December 17, 2023

Remembering Skopje for better or worse!

Steev

Macedonia has not put a lot of money into its infrastructure (apart from statues – more later) and this was to make its mark on me (literally).

Skopje will remain in my memory for its beauty and pain. I was only there for 3 days the city gets its own post – so read on!

I arrived in Skopje from Pristina, Kosovo in a minibus which is not my preferred mode of transport, but was actually quite a good fast journey. (Tip: when confronted with a number of buses between two places, choose the fastest as it will have fewer stops and so fewer chances of there being delayed.)

One thing I noticed immediately, was the depreciation of the road surface as we crossed into the new country. North Macedonia has not put a lot of money into its infrastructure (apart from statues – more later) and this was to make its mark on me (literally). But to begin at the beginning. Skopje is quite close to the border with Kosovo so I was soon in the city and was met by the host who walked me over to the Airbnb. I had specifically chosen somewhere which was near to the bus and train station (which were combined – unusual for this region.)

The first thing I found out about my Airbnb is that being close to a station does have its drawbacks.

Not only was there occasional noise from the trains going by, there was far more noise from the roads in the area. This was exacerbated by roadworks and the fact that the local junctions often got jammed because pedestrians and drivers alike could not see where the white lines were. Macedonian drivers have obviously learnt to drive in Italy as they tend to just press their horns constantly if they are stuck behind someone. It was a cacophony I could have done without. It didn’t help that the apartment had no shutters to the windows to deaden the sound. Still it was quiet at night and I managed to sleep, but was awakened early by the traffic and as I am a late sleeper and late riser (normally,) that was not good.

I don’t know if my drowsiness played a part in what happened next, but on day two of my stay, I decided to explore the bus and rail station to check my options for leaving the city for Bitola, Macedonia’s second largest town. The options left me a bit bemused. The coaches were frequent and cheap and the bus station was on the ground floor, so no lifting involved. The railway station was hidden at the back with a small ticket office on the ground floor and the platform a couple of flight of stairs up above. Yes, there was a lift and an escalator, but neither of these were working. There was also only one train a day at 14.30 and the trip took 3 hours so would get into Bitola at 17.30 which was around sunset at this time of year, so tight – but I should be able to get views of the countryside for most of the journey. I could get an earlier bus, but where would be the fun in that. As it was around 13.30, I decided to go and walk around for a bit and come back to see the daily train off and get a look at what was in store for me in a couple of days time if I decided to take that option.

That was where things went wrong. Outside it had been raining, now reaching the ground floor, it was torrential. I thought I might get a bus into the centre of the city, but when I saw how things were, I decided to walk back to my digs instead – this meant going underneath the railway for some way, walking along an unlit underpass with a very dark sky. I wasn’t looking at my phone. I was even humming a happy tune to myself, maybe “singing in the rain?” I’m not sure, What I knew next is that feeling when you know you are going to fall hard, but there is nothing you can do to stop it. I had tripped over the stump of a light or sign fitting and hit the ground hard. Luckily on my side and not face down but still it hurt. I picked myself up and checked my glasses and phone for damage – none. Then myself. A painful knee (later confirmed as cut and bleeding) and sore ribs. Still, I was walking wounded and could get back to the digs to clean up a bit.

I determinedly, walked back to the station a few minutes later, very carefully as it was still chucking it down and there were areas with no pavement which has become a treacherous mud slide. I arrived safely and carefully climbed the stairs. I had been lulled into the sense of false security by watching this video from Dabble and Travel about their journey in the reverse direction on a nice new train provided by China. This was not what turned up on the day. It was an old locomotive hauling 2 or 3 carriages which looked as if they might be older than me! Comprised mostly of compartments, there was a big scramble up some pretty steep steps to get onto the train, no seat reservations and a bit of a free for all. Still the train left on time and left me on the platform with a lot to think about.

I decided to sleep on it and the following day was sunny and nice. I had a plan to meet with a fellow traveller in the centre of Skopje. But how to get there. Normally I would have walked but the tumble I took made me decide to take the bus. Except I hadn’t done that in Skopje before and had no idea of how to get a ticket.

Whereas the tickets for national and international destinations were at the ticket office, that was not the case for local buses and I had read that you had to have a ticket to board. I think this will have to be another blog post – how to navigate the public transport systems of different cities as a constant traveller.

In the end I found the ticket office … in a bus. There was a yellow bus in one corner of the station, no signs or anything to indicate why it was there but it was the ticket office. I should point out that it was not going anywhere as it had no wheels, but I honestly thought it was the driver’s mess or something. Anyway I bought a day ticket and was good to go and managed, for once to choose the right bus in the right direction first time around.

