Monday, October 12, 2009
Thursday, October 1, 2009
How to Make Ajvar, Pt. 2
After Pt. 1, we were left with these cooked and slimy peppers. We roasted some eggplants, not pictured, to add more bulk to the ajvar.
A bowl of the roasted peppers, de-seeded, skinless, and slimy.
We ran the peppers through a meat grinder. Back in the old days, one grinder would be shared amongst a number of families, and dozens of people - well, just women, honestly, would share in the ajvar cooking.
After grinding down all the peppers, and adding about two liters of oil and unhealthy levels of salt, the ajvar pot goes back on the ajvar stove. It bubbles and boils like lava as it cooks down, and needs to be stirred constantly.
After 3 or 4 hours - when it has that "special ajvar glow" according to one elderly Macedonian expert - it's ready for the jars. We got about 9 large jars out of the 25 kilos of peppers and 7 kilos of eggplant.
The best part, of course, is cleaning the pot with bread and cheese at the end.
A bowl of the roasted peppers, de-seeded, skinless, and slimy.
We ran the peppers through a meat grinder. Back in the old days, one grinder would be shared amongst a number of families, and dozens of people - well, just women, honestly, would share in the ajvar cooking.
After grinding down all the peppers, and adding about two liters of oil and unhealthy levels of salt, the ajvar pot goes back on the ajvar stove. It bubbles and boils like lava as it cooks down, and needs to be stirred constantly.
After 3 or 4 hours - when it has that "special ajvar glow" according to one elderly Macedonian expert - it's ready for the jars. We got about 9 large jars out of the 25 kilos of peppers and 7 kilos of eggplant.
The best part, of course, is cleaning the pot with bread and cheese at the end.
How to Make Ajvar
September and October are ajvar(pronounced ay-var)-making season. All across Macedonia, from inner-city Skopje balconies to mountain village yards, people break out the ajvar stove, purchase hundred-kilo sacks of red pepper, and get to roasting.
Ajvar is basically just red peppers (and often eggplant) cooked down into a paste, to be stored and eating with bread and white cheese during the winter. It's also very labor intensive, and is therefore usually cause to get dozens of people together to socialize, drink rakija, and keep the peppers turning.
We paid about $10 for 25 kilograms of red peppers. Try that in the US. After cleaning them, we arranged them on the traditional round ajvar stove.
The peppers roast until they are mostly black . This is just the thing, transparent skin that burns; the flesh of the pepper is only slightly cooked. The blackened peppers are removed, and placed in a closed jar. They are still steaming hot, and the steam further loosens the skin of the pepper.
I had to keep the peppers turning. I managed to develop a system called "The American Technique", which will probably increase ajvar production tenfold across Macedonia. Or something like that.
After steaming in the closed pot, the blackened peppers are rinsed. The remaining skin is removed, as well as the seeds and the stem.
Continued in Part Two. . . .
Ajvar is basically just red peppers (and often eggplant) cooked down into a paste, to be stored and eating with bread and white cheese during the winter. It's also very labor intensive, and is therefore usually cause to get dozens of people together to socialize, drink rakija, and keep the peppers turning.
We paid about $10 for 25 kilograms of red peppers. Try that in the US. After cleaning them, we arranged them on the traditional round ajvar stove.
The peppers roast until they are mostly black . This is just the thing, transparent skin that burns; the flesh of the pepper is only slightly cooked. The blackened peppers are removed, and placed in a closed jar. They are still steaming hot, and the steam further loosens the skin of the pepper.
I had to keep the peppers turning. I managed to develop a system called "The American Technique", which will probably increase ajvar production tenfold across Macedonia. Or something like that.
After steaming in the closed pot, the blackened peppers are rinsed. The remaining skin is removed, as well as the seeds and the stem.
Continued in Part Two. . . .
Sunday, September 27, 2009
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
Saturday, September 19, 2009
Velestovo Cemetery
During my time at the language seminar in Ohrid, I went on a little trip to a village in the mountains above the lake called Velestovo. There were a few more new vacations homes than most villages, and an interesting gallery for a local artist, but aside from those things, it was typical of any other village I had been to. There was a public spigot for water in the center, and cobblestone streets leading off through the hills. Newer houses were built alongside mud-brick dwellings from who-knows-when. Goats were far more abundant than people.
There's also an interesting old church. What really caught my eye, however, was the cemetery surrounding the church. Orthodox Christian graves almost always have an actual picture of the deceased on the tombstone - those who died in the earlier part of the century have glazed porcelain pictures, while the more recently buried have photographs laser-etched onto the stone. It's a portrait gallery, and you can walk around looking at what the people looked like in life.
And what long lives they were. Aside from the occasional tragic under-30 death, these villagers had all lived for 70, 80, 90 years. There were even several who made it just past 100. Imagine - born in 1900, this person had lived in the Ottoman Empire, the Kingdom of Serbs, Croats, and Slovenes, then Yugoslavia, and finally an independent Republic of Macedonia. . . and they never needed to leave Velestovo to do so. 100 years of carrying sacks of peppers and onions up the side of a mountain, of rakija and ajvar-making, of sheep-shearing and goat-milking. They seem like hard, hard lives at first - but how hard can a life be, when it lasts for most of a century?
Most of the Macedonian (as opposed to Albanian) villages in Macedonia are dying, in that there are no young people. The older generations remain, unable or unwilling to adapt to a new way of life, unwilling to leave their ancestral home. The younger generations, however, have no incentives to remain in the village. Near-subsistence farming and a social network of under 25 people are a tough sell these days. But the older generation - those 60 and 70 year old people - are still working. Go to a village in Macedonia, and you'll see ancient ment and women, still lugging 50 lb sacks of onions on their backs, chopping wood, slaughtering goats for a feast.
It's really amazing - after all, I have trouble imagining a good number of healthy 20-somethings, myself included, managing these activities. But these old villagers do. They just keep working until the end. And it sounds cliched, but they really do seem like relics from another time. It's not just that their lifestyles are so different, so integrated with the seasons, intertwined with the Old Church Calendar, with families and friends. I can understand that, at least in an academic sense.
