St. Valentine & St. Trifun--a suitable couple

We all know that tomorrow brings hearts, chocolates, red roses & wine, poems, and fancy dinners to light up our late winter sorrows, but here in Macedonia there's another reason to celebrate--St. Trifun.

Another saint who was martyred during Roman times (though there were actually a couple of St. Valentines), St. Trifun's day is a name/feast day for those bearing his name (such as the mayor of Skopje--Trifun Kostovski). But as I've mentioned before, there are hundreds of such saints' days, so that's not what's so interesting about it. The interesting and funny thing is that, in this country of significant wine production, St. Trifun is considered the patron saint of the vineyards, and his day is a celebration and beginning of the new grape-growing season. Perhaps it's just another excuse to drink, and how this association came about I can't seem to figure out (despite inquiring).

Known as a healer in the 3rd century AD, he was from Phrygia in what is today western Turkey. Rumor has it that his healing powers were so great that, as a teenager, he was summoned by the Roman emperor Gordan to heal his ailing daughter. He did so successfully, but not long thereafter he was forced to renounce Christianity under the rule of Emperor Decius. He refused, and was tortured and murdered for it.

How his name day came to be celebrated is not too difficult to gather, given the millenia's old ties of Anatolia with the Balkans (from Alexander the Great to the Ottoman Empire), but what's even more interesting here is the possibility that Trifun's ancestors were from Macedonia and around to begin with. I don't seek to be irredentist by any means here, but only to state that, according to Herodotus, the Phrygians originally lived in the Southern Balkans and migrated to western Turkey as Trojan allies under the protection of Troy. The Phrygian language survived centuries of invasions, lasting till the 6th century when it gave way to Greek.

Regardless of the history, this holiday of St. Trifun is making me wonder whether his name and people haven't been around all along, one ingredient in the melting pot of Macedonia. Given the millenia of wine making here, perhaps during warmer eras (and the region is known to have been previously warmer and more arid, with more of a desert and savvanah climate), February 14 was just the right time to start working the land again.

These days, despite the more Mediterranean climate in the south of the country, it might be a bit early to expect life from the soil when snow is still falling (as it was today), but the ritual and celebrations exist. What are they? Tomorrow morning in churches in the Tikves wine region believers will gather to see the priest prune the first vine. Thereafter it is divvied up and passed along to spread good fortune in life and vineyards. Some priests and parishioners continue on to the vineyards themselves, pouring wine onto the soil and drinking it as well. Workers will begin clearing the vines from last year--cutting and burning them--but not before the jubiliation and possible inebriation has its way.

For on St. Trifun's day, people offer grape brandy and wine freely and they celebrate life and the new season to come with a feast. Therefore, what better holiday to pair with St. Valentine's than a day of imbibing wine and brandy? I can't think of one.

On mumps and medicine

Perhaps it's due to my family's involvement with public health medicine or maybe it's just a wise thing to stay tuned into, but regardless, public health is a great interest of mine. Unfortunately, it's probably because I'm sick far more often here in Macedonia than in the US, and thus I've always pondered and fretted about my and other people's health here. When I was a Peace Corps volunteer I used to regularly clean a greenish-white sludge out of my PC distributed water distillation system. While I drank the water that came from it, I always worried what I was drinking when I was at school, in a cafe, or someone's home. Things are no different here in Skopje, and as a result I spend $20/month buying spring water from the mountains in 6 liter jugs that I pick up at the grocery near my school. I consider lugging those things up four flights of stairs well worth it.

The unfortunate thing is that a lack of general concern and action over public infrastructure and health characterize this country. We sporadically hear about the increasing number of miscarriages, cancer, infections in hospitals, and less severe situations, but little is done to investigate them.

Fortunately, there are people interested in changing this, and I've begun working with them at an organization here in Skopje. Unfortunately, two incidents in just as many weeks are at the fore of my mind in reminding me of the acute situation in Macedonia that could result in disease transmission at best, and a major epidemic at worst.

The two events I'm referring to are my own illness last week, how and where I was treated, and the outbreak of mumps in high schools throughout the country this week.

