and thought I was heading the wrong direction. I made a left, another left, and eventually walked down the same streets that I had taken me to the park for my run yesterday. It was then I learned a valuable Macedonian lesson: cross the streets with the locals. Crossing any bigger street was like trying to cross a freeway, and I eventually learned just to wait for when someone local wanted to cross, and I would tag along with them, I’m sure, looking extremely creepy, but keeping my body intact. Some photos from the first part of the walk:

After returning to the park, I decided to give it a bit of look. I wandered past a section of restaurants, one of which that had delightful outside seating a wonderful looking pizzas, and I decided I would return there later for lunch, and then walked by Macedonia’s national soccer stadium, a kind of, uh, interesting looking piece of architecture that I can only really liken to an open oyster shell. Though the very inviting park flanked the stadium on the right, most of the area surrounding the stadium seemed unkempt, unmaintained, and was splashed with graffiti. At least most of the graffiti was pro-local team.

I then decided to follow the river, turned left on a bridge, crossed, and made my way into downtown. Again, I really had no idea to where I was headed, just a general direction of the layout. The city immediately turned a bit grittier, much more crowded, and much more bustling (you know, as, uh, downtowns tend to be). It also became much shabbier, as if the department of public works didn’t really make stops in that side of Skopje, with many open holes in the ground, exposed wires and metal, and crumbling curbs. The area also felt much more hodgepodge, as if the density of stores had increased exponentially. There were many more small business, crammed into jagged streets, seemingly at angles, like some sort of live MC Escher painting, mostly selling those bizarre brands of jeans you’ve never, ever seen or heard of (seriously – where do they get all those pairs?), handbags, and roasted peanuts. I had never seen so many places selling peanuts in my life. In the blazing sun, I simply walked, again, with no real direction. I explored a market place, with people selling vegetables, nuts, grain, and meat under a huge tent. The meat, I was worried to notice, did not seem to have any refrigeration, and served as a regular landing zone and airport for flies.

The area was also replete with mosques, their characteristic minarets poking out of the skyline like characters in a Whack-a-Mole game. I explored a few of them, stopping to listen to the calls to prayer, watch the men pray, or sit talking in the shade. In what I’m sure was a horrendously offensive maneuver, I do confess to using one of the spigots outside a large mosque to put water in my hat in some almost futile attempt for cooling myself off (it was really fucking hot, okay?)

After an exploration of the downtown area, I made a left turn off to another larger street that, well, seemed to be the import/export district of Skopje, mostly selling kitchen furnishings, marble, and plastic tricycles. Seriously, ever store sold the same collection of items – how on earth did they distinguish themselves from one another? Better prices? Or did storekeepers post claims, written in those garish letters, akin to car dealerships, that their shoddily-constructed plastic tricycles and garbage can lids were better than the jerk’s next door? I walked through the long street with a sense of amusement, and at the end of the road, stumbled upon a more impoverished district. Now, I know I should seek professional help, but, for some reason, I have some sort of perverse attraction to impoverished areas when traveling. I know – it’s truly stupid – I wouldn’t walk into East Cook County or South Philly with a gawking eye when traveling in the US, then, why the hell would I do such a thing abroad? Again, I think it stems from my desire to root out real life when traveling, separate myself as someone just visiting, and try to experience a raw, authentic view of the city. Anyway, so, like an idiot, I stumbled into a crumbling area, snapped a few furtive pictures, and then, as I was walking, spotted a mother sitting outside with her children. Of course, she spotted me, as well, and then siced her two grubby little boys on me. They both ran up, chattering in Macedonian, with smiles on their faces.  I was caught. Sigh. I know what to do when kids come by, though – keep your hands tightly in both of your pockets so they can’t slide anything out (this trick works well, too, when being physically attacked by hookers, in Bratislava, as well – but, that’s another story for another time, and yes, my friend and I were minding our own business when we were accosted by prostitutes, not soliciting their services), and keep checking behind you to see if there is some sort of distraction-sleight-of-hand maneuver occurring. I, obviously, had no idea what they were saying – most likely something like, “Make one more step, and we’ll cut out your spleen.” I kept trying to talk to them, stupidly, in English, actually interested in what they wanted, my idiotic mind thinking it was something other than money. Eventually, their hands went out, their palms went up, and as I tried to walk away, they followed me. I dug into my pockets, and handed them a few Dinar (about 14 cents worth). I briefly debated handing them the novelty “two Euro discount coin” I had been given by Lufthansa at Frankfurt to use with duty free shopping, but that thought that might’ve been too mean. But, I will post my hopefully Pulitzer Prize winning photos of poverty in Skopje as consolation. That 14 cents was worth my voyeurism.

At that point, I got the hell out of there, not wanting to be met by a whole gauntlet of conniving little children who would strip me of everything and hogtie me to a satellite dish somewhere in the neighborhood. I made my way back, somehow made some right turns, ended up walking through a shoe district (seriously, just how much does Skopje localize their districts), climbed a hill, in the still relentless sunshine, and realized I was on the hill fort, Fort Kale, that overlooked the city. The City has preserved the excavated ruins of the fort, the wall, and many of the guardtowers.  I pushed my way through the hordes of schoolchildren, and walked in.

Even with the heat, and with enough young’uns to rival Disneyland, the fort was a marvelous way to end a great day of touring in Skopje. I parked myself between stones on the crenelated wall, and found myself in a cocoon of calm, and just let myself stare at the city, and the mountains. Some views from the fort, and the fort itself:

I then walked down the hill, crossed the river, and back to the park where I enjoyed a leisurely, if a bit overpriced, lunch by the park. Not to worry, though, I had a book, time, and the memories of a wonderful day exploring an eclectic and bustling city. The downtown, it seems, is not the nicest of cities, with nothing particularly memorable in terms of sites, but its feel, its ambiance, its energy, and its electricity, buttressed against the leisurely pace and quiet elegance of the mosques make it a really fun place to visit. A simply wonderful experience, though, I must say, I was glad I was staying out of the gritty fray of downtown, in the leafy, quieter, and a bit foodier/artisier area of my hotel.

I’ll write more about the evening, the night, and the early morning in the next segment, because, well, let’s say, that night didn’t end until very, very light, with one of those wonderful twists that can only happen while traveling. Stay tuned.