But without fail, if you wander through a Macedonian village, there will be a shriveled old woman or man sitting on their steps, or under a tree. . . sitting. And if you say hello, they will respond with the warmest, most genuine "Good day, boy!" you could imagine. And maybe they'll invite you for coffee, or maybe you just continue wandering.
And that villager will continue to sit, slightly smiling, seeming wholly content - with what? Reflecting on life? Or are they simply content with their own contentedness? There's the gap that I just can't cross. Superficially, our lives are much more complicated, the village life 'simpler'. But that's really not true. Our lives are just more cluttered, not complicated. And the real complications of village life - the relationships, the legends, the church calendar, the best spot to find mushrooms, and how much ajvar to make for winter - just don't register with me anymore. I just can't understand them in any deep sense. It's too different.
So trying to figure out what's on that villager's mind as they sit, smiling, really is impossible. It's not just a matter of "I think of movies, they think of folk dances". I can't just translate my experience directly to theirs, unless I want a shallow, superficial understanding. Everything in their life, leading up to that thought underneath that tree at the age of 90, has been wholly strange to me.
It just leaves me at a total loss.
There's also an interesting old church. What really caught my eye, however, was the cemetery surrounding the church. Orthodox Christian graves almost always have an actual picture of the deceased on the tombstone - those who died in the earlier part of the century have glazed porcelain pictures, while the more recently buried have photographs laser-etched onto the stone. It's a portrait gallery, and you can walk around looking at what the people looked like in life.
And what long lives they were. Aside from the occasional tragic under-30 death, these villagers had all lived for 70, 80, 90 years. There were even several who made it just past 100. Imagine - born in 1900, this person had lived in the Ottoman Empire, the Kingdom of Serbs, Croats, and Slovenes, then Yugoslavia, and finally an independent Republic of Macedonia. . . and they never needed to leave Velestovo to do so. 100 years of carrying sacks of peppers and onions up the side of a mountain, of rakija and ajvar-making, of sheep-shearing and goat-milking. They seem like hard, hard lives at first - but how hard can a life be, when it lasts for most of a century?
Most of the Macedonian (as opposed to Albanian) villages in Macedonia are dying, in that there are no young people. The older generations remain, unable or unwilling to adapt to a new way of life, unwilling to leave their ancestral home. The younger generations, however, have no incentives to remain in the village. Near-subsistence farming and a social network of under 25 people are a tough sell these days. But the older generation - those 60 and 70 year old people - are still working. Go to a village in Macedonia, and you'll see ancient ment and women, still lugging 50 lb sacks of onions on their backs, chopping wood, slaughtering goats for a feast.
It's really amazing - after all, I have trouble imagining a good number of healthy 20-somethings, myself included, managing these activities. But these old villagers do. They just keep working until the end. And it sounds cliched, but they really do seem like relics from another time. It's not just that their lifestyles are so different, so integrated with the seasons, intertwined with the Old Church Calendar, with families and friends. I can understand that, at least in an academic sense.
But without fail, if you wander through a Macedonian village, there will be a shriveled old woman or man sitting on their steps, or under a tree. . . sitting. And if you say hello, they will respond with the warmest, most genuine "Good day, boy!" you could imagine. And maybe they'll invite you for coffee, or maybe you just continue wandering.
And that villager will continue to sit, slightly smiling, seeming wholly content - with what? Reflecting on life? Or are they simply content with their own contentedness? There's the gap that I just can't cross. Superficially, our lives are much more complicated, the village life 'simpler'. But that's really not true. Our lives are just more cluttered, not complicated. And the real complications of village life - the relationships, the legends, the church calendar, the best spot to find mushrooms, and how much ajvar to make for winter - just don't register with me anymore. I just can't understand them in any deep sense. It's too different.
So trying to figure out what's on that villager's mind as they sit, smiling, really is impossible. It's not just a matter of "I think of movies, they think of folk dances". I can't just translate my experience directly to theirs, unless I want a shallow, superficial understanding. Everything in their life, leading up to that thought underneath that tree at the age of 90, has been wholly strange to me.
It just leaves me at a total loss.
Sunday, September 13, 2009
Etc.
Yugoslav wheels near Trpejca, Ohrid
Beer on the beach at Kaneo, Ohrid
Up the canyon at Matka
Still water at Matka Canyon
Living abroad means . . .
that you end up washing your hair with conditioner and clothes with fabric softener for months on end, until someone corrects your error.
Looks can be deceiving.
Looks can be deceiving.
Saturday, September 12, 2009
Our Ruins
I came across this, reading an article about the decline of rural Indiana at the Daily Yonder:
"In Europe you often come upon castle ruins as you travel. Half of a stone archway will rise out of a hillside, hinting at long-gone glory. In Greentown, I pass a sad old Victorian home covered in fading aluminum siding. Its porch and sidewalk are gone, but the two concrete steps still rest alone and useless in the middle of the yard, leading to and from nowhere. In America’s compressed historical cycles, these are our ancient ruins."
That about sums it up.
Also:
Vevay, Indiana was voted one of the 10 coolest small towns in America. It's been awhile since I've been around those parts, but . . . well.
"In Europe you often come upon castle ruins as you travel. Half of a stone archway will rise out of a hillside, hinting at long-gone glory. In Greentown, I pass a sad old Victorian home covered in fading aluminum siding. Its porch and sidewalk are gone, but the two concrete steps still rest alone and useless in the middle of the yard, leading to and from nowhere. In America’s compressed historical cycles, these are our ancient ruins."
That about sums it up.
Also:
Vevay, Indiana was voted one of the 10 coolest small towns in America. It's been awhile since I've been around those parts, but . . . well.
Kosovo Continued
It really seems odd that I was just in a country which, only a few short years ago, was a complete war zone. Over 250,000 refugees spilled into Macedonia during the conflict - and keep in mind that Macedonia's population hovers just around 2 million. United States and NATO soldiers (not to mention the thousands of Serb and Albanian soldiers and civilians) were killed, and were killing each other. Even today, Kosovo isn't really a functioning nation. It's under the administration of EULEX, the successor "program" of the previous NATO administration of the country.