Personally, I fell ill last week with a vicious stomach virus. I lost an incredible amount of bodily fluids and thus went to the state hospital here for medical attention. Not only was I mis-diagnosed (the doctor wanted me to get an x-ray for possible bronchitis) but I was attemptedly ripped-off (but fled before paying!) for being American, and frightened that I might have picked up something else in the waiting room of the clinic. For it was filled to capacity with ill people who were waiting and waiting for attention. Perhaps they all got what they needed, using their government issued pink slips to cover their medical needs (it is still a nationalized medical system here), but I'd gather that some did not. That I do not know.

What I do know is that my brother-in-law, who is an oral surgeon resident at the hospital, informed me that the disposal of medical instruments--primarily needles and syringes--is totally out of line with health regulations. Used and infected bandages, needles and the like are mixed together, and while some are kept isolated and destroyed in a secure location, others are merely put in the dumpsters for stray dogs and cats to go through. Stray animal management (and lack of it) is a whole other story in itself, but unfortunately these creatures can act as agents of transmission--vectors--to their and our species' populations. I also know that in my wife's hometown all medical supplies are thrown in with the town garbage, driven 5km outside of town (but upwind from it) and burned. Yes, rubber gloves, syringes, plastic bottles and bags, and all other refuse are pushed daily into a giant furnace, their smoke then floating over the town and into the valley below.

But back to my illness, I suppose I shouldn't bite the hand that fed (or in this case, healed) me, as I was fortunate to be able to head to that small town's hospital for immediate treatment last week--getting an IV put in to rehydrate myself. I recovered after many days of weakness, taking an antibiotic (though having had a virus, I don't know if it was so wise for me to have been given such a medication...), and on a lighter note--the doctor insisting that I just drink herb tea. Lots of it, hot or cold! Oh yes, and I had to eat dry crackers dipped in said tea as well. An odd and rather unpleasant combination...

Unfortunately (I'm using this word a lot, I know), what's occurred this week in Macedonia, a European country, is more indicative of corruption and a serious lack of effective healthcare policy at the national level: there has been a mump's outbreak. Right, you're thinking "Mumps? Don't we get vaccinated for that when we're tiny tots? What the heck is it anyway??" Well, yes, we do get vaccinated and they should be here as well. Unfortunately, from 1990-94 (and that's for the current outbreak's age range) they didn't and thus this week in high schools across the country hundreds of cases of the highly contagious, greatly unpleasant illness have arisen. Teens necks have swollen and all they can do is suffer from the pain and hope it recedes soon, as there is no real cure for mumps.

Fortunately, mumps doesn't kill, but it can cause permanent damage (particularly to males' reproductive systems). What's worse is that the government is now on a mission to vaccinate all students again, so that the evening news is filled with images of public health workers injecting students with vaccines. Anyone who knows a thing about biology, vaccines, and the human body, however, might know that this could be a potentially catastrophic remedy. Injecting a vaccine--which is a deactivated version of an infectious virus--into someone's body where a live virus may be harbored but still dormant, can potentially activate the latter and lead to infection. Mumps epidemic is one thing, but what if it was a virulent flu, measles, or other virus? Would the government act the same way?

One thing I do know that further illustrates the government's image vs. reality is that they have touted their implementing the administration of the HPV vaccine for teenage girls. Realistically though, they only purchased a few thousand of these vaccines for a female teenage population of tens of thousands, and thus the vaccine is not as available as it might seem. The organization with whom I work has raised this issue, and my brother-in-law has confirmed that only the connected can get the HPV vaccine.

It is just a shame that the country's and region's public health is being compromised by greedy and selfish individuals who seek to profit at the expense of other people's health. Maybe this week's outbreak and other such issues will be brought forth in next month's presidential and municipal elections, and act as a catalyst for change, but I'm not optimistic.

Bansko, Bulgaria: A Makedon-ski-town

I recently returned from a week in my favorite mountain “town” in the Balkans—Bansko, Bulgaria. The town has only become that recently, however, as even six years ago upon my first visit it was much more of an old-world village. This still exists, and is charming because of the village’s old architecture and wonderfully quaint and cozy tavern-restaurants (“mehani”). Narrow cobblestone lanes wind around the center, with old style homes, mehani, and inns creating a sense of what the region was like before communism took hold.

