Dispatches from Macedonia

A brief rundown of why I have no time to indulge my normally ravenous internet addiction:

I took a trip to Struga, the smaller town around the lake from Ohrid, with a large group of Americans, Croatians, Germans, Albanians, and a Hungarian. We switched back and forth between Macedonian and English, sometimes in mid-sentence. Struga is laid out much differently from Ohrid and not as tourist-focused. Instead of Macedonian folk tshotshkes, English-language nationalist t-shirts, and cheap Chinese goods, the street-side booths sold Balkan pop music, Macedonian-language nationalist t-shirts, and Albanian Islamic books. Struga has a much larger presence of Albanians. If nothing else, you could tell because all signs were at least bilingual Macedonian and Albanian, if not tri- or quatralingual if you threw English and German into the mix. Macedonians identify Albanians with certain very particular (and generally unflattering) physical characteristics, but I couldn't tell Albanian from Macedonian in the crowd except by the women wearing headscarves. I guess I haven't been here long enough to absorb the Balkan gaze. But another American here has made it the subject of his anthropological research. We had a fascinating conversation.

And I spontaneously came out to him. I've been careful about betraying my sexual orientation here because I can't guess where Europeans will stand in the same way that I can guess for Americans. My roommate, for example, is very Orthodox and clearly uncomfortable with homosexuality. We had an discussion where we exchanged curse words in our respective mother tongues. I'm unhappy I did this in retrospect, because he didn't pick up the normal swear words, but the racist and homophobic ones. He chides me for being politically correct when I ask him to stop using "jew" as a verb to mean "rip off" (for which he has plenty of opportunity, because you start to finagle over very small differences of price here after a while). I shouldn't have taught him the full range of English swear words, but it's too late now. In any case, the less he knows about my orientation, the better. And as for Macedonians, the men at the very least seem fairly invested in a macho image that probably doesn't tolerate gay men well. Even gay men who feel no need to threaten gender roles, like me.

On the other hand; these people I'm regularly interacting with are academics. Their countries are generally far more liberal than my own. It seems a bit silly for me to be more reticent about my sexuality here, among people who would identify Democrats as solidly conservative, than I am at home. And Victor Friedman, my BA advisor, brought his male partner with him to the conference. No one has bothered about it, everyone seems to know the exact situation, and they continue to pay him almost extravagant honor, Macedonian and foreigner alike. In any case, this other side of the argument won out temporarily and I corrected an assumption the anthropologist made about which gender of person I might have waiting at home. Now I wonder whether he will tell others or keep it to himself. I'm not particulary bothered either way, but I'd like to see how it turns out.

I also took a trip to St. Naum, the national monastary of Macedonia at the Albanian order, at the very southern tip of lake Ohrid. The monastary was somewhat underwhelming, but the program arranged a wonderful lunch for us on an island with Macedonian folk dancers accompanied by musicians. They were in full costume and danced far more intricate, layered versions of the dances I've been learning every night in optional classes. After they finished, those of us who had been taking lessons stood up and did circle dances to the remaining music as Macedonians vacationing in the same area wandered over and joined in. It was union through movement.

Finally, today I got up at 3:00am to hike with Maksim and two Polish girls named Barbara and Karolina to the top of the mountain that rises behind the center where I'm staying. First we climbed to the tip of the village of Konjsko in the pitch dark, then we turned on our flashlights and searched out an goatherd trails, footpaths, or simply open spaces we could use to keep going higher. As it turned out, it took at least two hours for us to reach the summit, making the early start absolutely worthwhile. We would pass through a forest, then reach a rocky plane with a less steep grade, then enter another forest and scramble along the edges of ravines. There always seemed to be more mountain after every peak we reached. But we finally did ascend the summit, just before the sun crested the horizon, and we lay down together in the rough and windswept grass to enjoy the light. On the walk back, we were so tired that we grew a little delirious. Everything became funny, even simple sounds or words repeated over and over. We got lost and had to spider across a steep forest slope while we grabbed on to tree trunks, so as not to fall into a riverbed, but we were rewarded by a breakfast of wild plums and blackberries that we found along the way.

On the way we ran into an elderly couple taking a donkey up the mountain to gather fruit for making rakija. They were unbelievably friendly. They suggested we take a picture of ourselves with them and the donkey, then they chatted with us a bit about the climb to the summit and the village where they live. When we left them, the village was awake and everyone was doing their jobs.

And then I went to class at 9:00am.

And that's the not short short rundown. 


Катастрофа!
Hiking through Horseville
Invited in for coffee
A short rundown that's not short