There are still no-go areas for travelers in the country. While the country is around 90% ethnic Albanian, the rest are mostly Serbs, and they still both deny the legitimacy of the new government, and with funding from Serbia, run their own parallel court systems and police forces. The city of Mitrovica, divided between Albanians on one side of the river and Serbs on the other, is a constant flash-point. There were fresh riots there just days before I visited. The country has almost no economy to speak of, minus international aid and diaspora money. A quarter of the vehicles on the two-lane highway to Pristina were KFOR or NATO military trucks.
And when I describe it that way. . . riots, barbed wire, military personel, no-go areas, it's easy to think, "Why on earth would anyone go there?!" Only a very few of my Macedonian friends have crossed the border, just ten miles away. They were all very eager to hear what my trip was like, what Pristina was like, what the people were like, as if it were some exotic nation far away . . . when you can probably see Kosovo from the top of some of the apartment complexes here in Skopje.
It's funny, really, because my Macedonian friends act in exactly the same way as my American friends when I speak to them about Macedonia. Earthquakes? Albanian insurgencies? Corrupt governments, black markets, gypsies, villagers?! How do I function here?! It must be so strange, so different. . . When I explain the bewilderment of Americans about Macedonia to Macedonians, they really don't understand. It's just home. There are cafes, hotels, schools, friends, and all the makings of a normal, pleasant life. And for the most part, the same goes for Kosovo. Pristina has cafes, English-themed pubs, schools and universities. There are bus services, even to Mitrovica. It's amazing what people can accept, get used to, or deal with in life.
There were two very surreal, very creepy moments during my short trip. The first was near that hideous library. It sits in a huge field, overgrown with weeds, next to the refurbished University of Pristina. Far behind it, in the corner of the field, next to piles of dirt from some sort of construction, stood what once was a Serbian Orthodox Church. It was stripped of its roof, the empty doorways filled with barbed wire. It looked more ruinous than any actual 14th century ruin I've seen in Macedonia. There were military helicopters flying overhead. Yet near this war casualty of a church, in this overgrown field, were the fashionable students of Pristina, wandering in and out of the university, chatting, with those helicopters overhead. Life continues.
The second moment was on Bill Clinton Boulevard, with that giant smiling picture looking down. I had just commented to my friend that the Albanians in Pristina - mostly Muslim, presumably - dressed much less conservatively than those in Macedonia. Just as I said this, we stopped and noticed roughly 100 people on the sidewalk, three rows deep, facing a building. As we walked closer, we noticed that they were Muslims preparing to pray. This seemed odd, because the building wasn't a mosque. . . until we noticed the green-and-white banners and Arabic signs. Saudia Arabia has funded a lot of new mosques and Islamic centers in Albania and Kosovo, which spread their ultra-conservative type of Islam. This was one. . . sitting just under old Slick Willy's American smile.
Life goes on.
There are still no-go areas for travelers in the country. While the country is around 90% ethnic Albanian, the rest are mostly Serbs, and they still both deny the legitimacy of the new government, and with funding from Serbia, run their own parallel court systems and police forces. The city of Mitrovica, divided between Albanians on one side of the river and Serbs on the other, is a constant flash-point. There were fresh riots there just days before I visited. The country has almost no economy to speak of, minus international aid and diaspora money. A quarter of the vehicles on the two-lane highway to Pristina were KFOR or NATO military trucks.
And when I describe it that way. . . riots, barbed wire, military personel, no-go areas, it's easy to think, "Why on earth would anyone go there?!" Only a very few of my Macedonian friends have crossed the border, just ten miles away. They were all very eager to hear what my trip was like, what Pristina was like, what the people were like, as if it were some exotic nation far away . . . when you can probably see Kosovo from the top of some of the apartment complexes here in Skopje.
It's funny, really, because my Macedonian friends act in exactly the same way as my American friends when I speak to them about Macedonia. Earthquakes? Albanian insurgencies? Corrupt governments, black markets, gypsies, villagers?! How do I function here?! It must be so strange, so different. . . When I explain the bewilderment of Americans about Macedonia to Macedonians, they really don't understand. It's just home. There are cafes, hotels, schools, friends, and all the makings of a normal, pleasant life. And for the most part, the same goes for Kosovo. Pristina has cafes, English-themed pubs, schools and universities. There are bus services, even to Mitrovica. It's amazing what people can accept, get used to, or deal with in life.
There were two very surreal, very creepy moments during my short trip. The first was near that hideous library. It sits in a huge field, overgrown with weeds, next to the refurbished University of Pristina. Far behind it, in the corner of the field, next to piles of dirt from some sort of construction, stood what once was a Serbian Orthodox Church. It was stripped of its roof, the empty doorways filled with barbed wire. It looked more ruinous than any actual 14th century ruin I've seen in Macedonia. There were military helicopters flying overhead. Yet near this war casualty of a church, in this overgrown field, were the fashionable students of Pristina, wandering in and out of the university, chatting, with those helicopters overhead. Life continues.
The second moment was on Bill Clinton Boulevard, with that giant smiling picture looking down. I had just commented to my friend that the Albanians in Pristina - mostly Muslim, presumably - dressed much less conservatively than those in Macedonia. Just as I said this, we stopped and noticed roughly 100 people on the sidewalk, three rows deep, facing a building. As we walked closer, we noticed that they were Muslims preparing to pray. This seemed odd, because the building wasn't a mosque. . . until we noticed the green-and-white banners and Arabic signs. Saudia Arabia has funded a lot of new mosques and Islamic centers in Albania and Kosovo, which spread their ultra-conservative type of Islam. This was one. . . sitting just under old Slick Willy's American smile.
Life goes on.
Friday, September 11, 2009
A Day-Trip to Kosovo
Kosovo - one of the newest states in the world, which just recently declared full independence from Serbia - is only 20 miles away from Skopje. A bus ride to its capital city, Pristina, only takes 1 1/2 hours . . . depending on how many wagons or tractors one gets stuck behind. Yet, until today, I'd never taken the opportunity to make a visit.
I was only in Pristina for a few hours, but I was able to see the three major sites that I was interested in. . .