However, another equally driving force—capitalism—has reshaped the village in recent years, as there’s been an investment boom in the tourism industry there. At the base of the Pirin Mountains (which are some of the tallest in Europe), the skiing is excellent in the winter and a variety of activities are available in the summer. Therefore, what began with Brits buying and investing has shifted to the Russians and Greeks (though no doubt Bulgarians and EU funds have handsomely contributed as well). Altogether, they dominate the village turned ski-town, and their money has allowed for the construction of a major ski center, literally 100 (if not more) new hotels and apartment buildings, and thus at least a doubling in size of what was only recently a mountain village.

The village and neighboring ones are reaping great benefits from this industry, and the region is still charming and a wonderful place to visit. But from a historical perspective, Bansko is even more fascinating, because it is very much a part of Macedonia. It became so long before Bulgaria existed, when the ancient Macedonians (led by Philip II and his son Alexander the Great) conquered the region and beyond in the 4th century BC. “Makedonija,” the local name of the region, means “highlands” in Greek. Yet it wasn’t perhaps until the 10th century and after that the area became uniquely Macedonian, as centuries of invading tribes and political demarcation created a stronger sense of regional identity. That said, it wasn’t so much that Macedonia independently created this identity, but that Bulgaria, under the rule of Tsar (Czar) Simeon the Great, entered its Golden Age and spread southwest. Macedonia thus became a very important part of the Bulgarian kingdom, as Bulgarian and South Slavic writing, schools, and monasteries were funded, supported, and built in what is today the Republic of Macedonia.

Indeed, the gem of this country, the town and lake Ohrid (in the southwest), was the center of Bulgarian Orthodox culture. While Bulgaria came under Byzantine rule in the 11th & 12th centuries and was divided, Macedonia became a unique political and geographical territory that existed until a century ago with the end of WWI and breakup of the Ottoman Empire. The area included today’s Republic of Macedonia, but was double in size, as southwestern Bulgaria (what is known today as Pirin Macedonia) and northern Greece (Aegean Macedonia) were also a clear and large part of this greater “Makedonija.” A fierce national movement had developed by that point though, through the political and sometimes terrorist organization, the “Internal Macedonian Revolutionary Organization (IMRO),” and neighboring countries were vying for power over the mixed region.

Some scholars would no doubt have an encyclopedia of words to say about my simplification of the history above, but what is clear is that greater Macedonian identity existed up until the 1950s when communist authorities in Bulgaria at first supported it, then ferociously sought to destroy it. A result of changing ideals and politics in Moscow, evidence of this are post-WWII census figures showing that nearly 188,000 people in the Pirin region of Bulgaria claimed that they were “Macedonian” in 1956, whereas by the 1992 census the significantly smaller number of 10,803 claimed such ethnicity. Even fewer—5,071—claimed to be Macedonian in the 2001 census.

In Yugoslavia, Macedonian identity was of course supported, in order to create a stronger sense of nationhood. Yet at the same time, the many people here claiming to be Bulgarian were severely persecuted—harassed, arrested, imprisoned, murdered. The politics of the region have thus been a messy ordeal (as I’ve written about before), but what I found interesting during my recent visit to Pirin Macedonia was the freedom of people there to assert this Macedonian identity.

What I didn’t do was actually speak with locals about how they perceive themselves (the work of an ethnologist not on vacation!), but one of the most interesting things I noticed was that everywhere one goes there are “Macedonian” restaurants, dishes, and songs. The latter are particularly fascinating, because while similar songs will be heard here in the Republic of Macedonia (and their history is in fact the same up till the 20th century), Macedonian music is a huge part of experiencing any Bansko establishment. As the “Bansko in your pocket” guide writes under the topic of “Macedonian music” (which is interesting that it exists at all in a tourism guide) in the “Culture & Events” section:

“Macedonian music and folklore still form the bedrock of local Bansko traditions, and the music heard in local restaurants or performed by local heritage societies is subtly different from that found in the rest of Bulgaria….The majority of the band’s playing in Bansko’s folk-style restaurants concentrate on a crowd-pleasing repertoire of sentimental songs which feature the word “Macedonia” in the lyrics as many times as possible. Main subject matters of such songs appear to be the plight of Macedonian maidens awaiting the return of boys who have left to join the anti-Ottoman guerillas.”

