Installment Two: A Trip to Greece

Installment Two – Beth Does Skopje

Friday, January 20, 2006

This evening, I attended a poetry reading and lecture at the Skopje City Library’s American Corner given by Professor Carl Schmider, whose wife, Mary Ellen, is a Fulbright scholar here in Skopje teaching English for the academic year. I met Mary Ellen and Carl during the Fulbright orientation this past July in D.C. and quickly took to them – they are 73 and 68, respectively, full of energy, humor and life, both semi-retired professors of American Studies. They have been working for the past few years for the University of Maryland teaching at military bases around the world, helping military personnel and families get a college degree through that University while serving abroad. Now there’s a retirement plan I had never thought of! They have taught primarily in Germany, as both speak fluent German thanks to their ancestry, as well as Turkey and have each had Fulbright teaching assignments before, Mary Ellen in China and Carl in Japan.

Carl’s talk was on e.e. cummings, who I had heard of but, I suspect, never read, thanks to my serious aversion to college literature classes. Carl’s readings were terrific and he showed cummings to have irreverent and sentimental characteristics, a humorous streak, a spiritual side and a sensual tendency. He adored his mother, writing “if there are heavens my mother will (all by herself) have one.” I suspect my sons feel the same about me. There was also some weird stuff, so I daydreamed during those poems.

After the reading, I joined Carl and Mary Ellen at a Chinese restaurant a block from the City Library, which turned out to cheap and delicious, just as every dining experience has during my past 5 days in Skopje. We shared a bottle of red Macedonia “jug” wine which was wonderful – about $8 for the bottle, smooth, deep and rich with a juicy finish. To purchase it at a store, you might pay $3.00! With dumplings and 3 mid-priced entrees that we shared, the entire bill, including a full bottle of wine, was well under $20. Trying sticking to that budget that at Imperial China! The service was genuinely pleasant, delivered by congenial young Macedonian men who were engaging, warm and polite. Actually, like the wine and the food, I haven’t yet experienced anyone here who has not been kind. One of the waiters insisted on helping me on with my coat, mentioning that next time I dined with them, he would get a chair to stand on so he could best help me with me coat. Apparently, there is a Napoleon complex going on here…or a Vladimir complex or whatever short Macedonian men have when dealing with tall women.

Late Friday night brought a visit from Svetlana, inviting me on a day trip by car to Thessalonica, Greece, leaving at 8 am on Saturday. Richard, a contractor providing diplomatic training through the State Dept., who Svetlana works for here in Skopje, wanted to go to Greece for the day and, at her urging, invited me to come along. Why not! My only concern was that I would end up in the back seat, vomiting ½ way to Greece, if I made it that far. I explained that to Svetlana, who didn’t get it (“its only a 2 ½ hour drive”, she replied) but when I mentioned it to Richard, he noted that he wife can’t even look at a boat with out throwing up, never rides in the back seat and that he could sit on his head while reading in the back seat and have no problem at all. Therefore, I was permanently enthroned I the front seat as toll-money assistant. Worked for me!

Saturday, January 21, 2006

The ride to Thessalonica took about 2 ½ hours to get to the city limits and another 45 minutes to get into the heart of the city and find a parking place. The drive through the Macedonian countryside was beautiful, even in the brown and gray of January, as we passed through snow capped mountains on narrow, winding roads that were mere indentations in the side of cliffs. We looked down on the Vardar River, gushing through narrows and as suddenly as the mountains appeared, they were replaced by wine country, with vineyards reaching to the horizon. The grapevines were planted exactly as the ones in Napa and Sonoma, staked on wire trellises, creeping up hillsides and defining terraced mountains. I have had two local red wines so far and both have been delicious – very different, but never the less wonderful. No preservatives are used, none of the sulfates and additional sugar often relied upon by the bulk California producers, so, I am told, headaches from red wine rarely happen. I’ll research the red wine headache issue further and report in periodically.