Bill Clinton Boulevard: He initiated the 90's NATO campaign against Milosevic and the Serbs, which eventually led to Kosovo's independence. I probably saw more American flags in Pristina than in the average Midwestern town.
The Newborn Obelisk: Unveiled when Kosovo declared independence. Awww. The graffiti is actually supposed to be there.
The BATTLE LIBRARY: Seriously, this is the city library. It looks like they took the usual ugly, blocky, concrete Yugoslav architecture and wrapped it in razor-wire. It's not actually called the Battle Library. . . because the other buildings are too afraid to fight it.
I was only in Pristina for a few hours, but I was able to see the three major sites that I was interested in. . .
Bill Clinton Boulevard: He initiated the 90's NATO campaign against Milosevic and the Serbs, which eventually led to Kosovo's independence. I probably saw more American flags in Pristina than in the average Midwestern town.
The Newborn Obelisk: Unveiled when Kosovo declared independence. Awww. The graffiti is actually supposed to be there.
The BATTLE LIBRARY: Seriously, this is the city library. It looks like they took the usual ugly, blocky, concrete Yugoslav architecture and wrapped it in razor-wire. It's not actually called the Battle Library. . . because the other buildings are too afraid to fight it.
Monday, September 7, 2009
Macedonian Dialects, Cont.
Another interesting dialect I've just learned of comes from the region around Prespa Lake, the slightly-less picturesque body of water that feeds into Ohrid Lake in the southwest of the country. There are a series of really well-off villages in the region, although aside from endless apple and plum orchards, there's very little economic activity.
The wealth of the villages comes from abroad, as people from the Prespa region are known to have always travelled abroad to find work - even back to the 17th and 18th centuries. In the twentieth century, most travel to Canada, Australia, and the US to work, leading to an interesting dialect. Rather than use basic Macedonian words, English is randomly inserted. The Macedonian verb for "I am calling on the phone" is "se javuvam". . . but in Prespa, one can overhear "se call-uvam". Interesting stuff.
Another interesting bit about the region is that the names of the villages are hilarious. I'm sure that at one point, these village names had a different meaning, but in modern-day Macedonian slang, you can travel from "Adultery-town" to "People who pee in their pants" to "Toothless People Village" to a place that can be colloquially translated as "F***ed".
The wealth of the villages comes from abroad, as people from the Prespa region are known to have always travelled abroad to find work - even back to the 17th and 18th centuries. In the twentieth century, most travel to Canada, Australia, and the US to work, leading to an interesting dialect. Rather than use basic Macedonian words, English is randomly inserted. The Macedonian verb for "I am calling on the phone" is "se javuvam". . . but in Prespa, one can overhear "se call-uvam". Interesting stuff.
Another interesting bit about the region is that the names of the villages are hilarious. I'm sure that at one point, these village names had a different meaning, but in modern-day Macedonian slang, you can travel from "Adultery-town" to "People who pee in their pants" to "Toothless People Village" to a place that can be colloquially translated as "F***ed".
Sunday, September 6, 2009
Winding down. . .
Before I begin, Justin has some interesting thoughts after taking a "break" from Macedonia for awhile.
I woke up this morning, like most mornings since my return from Ohrid, around 8 AM, to the racket of the construction directly behind my house. Yet another concrete, modern-looking apartment complex is being constructed where an early Yugoslav-style apartment building once stood. I've started to train myself to sleep through all that, and this morning there was little light and a cool breeze coming through my open window, and I was able to drop easily back into a deep sleep.
When I woke back up, the sky was still cloudy and a cool, moist breeze was still blowing. I felt disoriented for a moment, but then realized - this is what the fall feels like. The moisture of the air, the gray skies, the smell of roasting peppers - this is what it felt like when I first arrived. It's not actually autumn here just yet, of course. The entire year has been random and strange in terms of weather, and this is an odd cold-front that will surely be followed by more warm days.
But that cold breeze punched me right in the face. I'm leaving on October 22.
I had always planned to stay an entire year, to catch all the festivals and weather and holidays through the whole year, to stop in at my institute for the opening of the new semester. What I didn't expect was this overwhelming strangeness, this feeling of deja vu. "Here I am, back again where I started. . . "
It's more than just the smell of roasting peppers, though. Just as when I first arrived, I'm full of a nervous sort of energy. Then, I had a whole year of Macedonia before me, and no idea what would happen. Now, I'm excited for my homecoming, but still anxious - I have no idea what the future is going to hold for me now. Then, I would walk around the city, observant, trying to take everything in. . . and now, I'll savour it all before I go.
Odd feelings.
I woke up this morning, like most mornings since my return from Ohrid, around 8 AM, to the racket of the construction directly behind my house. Yet another concrete, modern-looking apartment complex is being constructed where an early Yugoslav-style apartment building once stood. I've started to train myself to sleep through all that, and this morning there was little light and a cool breeze coming through my open window, and I was able to drop easily back into a deep sleep.
When I woke back up, the sky was still cloudy and a cool, moist breeze was still blowing. I felt disoriented for a moment, but then realized - this is what the fall feels like. The moisture of the air, the gray skies, the smell of roasting peppers - this is what it felt like when I first arrived. It's not actually autumn here just yet, of course. The entire year has been random and strange in terms of weather, and this is an odd cold-front that will surely be followed by more warm days.
But that cold breeze punched me right in the face. I'm leaving on October 22.
I had always planned to stay an entire year, to catch all the festivals and weather and holidays through the whole year, to stop in at my institute for the opening of the new semester. What I didn't expect was this overwhelming strangeness, this feeling of deja vu. "Here I am, back again where I started. . . "
It's more than just the smell of roasting peppers, though. Just as when I first arrived, I'm full of a nervous sort of energy. Then, I had a whole year of Macedonia before me, and no idea what would happen. Now, I'm excited for my homecoming, but still anxious - I have no idea what the future is going to hold for me now. Then, I would walk around the city, observant, trying to take everything in. . . and now, I'll savour it all before I go.
Odd feelings.
Friday, August 21, 2009
The American War
I was with a group from the seminar in the lakeside city of Struga last night, for the opening of the popular Struga Poetry Festival. During the opening celebration, fireworks were launched and as they burst over head, one of my friends - a 20 year-old Serbian girl from Nis - covered her ears and said to me, "This is just like the American War. They bombed Nis, I remember it all, I was 10."