Yet the statement that the music is “subtly different from that found in the rest of Bulgaria” better illustrates the perception of Macedonians in Bulgaria—they largely see themselves as Bulgarians living in the geographical region of Macedonia. As I wrote several months ago, this dual perception of identity is akin to my being American, but from Indiana. I identify with aspects of both, but wouldn’t want to categorize myself solely in one or the other. Further, as a legacy of communism and after, it is well known that they consider the Republic of Macedonia to be largely comprised of Bulgarians, not “Macedonians.”

Macedonians in the Republic of Macedonia, however, have a different perception of their identity and one which I believe, and have read from scholars on the region, is a more recently created perception. That is, they feel that they are ethnically Macedonian and that Macedonia is their nation (a word which is often associated with ethnicity) and political state. This contrasts with those living in Pirin Macedonia who today see Macedonia as neither of these, but as a cultural and historical region that their ancestors settled and established Orthodoxy in, and then fought to free from the Turks. Indeed, whereas what was then Bulgaria (a smaller country than today) gained its independence from the Ottoman Empire in 1878, greater Macedonia was the last region in the Balkans to do so.

One last example of the Macedonian identity in the Pirin region is the final note on the timeline in the “Bansko in your pocket” guide. Just before the “Macedonian music” section, it reads:

“October 5, 1912 – Bansko is liberated at the start of the Balkan Wars. After the Russo-Turkish war the town was left in the Ottoman province of Macedonia. Two major anti-Ottoman uprisings took place in the area—the one in Kresna and Razlog in 1878-79 and the so-called Ilinden-Preobrazhenie uprising in 1903. These events fuel the revolutionary spirit and pride of the locals and inspire a huge part of the local Macedonian folklore songs.”

To note, while Kresna and Razlog are in Pirin Macedonia, the Ilinden uprising took place in Krushevo, not far from Ohrid in the southwest of today’s Republic of Macedonia.

I dare not go much further in assessing identity in Pirin Macedonia, as only ethnographic research could yield a better understanding of it. But I conclude by saying that the political and geographical boundaries of greater Macedonia existed for a much longer period of time than the borders today, and it will be interesting to see if one day, be it through a shift of power or a borderless EU, the separate regions of Macedonia will be reunited and again share a common identity, albeit one characteristically Macedonian—a melting pot of different languages and cultures that might just continue to beg an answer to the question “Who are the Macedonians?”

Konstantin Miladinov, “T’ga za jug”

Konstantin Miladinov is one of Macedonia’s most famous poets. He is honoured every year at the Struga (his hometown) poetry festival on Lake Ohrid, and his poems unanimously revered. Writing from Moscow in the 1850s, he wrote of his yearnings for his southern homeland through many poems. His most popular, no doubt, is “T’ga za jug”—‘Longing for the south.’ In it he mentions Stambol and Kukuš—modern day Istanbul (as Macedonia was then part of the Ottoman Empire) and Kilkis, in Aegean Macedonia (modern day Greece). Yet it’s his expression of the land, sun, and sky which paint a passionate picture of his love of Macedonia. A love that many, including myself, share.


Longing for the south (T'ga za jug)

If I had an eagle's wings
I would rise and fly on them
To our shores, to our own parts,
To see Stambol, to see Kukuš;
And to watch the sunrise: is it
Dim there too, as it is here?

If the sun still rises dimly,
If it meets me there as here,
I'll prepare for further travels,
I shall flee to other shores
Where the sunrise, greets me brightly,
And the sky is sewn with the stars.