The arrival at the border was interesting. Macedonians are often hassled at the border, due to tension between the countries, but we had no problem thanks to the US passports handed to the Greek officers. Macedonians must have a visa to enter Greece. The Greeks refer to people from my adopted country as being from Skopje – they refuse to recognize the name Macedonia, as they hold that to be only a geographic and demographic region of Greece. Actually, the southern-most province of Greece is, indeed, named Macedonia, although history seems to indicate that the Greek province of Macedonia was taken by the Greeks from the indigenous Macedonians. The current tale goes that Greece worries if it formally recognizes the Republic of Macedonia’s name, it will consequently give Macedonia an opportunity to demand return of that stolen land. In addition, Greece also has concern that its well-being would be threatened by a Muslin-centric country possibly formed by Albania, Macedonia and Serbia. This is something that Macedonia does not want, but the possibility is in the back of everyone’s mind here. Actually, politics is easily the favorite topic of Macedonian’s conversation. They are disgusted by the Greeks, love George Bush because of his recognition of the country’s new, formal name immediately after his re-election, are wary of the Albanian Muslim population, distrustful of the Turks and fascinated, though frustrated by the EU. Everyone I have conversed with is amazingly knowledgeable and everyone has ad educated opinion, is eager to engage in discourse, not argument, and have been universally respectful of differing opinions. Such conversations have been delightful, educational and refreshing.


Greece generally, and Thessalonica specifically was, I must admit, a disappointment. Once we entered Greece, the landscape became crowded with industry, smoke stacks, junk yards, and then lighter industry…sort of a Rumford, Maine meets Detroit kind of feel. In Thessalonica I could have been in any big, crowded, commercial city in the world with palm trees, if it weren’t for the Greek lettering everywhere. Thessalonica sits on the Aegean and I hoped for a beautiful ocean view, but the harbor was filled with tankers. There were some lovely buildings and I understand that the Thessalonica museum has the best historical display in the country, but the two people I was with wanted to eat and drink (Richard was a large-stomached man) or shop at Ikea and Carrefour (Svetlana). I kind of insisted that we at least stroll through the open market, where fish sellers hawked octopus, squid ink and a head-spinning selection of fresh, whole fish and butcher shops were festooned with whole, skinned lambs and goats –eyes, ears and noses intact - hanging from their hind hooves. There were probably a hundred little shops, selling everything from dried fruit and local nuts (I bought some Greek figs), honey, ouzo, icons, brassware, fruits and vegetables, local and imported. Clementine trees were the one saving aesthetic grace for Thessalonica, appearing fruited and colorful everywhere along the plazas, as they are now in season. The tomatoes, though, were pink hothouse. My traveling companions were anxious to get to a restaurant, so I didn’t have time to shop for some fun things, but I will return as I have been invited to lecture to the business students at Aristotle University in Thessalonica.

We decided on lunch at an ouzoy, which is the Greek version of a pub with many different kinds of ouzo. It was crowed, filled with smoke (when will this continent get the smoking-death connection??) and offered fabulous bread. For a starter, I ordered for the table a local sweet red pepper stuffed with feta and herbs, dipped in an egg batter and lightly fried. They were wonderful, although “lightly fried” in Greece seems to be the same as “deep fried for an extended period of time” in the US. As an entrée, I ordered a Greek salad, wanting to stay away from anything potentially poisonous, figuring that tomatoes, cukes, feta, olives and olive oil couldn’t do too much to me, and I was right – it was a fresh, succulent salad with olive oil that was easily the best I had ever tasted…ripe and smooth tasting with a deep green glow, though light and so flavorful. The vegetables were inconsistent with cukes that were tender and sweet, tomatoes that were pink and dry, but fairly tasty for the color, and olives that were…well, they were Greek olives and I was in Greece, so, yes, they were incredible.

My traveling partners had potentially hazardous food, with Svetlana ordering Aegean mussels in a cream sauce (can you say food poisoning…) and Richard, after not being able to decide what to have (…men…) and quizzing a waitress whose English was at about the same fluency level as my Macedonian, finally opting for aged lamb chops in a red wine and rosemary sauce. Well, Richard thought he had ordered pork and couldn’t understand why the meat tasted so gamey. He gave me a small bite and it tasted, to me, I told him, like lamb in red wine sauce…at which point he realized that he was eating lamb and not pork. He then stopped eating it, opting for bread and the stuffed peppers, noting finally that the meat tasted too aged and asked me if thought it tasted bad. I said no, it tasted like lamb and inquired if he had eaten lamb before. “More times than I can remember” he asserted, assuring me that his palate was sophisticated and that the lamb was bad. Svetlana finished his lamb after emptying her serving dish of mussels and admitted, when pushed by Richard, that the lamb might have been a bit off, although it certainly didn’t prevent her from scarfing it all down. She ended up not feeling very well, although I think is was the cinnamon liqueur that we were given to finish off the meal that made them both sick, as I tasted just a bit of mine (too sweet) but they tossed theirs back and then struggled over who was going to drink the rest of mine.