She was sort of joking with me, of course - she doesn't hold a grudge against me personally, nor really against America. It didn't seem like she had much of an opinion at all, it was just an event that happened during her lifetime.
But it's still strange for me to think that those images of American planes over Bosnia, American troops in Kosovo, and American bombs falling on the civilian centers of Nis and Belgrade in Serbia. . . well, those things happened just a few hundred kilometers away, to people that I eat dinner with every day.
She was sort of joking with me, of course - she doesn't hold a grudge against me personally, nor really against America. It didn't seem like she had much of an opinion at all, it was just an event that happened during her lifetime.
But it's still strange for me to think that those images of American planes over Bosnia, American troops in Kosovo, and American bombs falling on the civilian centers of Nis and Belgrade in Serbia. . . well, those things happened just a few hundred kilometers away, to people that I eat dinner with every day.
Thursday, August 20, 2009
Seminarot za Makedonski Jazik
I've been at the Seminar for Macedonian Language for the past week, and will be here through the end of August. The above picture is the view from my hotel balcony, overlooking lake Ohrid.
It's been a really great time so far - there are students and professors from Russia, Poland, Belarus, Germany, Belgium, France, Ukraine, the Czech Republic, Romania, Hungary, Serbia, Croatia, Greece . . . and of course, America, studying at various levels of the Macedonian language.
Saturday, August 8, 2009
Fish-cicles
Macedonian grocery stores have frozen food sections. Normal frozen food sections, with boxes of chicken-patties and vacuum-sealed sterile shrimp and ice cream. This is fine, this does not bother me.
What does bother me is that, though 90% of all the food is prepackaged like any other frozen food, there is invariably one bin - maybe two - of unwrapped, unlabeled fish or chicken parts. Frozen solid. Really, next to the frozen pizzas, you'll see a big bin of just plain whole fish, frozen so hard that some of them have cracked in two or three parts. Or a giant bin of chicken legs and wings, unbreaded, unpackaged, frozen solid.
What do you do with this? I mean, most people shop at markets that are right next to their houses, but do some people drop an unwrapped frozen fish in their grocery bags and walk two blocks in the Skopje heat, praying it doesn't melt completely before they get back to their freezer?
I'm going to get a picture of this. I just don't think you could believe me otherwise.
What does bother me is that, though 90% of all the food is prepackaged like any other frozen food, there is invariably one bin - maybe two - of unwrapped, unlabeled fish or chicken parts. Frozen solid. Really, next to the frozen pizzas, you'll see a big bin of just plain whole fish, frozen so hard that some of them have cracked in two or three parts. Or a giant bin of chicken legs and wings, unbreaded, unpackaged, frozen solid.
What do you do with this? I mean, most people shop at markets that are right next to their houses, but do some people drop an unwrapped frozen fish in their grocery bags and walk two blocks in the Skopje heat, praying it doesn't melt completely before they get back to their freezer?
I'm going to get a picture of this. I just don't think you could believe me otherwise.
The Wal-Mart Effect
I've heard from my numerous Peace Corps acquaintances about the huge adjustments that one has to make when returning to the United States. Peace Corps volunteers are gone for two years, and aside from those lucky enough to be placed in crumbling Eastern European capitals - Skopje, Sofia, etc. - they live in extremely rural villages or collapsed industrial centers. The stores that exist are tiny - one room in a house converted into a a grocery, a one-room clothing "boutique", or a simple kiosk with the goods outside and the seller behind glass. Skopje, however, has several malls and shopping centers, as well as numerous supermarket chains. Most of the larger cities in Macedonia have some sort of open-air mall, and usually a small-but-recognizable chain grocery store. For the most part, however, the big-box retailers that Americans (and to an extent, some Western European countries) have come to love are almost nonexistent. So, when these Peace Corps volunteers return to America, they experience something which might be called "The Wal-Mart Effect", where one is completely overwhelmed by walking into a big-box retailer for the first time after returning home.
Earlier this summer, I had a mini-Wal-Mart-effect experience. Skopje is a fairly developed city, and a ring-road around the city was recently completed. I can't remember the occasion, but someone took me out to the edge of the city where all of the new development is taking place, to a store called "Huba-Mart". I really can't describe the feeling when I walked in, it was so. . . strange. It was a huge, over-air-conditioned pole barn, with the sound of shoppers echoing off the polished concrete floor. I was overwhelmed with the smell of various plastics, tinged with potting soil, paint and varnish.
It was the Macedonian "Home Depot". As I walked through the aisles, I experienced a strange mix of revulsion, nostalgia, and bewilderment. It was like a waking dream. I almost lost it when I turned a corner to see a row of drip-coffee machines and filters. I needed nothing, but my mind was reeling - "LOOK AT ALL THE THINGS YOU CAN BUY!"
The best approximation I can think of would be the scene in that David Bowie classic, "The Labyrinth", where the girl - that was Jennifer Connelly, right? - entered into what she thought was her own room, with that crazy hunchbacked lady trying to trick her. Everything looked the same, but it was just ever so slightly off. . . and then the girl breaks the mirror, and realizes it was all just an elaborate fantasy.
I walked outside, into the parking lot with the freshly mowed grass and the highway exit ramp, and I desperately wanted to break the illusion - "THIS CAN'T BE MACEDONIA! YOU ARE LYING TO ME!" I still get chills thinking about it. . . it was just so creepy. So out of place. And right afterward, we went to a giant Vero grocery store, which is attached to a gas station and a McDonald's. It didn't help my feeling of American consumerism-bizarreness, but it didn't make it much worse. . . at least the giant grocery store had racks of ajvar and Turkish coffee to remind me that I was just in globalized-Macedonia.
Now that I've booked my plane tickets home - I'll be back on October 22 - I think more and more about that Wal-Mart effect. That overwhelming air-conditioning. . . the sickly flourescent lighting. . .the rows and rows and rows of STUFF, all kinds of STUFF. . .
It just seems so foreign, so strange. It'll be impossible to avoid, I know. . . but I'll give it a shot.