It is dark here, dark surrounds me,
Dark fog covers all the earth,
Here are frost and snow and ashes,
Blizzards and harsh winds abound,
Fogs all around, the earth is ice,
And in the breast are cold, dark thoughts.

No, I cannot stay here, no;
I cannot upon these frosts.
Give me wings and I will don them;
I will fly to our own shores,
Go once more to our own places,
Go to Ohrid and to Struga.

There the sunrise warms the soul,
The sun gets bright in mountain woods:
Yonder gifts in great profusion
Richly spread by nature's power.
See the clear lake stretching white-
Or bluely darkened by the wind,
Look you at the plains or mountains:
Beauty' everywhere divine.

To pipe there to my heart's content!
Ah! let the sun set, let me die.


T'ga za jug (in Macedonian)

Orelski krilja kak da si metneh
i v nasi st'rni da si preletneh!
Na nasi mesta ja da si idam,
da vidam Stambol, Kukus da vidam,
da vidam dali s'nceto i tamo
mratcno ugrevjat, kako i vamo.

Ako kako ovde s'nceto me stretit,
ako pak mracno s'nceto svetit:
na p't dalecni ja ke se stegnam,
i v drugi st'rni ke si pobegnam,
k'de s'nceto svetlo ugrevjat,
k'de neboto zvezdi posevjat.

Ovde je mracno i mrak m' obviva
i temna m'gla zemja pokriva:
mrazoj i snegoj, i pepelnici,
silni vetristca i vijulici,
okolu m'gli i mrazoj zemni,
a vg'rdi studoj, i misli temni.

Ne, ja ne mozam ovde da sedam!
Ne, ja ne mozam mrazoj da gledam!
Dajte mi krilja ja da si metnam
i v nasi st'rni da si preletnam:
na nasi mesta ja da si idam,
da vidam Ohrid, Struga da vidam.

Tamo zorata greit dusata
i s'nce svetlo zajdvit v gorata.
Tamo darbite prirodna sila
so s'ta raskos gi rasturila:
bistro ezero, gledas, beleit
ili od vetar sinotemneit:
pole poglednis, ili planina
-segde Bozeva je hubavina.

Tamo po s'rce v kaval da sviram,
s'nce da zajdvit, ja da umiram!


HAPPY NEW YEAR!

Saint Nick, saints’ days, and svadbi

“Orientals seem to grow stout because they are fond of their food and their food grows fond of them, and it and they elect to live together in a happy symbiosis.”

--From Rebecca West’s chapter on Macedonia in "Black Lamb & Grey Falcon, a Journey through Yugoslavia" (1941)


It is customary in the region to eat heartily. As a guest in other peoples homes, as I so often am, it is expected that I should eat what is put before me, even if I’m not hungry or have clearly eaten enough already. This Macedonian hospitality my Peace Corps friends and I sometimes jokingly referred to as “hostitality.”

Thus eating in Macedonia is not merely for gustation, but a sign of hospitality and for socializing. There is the food itself, and there are the rituals of consuming what, when. We have our customs in the US—kinds of food at the holidays and their order of eating. Yet the effort exerted in food preparation here (and most always by women) creates an expectation that the food will be eaten by friends and family. Whereas in my family we generally only cook for ourselves and would thank the cook for their effort, here it is practically an insult to do so, for cooking and eating well are a way of life, and nothing to be put on a pedestal and praised. Here one must eat. “Jadi, jadi!” (‘eat, eat!’), gracious hosts will shout.

The winter though brings more occasions and food than any other time of year, as the days are short, the weather formidable, and there seems to be an increase in the celebration of “saint’s days.” These are the multiple days per month which celebrate a certain Orthodox (and often Catholic or Christian) saint. This Monday was St. Kliment Ohridski day, the Monday before was St. Georgi (George) day, and so on. These saints’ names, however, are also those of many individuals here, and even the patron saints of certain families. Today is St. Nikola day, for example, in honor of St. Nicholas. The many Macedonians with his name or a variation of it (eg, Nikolina, for women) will consider this their “imen den”—‘name day.’ St. Nicholas is a particularly famous saint, however, and thus it is a bigger saint day, with many of my students telling me of plans for it; and I’ve been told that at least one city in the country (Štip) even considers him the town saint, marking the holiday with official celebrations. Regardless, saints' days may very well be celebrated by many people such as those who have his or her name, for Christian reasons, and/or if their family honors this saint as their patron saint.