Following lunch we found the car and drove to Ikea, a massive home goods store for those of you who aren’t familiar (fyi, there’s a new one outside of Boston) where I treated the apartment to 2 inexpensive lamps to replace some of the garish overhead lighting, as well as kitchen towels, hangers for the closet and small items that I couldn’t readily find in Skopje. Why hold back? Well, in an EU country such as Greece, goods are very expensive and everything, with the exception to larger electric appliances, are cheap cheap cheap in Skopje. We then moved onto Carrefour, a French equivalent of a super Wal-Mart, which had everything from motor oil and tires, meat, fish, produce and vegetables, clothes, hair gel and kitchen appliances. Massive. By the time we left, at about 6 pm Greek time (7 hours ahead of the US and one hour ahead of Macedonia) Svetlana and Richard were both feeling ill.

The next task was, I thought, to go home - a 2½ drive – but, no. Richard had to find a bottle of that vile cinnamon liqueur. Carrefour didn’t have it, despite a liquor department the size of which rivaled anything I’ve ever seen, so he insisted that we find the restaurant where we ate lunch so that they could tell him where to buy that swill. He had an interesting way of getting what he wanted from Svetlana, who was driving, worked for him and, theoretically, in charge of this trip. “Svetlana, don’t you think we could, if we really wanted to, find that restaurant so we could get exact information about where to buy that wonderful liqueur, as it’s something we just must have? Don’t you think we could, if we really wanted to, find more about it so we wouldn’t have to leave Greece without it?” A future Dr. Phil guest, no doubt, to discuss how to use “I” messages.

Well, we finally did find the stuff, although it took an hour for Svetlana and Richard to agree on where in the entire city of Thessalonica the restaurant was located (A city of 2 million people by the way). We finally found the pub, and the waiter told us we could buy it around the corner. The store had the liqueur, either formally bottled or available by the liter, poured by hand from a 5 gallon jug into a clean glass liter bottle. Both of my traveling companions opted for the liter for 8 euro. I passed. I can brush my teeth with cinnamon Crest and get the same flavor.

The young woman waiting on us was the daughter of the store owner and offered us a taste of a liqueur called Vinsanto from the island of Santorini. Now, I am not a lover of liqueurs but I was intrigued. It tasted like sweet plums with the tartness of green apples – like eating a hard Macintosh straight from the tree – sweet-tart. Vinsanto is supposedly made from red grapes that had been left in the sun too long and is created without the skins so it is a pale rose-amber color. 25 euro a liter, poured from another 5 gallon jug, as it was made by a family on the island. Yikes! Could they sell a small bottle to me, I asked? After checking with her father, our young friend grabbed a ½ liter water bottle, filled it up and charged me 10 euro. Peter will love it, I know, but most of it will come home with me in May. It is something that is served by the thimble full and best enjoyed with friends.

We retuned about 9 pm Skopje time and I had, I’ll admit, a serious episode of homesickness. Why? Well, I haven’t figured it out entirely, but 2/3rds of the way home, in the dark, I began missing Peter and the boys big-time. Was it the disappointment of the Thessalonica trip? I didn’t know. So, arriving home, I used the rest of my minutes to call Peter, crying most of the time, while hearing Peter say “I knew this would happen sometime soon…” (I am nothing if not predictable) and agreeing to talk at length on Sunday 9 am Maine time, 3 pm Skopje time. My phone ran out of minutes probably at the right time and I faced Sunday – with stores closed and no American Corner for internet access and companionship – with some trepidation. Nothing good was on TV, so I hit the sack and read until 11:30.

I awoke Sunday morning at 7, hesitant to start my lonely day that early, so decided that I would lie in bed for awhile. Apparently I fell back to sleep quickly and awoke with the thought that it was probably about 8 am. One wave over my Brookstone sensor travel clock (a Christmas-stocking gift) and I realized that it was 10:30 am! I hadn’t slept 11 hours in one night since I was in college. Thinking about this unusual situation, I realized that the homesickness was, in part, jet lag finally catching up with me, as I hadn’t missed a beat since arriving last Monday. I dawdled a bit through the rest of what was left of the morning, contacted Svetlana for directions to a cheap internet café with even cheaper calls abroad and ventured out to find this gem of a café. Thanks to her directions and my map, I easily found Café Ajavar, a hole in the wall with smoke and euro-pop dance music filling the air. However, it had 20 terminals with super fast internet access, and calls to the US through the internet for 5 denar/10 cents a minute. I checked email and wrote back to some folks, including Bennett who had sent me a wonderful update on the beginning of his career search. I received an instantaneous e-mail reply from my dear friend Ellen to call her NOW…for a pep talk. OK, time to try the phone.