Earlier this summer, I had a mini-Wal-Mart-effect experience. Skopje is a fairly developed city, and a ring-road around the city was recently completed. I can't remember the occasion, but someone took me out to the edge of the city where all of the new development is taking place, to a store called "Huba-Mart". I really can't describe the feeling when I walked in, it was so. . . strange. It was a huge, over-air-conditioned pole barn, with the sound of shoppers echoing off the polished concrete floor. I was overwhelmed with the smell of various plastics, tinged with potting soil, paint and varnish.
It was the Macedonian "Home Depot". As I walked through the aisles, I experienced a strange mix of revulsion, nostalgia, and bewilderment. It was like a waking dream. I almost lost it when I turned a corner to see a row of drip-coffee machines and filters. I needed nothing, but my mind was reeling - "LOOK AT ALL THE THINGS YOU CAN BUY!"
The best approximation I can think of would be the scene in that David Bowie classic, "The Labyrinth", where the girl - that was Jennifer Connelly, right? - entered into what she thought was her own room, with that crazy hunchbacked lady trying to trick her. Everything looked the same, but it was just ever so slightly off. . . and then the girl breaks the mirror, and realizes it was all just an elaborate fantasy.
I walked outside, into the parking lot with the freshly mowed grass and the highway exit ramp, and I desperately wanted to break the illusion - "THIS CAN'T BE MACEDONIA! YOU ARE LYING TO ME!" I still get chills thinking about it. . . it was just so creepy. So out of place. And right afterward, we went to a giant Vero grocery store, which is attached to a gas station and a McDonald's. It didn't help my feeling of American consumerism-bizarreness, but it didn't make it much worse. . . at least the giant grocery store had racks of ajvar and Turkish coffee to remind me that I was just in globalized-Macedonia.
Now that I've booked my plane tickets home - I'll be back on October 22 - I think more and more about that Wal-Mart effect. That overwhelming air-conditioning. . . the sickly flourescent lighting. . .the rows and rows and rows of STUFF, all kinds of STUFF. . .
It just seems so foreign, so strange. It'll be impossible to avoid, I know. . . but I'll give it a shot.
Thursday, August 6, 2009
Macedonian Dialects
The diversity of dialects in Macedonia is really amazing. This is a country of 2 million people, yet there's a good chance that someone from Skopje won't really understand someone from Strumica, who won't really understand someone from Bitola because of accent, slang, and other differences. The formal, standardized Macedonian language is based on the dialect from the middle of the country - somewhere between Veles and Prilep. The Skopski dialect differs by including a great deal of Serbian, and dropping certain consonants - 'shto' (which means what) becomes 'sho'. Entire verb endings are dropped in the Strumica dialect, which is closer to Bulgarian. And no one outside of Bitola can hear people from Bitola without laughing. . . perhaps imagine a Boston accent.
By far my favorite dialect, however, is the one spoken in Macedonia's premier wine country, around Kavadarci and Negotino. It has the usual drop of consonants and different accenting of words . . . with the hilarious added bonus of nonstop profanity. Here is what Chris Deliso writes in the Macedonian section of the new Lonely Planet Western Balkans:
"Kavadarci's gregarious locals have one humorous peculiarity probably lost on outsiders: their good-natured profanity. Basic greetings are heavily soaked in swearing, apparently for its own sake - so don't blush when sommeone greets you by saying 'dojdi da t'ebam' (literally, come here so I can screw you)!"
He gives a rather more tame translation than the actual meaning. . . but you get the idea. Imagine a teenage girl's way of speaking - every other word is "like. . . ". Elderly, sun tanned, life-long grape pickers speak the same way, but with the Macedonian equivalents of the f-word, and various rude bits about your mother. A friend of a friend works in the Agricultural ministry, and had to travel down for an official government meeting with the head so-and-so's, foreign investors, and other important types, and came away shocked that the overwhelming profanity carried into the professional presentations. "And as you can see from these f**** graphs, if we don't improve our performance, then f*** your mother, we're in trouble." It's a rough translation, but without exagerration.
I crack up just thinking about it.
UPDATE
I forgot the funniest part of the government presentation story. Macedonian, like Spanish, has a polite or formal form of the verb, and an informal version. During this government presentation, the representatives from Kavadarci started cursing using the formal version of the verbs. Instead of "Come here so that I can screw you!", it would be "Please come here so that I can screw you, Sir." Now that's politeness.
By far my favorite dialect, however, is the one spoken in Macedonia's premier wine country, around Kavadarci and Negotino. It has the usual drop of consonants and different accenting of words . . . with the hilarious added bonus of nonstop profanity. Here is what Chris Deliso writes in the Macedonian section of the new Lonely Planet Western Balkans:
"Kavadarci's gregarious locals have one humorous peculiarity probably lost on outsiders: their good-natured profanity. Basic greetings are heavily soaked in swearing, apparently for its own sake - so don't blush when sommeone greets you by saying 'dojdi da t'ebam' (literally, come here so I can screw you)!"
He gives a rather more tame translation than the actual meaning. . . but you get the idea. Imagine a teenage girl's way of speaking - every other word is "like. . . ". Elderly, sun tanned, life-long grape pickers speak the same way, but with the Macedonian equivalents of the f-word, and various rude bits about your mother. A friend of a friend works in the Agricultural ministry, and had to travel down for an official government meeting with the head so-and-so's, foreign investors, and other important types, and came away shocked that the overwhelming profanity carried into the professional presentations. "And as you can see from these f**** graphs, if we don't improve our performance, then f*** your mother, we're in trouble." It's a rough translation, but without exagerration.
I crack up just thinking about it.
UPDATE
I forgot the funniest part of the government presentation story. Macedonian, like Spanish, has a polite or formal form of the verb, and an informal version. During this government presentation, the representatives from Kavadarci started cursing using the formal version of the verbs. Instead of "Come here so that I can screw you!", it would be "Please come here so that I can screw you, Sir." Now that's politeness.
Sunday, July 26, 2009
It's just a fancy swimmin' hole.