When families celebrate a saint’s day for their patron saint they call it a “slava.” The most recent slava I attended was last week for St. George’s day. Upon arriving at the family’s house whose slava I attended, we paid our tribute—or “ater,” a Turkish word for honoring— to their patron saint by congratulating and wishing them well. In return, they welcomed us into their dining room. While St. George was the famous dragon slayer, slaying or butchering was cast aside for the day and the food served consisted of salads, vegetarian dishes (beans and potatoes), and fish. There was no refrain from indulgence, however, and beverages offered still included plenty of whisky, brandy, and wine. Conversation while grazing over the smorgasbord ensued until dessert was served and it was time to go, though there was no pressure to do this, even after being there for several hours.

But many other occasions will arise in the following month as Orthodox Christmas (January 7th) arrives and the several saint day and new year celebrations ensue. There are a remarkable number of such days, with unique customs and traditions accompanying them. They include the Old New Year (January 12th), St. John's day, and "Vodokrst." In rural Macedonia, bonfires are made and generally men celebrate around them with drinking, story-telling, games, and dancing. Yet throughout the Orthodox world, a remarkable tradition is that on Vodokrst-'water cross' day. Symbolically tied with the celebration of the New Year, a local priest throws a cross into a body of water and several men compete to retrieve it. Whoever does will have luck the year through. But while winter is tame in Macedonia and the water in rivers and lakes may be up in the 40s or 50s, the images broadcast on TV of such events in Russia and many other snow-covered countries, where men plunge into ice covered lakes, will send chills down ones spine!

Getting back to food, there are particular dishes for these holidays. In central Macedonia, where I lived some years ago, families will eat “pastrmajlija”—a delicious flat-bread dish baked with eggs and salted pork on top. On “Badnik,” or Christmas eve, the dinner is light in honor of Christ, and no meat or oil is consumed. Generally, the meal consists of beans, bread, and fish. However, on Christmas day itself, “Božik,” friends and families indulge again in an array of dishes.

On a final note, and in reflection of some of the other events I’ve attended recently, weddings (svadbi) have their own rituals when it comes to eating. While the food is more typical and not a huge part of the occasion—dancing and rejoicing are—they still serve plenty of it. Whereas the tradition of eating in Macedonia is usually characterized by friends and family grazing over a table of salads, finger-foods, meats, and cheeses, at weddings the food is there but the live music and dancing from the beginning of the event tend to cast food to the side and make conversation rather difficult. Indeed, weddings are a true celebration with dancing beginning shortly after guests arrive and lastly for several hours without much of a break. Further, the main course isn’t served for some time: At the most recent wedding I attended, which didn’t begin until 9pm, dinner wasn’t served until after midnight, and intermittent dancing was still going on until the cake was cut at 1am! Therefore, while there was plenty of food for the eating, it wasn’t the primary focus of the evening’s event.

Having recently married but not yet having had a svadba, I can even testify to my new family’s concern in ensuring enough food be present at the dinner following the civil ceremony. While only a dozen people attended our dinner, my mother-in-law had the restaurant prepare eight pounds of lamb that she had bought, in addition to the large salad platters, appetizers, and dishes of pork, beef, chicken, potatoes, and bread that we had requested ahead of time. Altogether, there was undoubtedly enough food to feed twice as many people as were present.

This is the relationship though between people here and their food—it’s a “symbiosis” and perhaps love affair that may border on excessive indulgence. But while they may know it is not always healthy, it is a large aspect of their customs and culture, and thus one which they would only most regrettably part with.

Fesbuk, Skajp, & Jugo-nostalgia

I haven’t written in nearly a month, but much culminates in my mind these days as I finish PhD applications and the winter solstice and holidays near. Indeed, the time passes and the chaos of city life infiltrates my concentration. My teaching, life, and socializing are pleasant, but my time to write my thoughts seem fewer!