A 10 minute call to Ellen, a 20 minute call to Peter and a 13 minute call to my mother, together with an hour on the internet – 240 denar or $4.80. A sound investment, I decided. I felt better connected to home, it didn’t cost very much and I wasn’t crying any more. I walked around the center plaza, bought another cell phone card to use for local or emergency calls, and remembered that the entire Turkish RamStore complex, which is a huge, new, 3 story mall, was open on Sunday and decided to take Ellen’s advice to take care of myself, shop a little since it was so cheap, read an easy, fun book and relax. I took out some money from the ATM for the next couple of weeks, as taking money out multiple times costs me multiple charges, bought the International Herald Tribune and the new Economist, as well as 2 books. The book store surprised me, as a used Jane Austin book was $2 but a like-new Anita Shreve book was $10. I am getting very stingy. $12 can buy groceries for a week!

Before heading home, I visited the RamStore itself, which I have described before as a super supermarket, and picked up some wonderful looking Turkish oranges, learning that the store puts fruit on sale on Sunday as it gets deliveries on Monday. A different kind of tea cookie, some Tide so I can try the washing machine tomorrow, some local gnocchi and Romano cheese – good stuff but not too heavy, which has become the basis of my definition of necessary – how badly I need something can be gauged by how heavy my bags are. I have learned to buy my bottled water at the market next to my apartment, as it’s too heavy for the 1½ mile walk from the grocery store! A far cry from tossing everything in the back of my Volvo wagon without a thought!

I walked back the way I had come, through the City Center, thinking I’d find a café where I could get some lunch and a coffee, while reading the newspaper. I tried out the Dal Met Fu café – I have no idea what the name means – which was not crowded (but had been earlier, so it couldn’t be too bad), filled with plants and nice lighting, as well as about 20 pretty and friendly young waitresses in very short, very tight, red dresses. I mentally noted the length, or lack thereof, of their dresses, trying to decide whether to bring Seth there when he and Peter visit or shield him from such exposure.

I sat in the café and ordered a cappuccino, which came covered with whipped cream (I didn’t send it back  ) bottled water ( 99 cents! robbery!) and a small olive and tomato pizza. The pizza dough was thin and crisp, and covered with a mozzarella-type cheese, slices of fresh tomato and whole, pitted green and black Greek olives. No sauce, though. The sauce was served in a small syrup-type pitcher at room temperature, to pour on the pizza as you like. The food was good, the atmosphere cheerful with not as much smoke as I had anticipated, thanks, I learned, to a new law that went into effect January 6th mandating that public places have more non-smoking areas than smoking. I was in non-smoking, but too near the smokers. Next time, I’ll know exactly where to sit. I read the paper, ate about ½ of the pizza, taking the rest home for the next day’s lunch, and enjoyed the linguistic mélange around me, with English, Macedonian, Albanian, German and Italian…I think… all being spoken within the café. All in all, it was worth the $8 investment.

I stopped into the Orthodox cathedral on my way home, which is open 24 hours a day. I had been to a couple of Albanian orthodox weddings as a child, but really had no memory of the services, other than understanding nothing that was being said. Outside of the church, there were vendors selling thin, tan candles and small vials of holy water. The structure was round, had no chairs or pews, a high domed ceiling, stone floor and hundreds of lighted candles placed in wooden holders around the sides of the church. The air was thick with incense. There were workers in deli counter-like uniforms scraping dried candle wax from the stone floors continuously during the few minutes I was there and a steady stream of people entering, viewing the eclectic collection of icons, lighting candles, praying and backing out of the cathedral, making the sign of the cross three times before they exited. I made a short visit, as the incense was a bit too much for me following a day of cigarette exposure and headed on my way.

I was home about 6 pm, with a short but full and not too teary day under my belt. Monday would be my first day on the job. Another adventure on the horizon!