This is a popular swimming pool in the village of Dihovo, just a few kilometers from the city of Bitola. The water comes entirely from the mountains - they basically just divert a cool, clean river into a giant concrete tank, and then divert the runoff from the other end back into the river. The water is absolutely freezing, and it's my understanding that most people come just to sit at the cafe and stay cool near the water during the hot summer months.
Pretty neat, eh?
Thursday, July 23, 2009
Food, etc. . . .Continued
There's another aspect to Macedonian agriculture that I find really interesting. As you might be able to tell from all the pictures I've put up, this tiny country has an incredibly varied landscape. Every small region has its own micro-climate, and is therefore usually suited to a particular crop. In each of these regions, there are towns almost entirely dependent on one crop.
Resen, between Ohrid and Bitola, produces most of Macedonia's apples. Rosoman, outside of Bitola, produces the best peaches (it's where I purchased mine - everybody gets excited when I explain the peaches are directly od Rosoman). Prilep is a tobacco town. Sveti Nikole is known for the producing the best meat, while Bitola is famed for dairy and cheese. Kocani is surrounded by rice patties. Every raisin I've eaten in Macedonia has come from Strumica, while the grapes in Negotino and Kavadarci are made into the region's best wines. The few olives grown in Macedonia come from Gevgelija. And so on.
Knowing that most apples come from Resen, or peaches from Rosoman, is one thing. Actually visiting these towns in season is a completely different experience. Prilep is completely covered with tobacco. We drove through the city on the way to Pelister, and tobacco is hung to dry in every possible place - schoolyards, public parks, laundry lines, garages, churchyards, across alleyways, and next to cafes. Rosoman, a village of no more than a few thousand, had dozens of semi-trucks loaded with peaches to ship off to the rest of Macedonia, while dozens of stalls sold smaller quantities to individuals. The streets of Kavadarci and Negotina usually run with wine all year long anyway - I can't imagine what the grape harvest will look like.
I have yet to determine if the watermelons are specific to a region - I'm thinking maybe Tetovo - but I'll be sure to find out.
Resen, between Ohrid and Bitola, produces most of Macedonia's apples. Rosoman, outside of Bitola, produces the best peaches (it's where I purchased mine - everybody gets excited when I explain the peaches are directly od Rosoman). Prilep is a tobacco town. Sveti Nikole is known for the producing the best meat, while Bitola is famed for dairy and cheese. Kocani is surrounded by rice patties. Every raisin I've eaten in Macedonia has come from Strumica, while the grapes in Negotino and Kavadarci are made into the region's best wines. The few olives grown in Macedonia come from Gevgelija. And so on.
Knowing that most apples come from Resen, or peaches from Rosoman, is one thing. Actually visiting these towns in season is a completely different experience. Prilep is completely covered with tobacco. We drove through the city on the way to Pelister, and tobacco is hung to dry in every possible place - schoolyards, public parks, laundry lines, garages, churchyards, across alleyways, and next to cafes. Rosoman, a village of no more than a few thousand, had dozens of semi-trucks loaded with peaches to ship off to the rest of Macedonia, while dozens of stalls sold smaller quantities to individuals. The streets of Kavadarci and Negotina usually run with wine all year long anyway - I can't imagine what the grape harvest will look like.
I have yet to determine if the watermelons are specific to a region - I'm thinking maybe Tetovo - but I'll be sure to find out.
Food, etc.
There's a giant crate of peaches sitting on my dining room table. I'm guessing that there's a little over three dozen left from who-knows-how-many. I've been eating peaches nonstop, giving them away to friends, to my landlord, to anyone I can before those delicious little fuzzballs start to rot. The problem is that no one really wants to take them, because just about everyone else has a giant crate of peaches on their dining room table as well. It's peach season, after all, and Macedonia - like much of southern Europe - is a seasonal country.
For the most part, I think seasons have disappeared in America. We have our strawberries, tomatoes, and iceberg lettuce available all year long, quality aside. Sure, the sweetcorn from the roadside stand only comes around in the late summer, and local groceries may only have watermelons for a few months of the year (although I imagine Kroger's has them year-round). But most Americans buy the the bulk of their food from supermarkets, and the American supermarket knows not the time of year.
This is not so in Macedonia. When I first arrived in October, fresh salads were already disappearing from restaurant menus, and were being replaced with turshija, pickled vegetables. The tomatoes available over the winter - grown in hothouses in the south of the country, and in Greece - were unnatural, plastic, tasteless, and expensive. Most people avoided them -winter is turshija time.
Then comes summer. The first watermelons, good tomatoes, chives, and cucumbers emerge early, from the halfway-opened hothouses. Things are green and fresh again. Prices drop to reasonable levels. I go to the market, I cook, and I am happy. That's not the end of it, though. The produce stalls start bursting with crops. There are actually dozens of semi-trucks full of watermelons parked all around the city, selling them for $.25 a kilo. Crates of peaches sell for $3, and the city is full of old men walking around with peach juice dribbling from their chin. People are practically giving away green peppers and onions. A month ago, during cherry season, my entire refridgerator and freezer were completely full.
The problem is that Macedonia is an agricultural state surrounded by other agricultural states, and mostly lacks large-scale canning facilities or refridgeration units. There's simply an overabundance of crops as they become ripe, and the price drops to the floor. And, since that crop is only available cheap and fresh for a limited period of time, Macedonians simply stuff themselves with whatever is in season. It sounds like a real treat, and in many ways, it is - I've never had produce that tasted so good.
But seriously - what am I going to do with three dozen peaches in the next two days?
For the most part, I think seasons have disappeared in America. We have our strawberries, tomatoes, and iceberg lettuce available all year long, quality aside. Sure, the sweetcorn from the roadside stand only comes around in the late summer, and local groceries may only have watermelons for a few months of the year (although I imagine Kroger's has them year-round). But most Americans buy the the bulk of their food from supermarkets, and the American supermarket knows not the time of year.
This is not so in Macedonia. When I first arrived in October, fresh salads were already disappearing from restaurant menus, and were being replaced with turshija, pickled vegetables. The tomatoes available over the winter - grown in hothouses in the south of the country, and in Greece - were unnatural, plastic, tasteless, and expensive. Most people avoided them -winter is turshija time.