Thus I think to share some noticeable differences between Macedonian and American culture that have come to mind lately. Oddly enough (though perhaps testimony to where I spend some of my time), I’ll begin with Facebook. It’s the social networking application that most Americans and Macedonians I know use, with whom I’m “friends” on both, so is a good place for observation. I’d say the main uses of Facebook, besides collecting friends and communicating with them in personal messages, is to share updates (eg, Justin is…), photos, articles; to join causes and clubs of sorts; and to chat and write on people’s “walls.” How we know about what everyone’s doing, however, is not just through what I write them or they write me, but through the main page when one logs in. We see who’s posted, written, or joined what, who’s single or married now, what pics of friends of friends can be seen. That’s interesting enough—that we see into other people’s worlds so easily via the internet.

Yet a difference I’ve noticed in Facebook usage among the Macedonians and other friends in the region I know is that they’re not active on it in the same way as Americans. Whereas most Americans I know are more inclined to update their status with sarcastic remarks or personal comments, write on other people’s walls, change their relationship status, or share news articles, I see my Macedonian friends do so less often. Instead, they setup their accounts with less information and use them to chat and join causes. But with high speed internet readily available these days, it’s not for lack of connectivity. Instead, it seems that Facebook has a unique cultural utility, representing a different culture's characteristic behavior. That is, Macedonians are very inclined to communicate, and use the application mostly for that. Americans are also inclined to communicate, but more so to seek attention (and dare I suggest boast?) by sharing personal comments, pictures, and thoughts for all friends to see. To vouch, I know my Macedonians friends are often online because I’ve been at their places and seen them huddling over the computer, using Facebook to communicate with friends. Not to mention those who have access to it all day at work!

But another very interesting aspect of Facebook usage here is the more political and nationalist causes people support or “become fans” of. I’ve seen friends support the “I feel Yugoslavian,” “Unite SFRY,” “Mother Teresa was Albanian,” and somewhat conversely, “Mother Teresa of Calcutta.” I’ve seen “I love Macedonia,” “I love Kosova,” “Macedonian Sun,” “Macedonia United,” “Stop Greek and Bulgarian propaganda against Macedonia and Macedonian People” and in another realm, support or opposition to politicians and/or accused war criminals. And as a good segway, I’ve even seen fans of “Skype.”

Usage of Skype here is worth noting as well, as the free (when computer to computer) internet calling service is also used in a unique fashion. Because people are charged per minute on landlines and mobile phones yet they have unlimited internet, they use Skype to talk to local friends—to plan the evening or just catch up. In contrast, in the US we have unlimited talk on landlines and nearly so on cell phones, so I’ve only used Skype to communicate with friends abroad, just as I use it now to communicate with family back home. But I’ve got some Macedonians friends on Skype as well, and they occasionally pop-up with a chat message or ring to say hello, even if they’re just a five minute taxi ride away.

Thus it is that human adaptability and consumption go beyond getting used to conditions and technology and using them not just for their initial purpose, but instead in new ways that seem most effective. Do what you can, where you are, with what you’ve got…

Negotino Revisited, Six Years On

"It was the best of times, it was the worst of times"...I was 23 and just out of college. I had little inclination to join the American workforce, and being a barrista in Bloomington, IN wasn't satisfying enough. I yearned for adventure, I had wanderlust. I joined Peace Corps. That was 2002. As a parting gift, my old friend from college, Lisa, gave me an appropriate shirt from the "Life is good" people. It said "Not all who wander are lost," quoting Tolkien. I wore the long sleeved T on several occasions during Peace Corps training, and it became the slogan on our groups' self-produced t-shirt.

Indeed, it came to be that year that I joined 19 other Peace Corps trainees in Washington, DC, for a three day orientation, and then departed the US on Thursday, November 14, 2002. We flew Austrian Air to Vienna I recall, using a portal at the airport there to send free emails and grabbing a coffee on that early Friday morning arrival. But we flew on to Skopje, and it was a fanciful feeling to know that soon I'd be in a very foreign country, and one to which I'd have to immerse myself so immensely.