Then comes summer. The first watermelons, good tomatoes, chives, and cucumbers emerge early, from the halfway-opened hothouses. Things are green and fresh again. Prices drop to reasonable levels. I go to the market, I cook, and I am happy. That's not the end of it, though. The produce stalls start bursting with crops. There are actually dozens of semi-trucks full of watermelons parked all around the city, selling them for $.25 a kilo. Crates of peaches sell for $3, and the city is full of old men walking around with peach juice dribbling from their chin. People are practically giving away green peppers and onions. A month ago, during cherry season, my entire refridgerator and freezer were completely full.
The problem is that Macedonia is an agricultural state surrounded by other agricultural states, and mostly lacks large-scale canning facilities or refridgeration units. There's simply an overabundance of crops as they become ripe, and the price drops to the floor. And, since that crop is only available cheap and fresh for a limited period of time, Macedonians simply stuff themselves with whatever is in season. It sounds like a real treat, and in many ways, it is - I've never had produce that tasted so good.
But seriously - what am I going to do with three dozen peaches in the next two days?
Hiking in Pelister
I was just on Pelister mountain, just outside Bitola, for a hiking trip. We made it up to a really spectacular mountain lake above the treeline.
(The view with the lake behind us - those streams are from a spring fed by the lake.)
(Mountain flowers near the lake)
(A view from a rest stop)
(Crystal clear and ice cold mountain lake)
(The Villa Dihovo, a renovated village house that is now an eco-tourism type B&B)
(The view with the lake behind us - those streams are from a spring fed by the lake.)
(Mountain flowers near the lake)
(A view from a rest stop)
(Crystal clear and ice cold mountain lake)
(The Villa Dihovo, a renovated village house that is now an eco-tourism type B&B)Wednesday, July 22, 2009
I may not be updating all that often. . .
. . . but Justin is. He writes about the famous Galicnik Wedding and our trip out into Kratovo here.
There's even a picture of me in my 'traveling hat'.
There's even a picture of me in my 'traveling hat'.
Saturday, July 18, 2009
Hiking in Eastern Macedonia, #2
(Old stone bridge over the river in Kratovo)
(Turkish prison, now a museum, in Kratovo)
(Cocev Kamen)
(Kriva River)Hiking in Eastern Macedonia
(A view from the 6th century fortress at Konjuk)
(The Kriva River, as seen from the Konjuk fortress)
(A first for me: Pigs wallowing in a roadside mudpit near the Kriva River)
(Wheat fields near Konjuk)
(Kokino, an ancient observatory in an extinct volcano in Eastern Macedonia)Wednesday, July 15, 2009
Summer Storms. . .
. . . have knocked out my internet. It's been gone for a week now, and fixing it has been slow going. But, summer in Skopje is rather slow going. It hasn't been quite as hot as I've been told just yet, but it's getting there. Schools are out, and everyone is rushing off to Ohrid (or Greece, if they're lucky) for a few weeks of vacation.
I'll actually be heading to Ohrid in August for the Seminar on the Macedonian Language, three weeks of classes and lectures with other international students of Macedonian. I've been studying, practicing, and improving. . . so we'll see how it goes.
In other news, I've learned how to play Bridge, and I'm a fiend at it.
I'll actually be heading to Ohrid in August for the Seminar on the Macedonian Language, three weeks of classes and lectures with other international students of Macedonian. I've been studying, practicing, and improving. . . so we'll see how it goes.
In other news, I've learned how to play Bridge, and I'm a fiend at it.
Friday, June 26, 2009
A Macedonian Wedding
My good friend (and fellow Hoosier) Justin was married to his makedonka a few weeks ago. He has pictures, and a summary of all the traditions and such, here.
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
Albanian Medicine = Macedonian Medicine
I laughed out loud at Chelsi's discovery of yet another use for rakija. Read it.
Monday, June 22, 2009
Osoj
I spent the weekend in a village called Osoj, which means something like 'a place in the shade'. It's mostly full of vikendici - basically, weekend houses - both those of families from the village who live and work elsewhere, or those who built cottage there for the view.
This is the nearby Torbashi (or Macedonian Muslim) village.
The pointy peak on the left is the highest mountain in Macedonia, Mt. Korab. Just beyond it is the Albanian border.
The baba - grandmother - of my friend at the vikendica stuffed us with cheese pie and homemade rakija.
An old tree in the mountains above Osoj, which we passed while on a mushroom hunt.
This is the nearby Torbashi (or Macedonian Muslim) village.
The pointy peak on the left is the highest mountain in Macedonia, Mt. Korab. Just beyond it is the Albanian border.
The baba - grandmother - of my friend at the vikendica stuffed us with cheese pie and homemade rakija.
An old tree in the mountains above Osoj, which we passed while on a mushroom hunt.
Friday, June 19, 2009
Small World
The kid who works at the stationary store/photocopy place one block from my apartment went to Cincinnati Country Day School and was a manager at Steak'n'Shake. He gambled at Argosy Casino.
What does he miss most?
Mountain Dew. Completely unavailable in Europe.
What does he miss most?
Mountain Dew. Completely unavailable in Europe.
Thursday, June 18, 2009
The Simple Pleasures of Macedonia
Macedonia has a lot of problems - there's no denying that. But there are some things at which this small country really succeeds, and one of them is the haircut. I'm confident that I will never, ever get a haircut in the States that is as enjoyable as one in Macedonia. What makes the experience so special?
Scalp massage.
I don't know why they do it. Maybe it stimulates the hair follicles. Maybe it's some traditional practice lost to the ages. But for about $3-4 dollars, at any barbershop or salon in the country, you get your hair washed and massages for 10 minutes before the haircut, and another 10 minutes afterward. Is the haircut itself any good? Sometimes yes, sometimes no.
But after the massage, who really cares?
Scalp massage.
I don't know why they do it. Maybe it stimulates the hair follicles. Maybe it's some traditional practice lost to the ages. But for about $3-4 dollars, at any barbershop or salon in the country, you get your hair washed and massages for 10 minutes before the haircut, and another 10 minutes afterward. Is the haircut itself any good? Sometimes yes, sometimes no.
But after the massage, who really cares?
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