I recall the flight over more arid and mountainous land, and in my journal that day I wrote of the windy bus trip from the airport in Skopje through the Vardar River canyon and valley to the south-central town of Negotino. It was dark by the time we arrived, but we were all excited and engaged in conversation with the Peace Corps staff, and the energy didn't stop once there.

Upon stowing our bags in our hotel rooms we were greeted and entertained by Macedonian folk dancers who offered us the traditional bread and salt. Like the famous Yugoslav rock group, "leb i sol." Yet their energy and our excitement got most of us onto our feet to dance the "oro" for the first time. We had a buffet of meats, cheeses, veggies, and olives, and a few of us ordered our first bottle of local Tikves wine. It was a time of many firsts.

In the ensuing days I recall intense moments of wondering whether I could do this. I struggled to say the word for thank you in Macedonian, as it sounded so foreign. "Blagodaram." I couldn't get the intonation right, and I wasn't alone. I suppose that made me feel better, that I wasn't in a Spanish speaking country where other trainees may very well have spoken Spanish fluently upon joining Peace Corps. No, we were all a bunch of Americans with hardly a clue about what the hell the Macedonian language was. Those days were busy but momentous, as we formed a unique bond that not every Peace Corps group does.

This was in part due to the fact that we were the first group back in the country after the conflict in 2001. Thus we weren't following anyone's footsteps, and only Macedonians and a few American Peace Corps staff were there to greet us. It was somewhat ominous though, with that recent conflict still festering, the short, late autumn days keeping us confined indoors, and the overall foreigness of the land and language. Much has changed in the country today, but some of my earliest grievances then still figure into my thoughts these days. As I wrote on November 17, 2002 and still lament today:

"There's often smoke in the air; someone lights a cigarette and you're suddenly inhaling it. They don't have good ventilation systems here--one little difference. Another: toilet paper doesn't go down the toilet, but in the can beside it to be removed by someone. Someone with a dirty job. I hope they wash their hands."

But I quickly got used to it, and minus a few bouts of stomach illness, came to accept it as part of the culture. Not to mention, there wasn't much I could do about it and I was more concerned with learning the language and getting to know my host-family. I think all of us opened our minds and braced ourselves for the onslaught of cross cultural experiences to come; the three month pre-service training (PST) and homestay living experience clearly the most challenging of all.

What's amazing is how quickly we all did immerse ourselves. I'm sure there were variations, but within six days of arriving I was writing sentences in Cyrillic and having elementary conversations with my host family. I recall Matt and I visiting our friend Hank that first week at his family's house, where his host-father gave us the historical lecture of the country (the one we'd hear over and over again throughout our service, and personally to this day): that the Turks had occupied the country for 500 years and all that had followed since. Well, maybe not all, but a brief synopsis that we miraculously understood most of despite being told in a very new foreign language.

Those were the days, from Negotino to Pepelishte for five of us living there; and to Gradsko, Rosoman, and Demir Kapija for the other trainees. Negotino was our hub, but our small towns and villages our homes. That we were always happy is unlikely, but we submerged ourselves in the ocean of Macedonian culture, and I think few of us regret it or deny having an affinity for this country.

Personally, six years on my philosophy on life has changed, yet my love of Macedonia remains. I see it prospering and preparing for a new era yet still embracing its traditions and character. A couple of recent visits to the old training haunt (as my actual volunteer site was another town) allowed me to fondly recall those days. In contrast to Skopje and other cities, the peacefulness of the town of Negotino is one thing, but not even as sublime as the provincialness of the anachronous villages such as Pepelishte; except for electricity and running water, they largely exist today as they did centuries before. Only the sounds of roosters are heard, the roads are dirt, and dogs, donkeys, and pigs make up half of the living population of the village.

Anyhow, from one of my recent visits I've created a Flickr slideshow. Those of you who were there will view things a little more personally perhaps. For those of you who weren't but never saw where I was, here you go!

http://www.flickr.com/photos/31046246@N07/sets/72157609046479855/show/

Golem pozdrav & srekna godishnina,
Dzastin