I arrived about 10-15 minutes late for my meeting with Glen, but she didn’t seem to mind and we had a lovely time chatting together. She had also had a fall the day before but it hurt her more to sit (and me to stand) so we were a bit of a pair. We looked at some of the enormous number of statues in the city centre. I think there are something like 300. It’s a pity that the money couldn’t have been spent on better roads, pavement maintenance or trains! At the end of the day, Glen took me to see the oldest tree in Skopje (possibly in Macedonia which was in the grounds of a Mosque. I did my best to take a good picture of it, but it was difficult because of it being so massive and in a fairly built up area.

It was a good day and I even made it out for a small drink on my final night. I don’t normally do this, but because the only train to Bitola left at 14.30 it meant I didn’t need to leave the flat until after 13.45 and so had plenty of time to pack and clean after what was after all, a very short stay.

The next day, I set off. I think I knew I had made a mistake when I first put the full back pack on. In it I mainly carry my laptop and the associated leads, but also any food and drink I need for the journey. Not that heavy, but I could feel it pulling on me. I got to the station without incident and had to wait a while for someone to carry my case up to the platform for me, there was no way I was able to do that. When I did the reccy a few days before, I saw the train come into the station some 10 minutes before departure, so I only arrived on the platform 15 minutes beforehand, but the train was already there. It was also almost full. Another lesson I need to learn is that far more people travel on a Friday (and a Sunday) than other days because of weekly stayers like students etc and also people taking weekends away.

Without much time to spare to look around (and wanting to divest myself of the two bags.) I wandered into a compartment with 3 older guys, about my age, who didn’t seem too phased when I moved in with them. It was soon clear that they didn’t speak English and I didn’t speak Macedonian. There was some confusion to do with the bags. The back pack could go up on the rack above, but not the suitcase. Clearly, I couldn’t lift it and I am not sure it would have fit. At first I left it on the floor, but the guys motioned me to put it on the empty seat opposite me, which I reluctantly did. After a while a young woman came in and told me to move it into the corridor (I late found out she was some sort of railway police officer) so I did. There were some pull-down seats in the corridor outside and a young woman said, (in perfect English) that she would look after it for me and then started using it as a table for her phone. Another woman then came in to join us and then another older couple. Of course there was now only one seat left, but after a while the couple seemed to decide that the man should have it whilst the woman went off to search elsewhere … and so we were a full compartment and waiting to move off. Although on the Wednesday, the train had set off on time – today we were 15 minutes late, no real problem but a sign of things to come perhaps. We hadn’t moved more than 10 minutes before we came to our first station and I wondered how many more people would try to get on the already full train. Every seat in the corridor was taken and all the compartments were full, there were also people standing in the doorways between carriages – but it was not yet as full as some TransPennine services I have seen in the UK.

It was a slow journey. The rest of the carriage seemed to be getting on well as the male from the couple had a habit of talking in long monologues which were interspersed with questions and laughter and the occasional argument. In the corridor I noticed a tall young man looking at his phone and he seemed to be having a video conversation with someone who was showing off his new gun. It reminded me that gun ownership is quite common in this part of the world, although it hasn’t been an issue up to now.

It was about an hour into the journey that I recognised that things were not going as planned. I checked where we were on Google maps and we had hardly made any progress. I thought this speed was normal, but maybe not. When you do a journey just the once you have no idea what normal is.

Eventually though it was obvious that something was wrong as the train came to a complete stop. Not at a station but in the middle of nowhere. My English speaking case minder had left at a previous station and been replaced by the gun guy – he was speaking German into his phone … but I thought it might be worth asking him if he knew what was happening. To my surprise he answered me in perfect English and said that the engine had overheated as we were going steeply (for a train) uphill. They were having to wait for it to cool before the journey could continue. And so we did, for 20 minutes. The older men in my compartment were complaining because we were close to their destination and I asked gun guy to translate some of their comments to me. He explained that all they were interested in was which football team I supported. I said Sheffield United, as I felt the real answer of Crewe Alexandra would be too obscure for them. They seemed satisfied with that – no more questions, that was all they wanted to know about me!

Soon their station was reached and the older guys got off to be replaced by gun guy and his two female companions. It seems that they were students at Skopje University, all studying Chemistry and they lived in the city during the week and came home to their families in the Bitola area during the weekends. Then the lad told me something that really touched my heart. He said his parents and brother had moved to Germany a few years ago and he had started a university course there (hence the fluent German.) They all came back to Macedonia in the summer and stayed with his grandfather whom he really loved. When he moved away from his family to go to the University, he found himself missing his Grandfather and he also realised that it was more difficult for the older man to care for himself and the property, so he made the decision to transfer his course to Skopje and do this journey every weekend just to be with him. Seems his grandfather was living in a homestead far even from Bitola and the lad had to get a taxi there from the city. He had decided that his future was going to be in Macedonia even though he was on his way to a good degree and could speak three languages almost fluently.

We had a good chat on that journey, with the two younger women (he had done at least one extra year to be in the class) occasionally chipping in. Before we arrived 3 hours late and in total darkness in Bitola. The young man (I never found out his name – or if I did I’ve forgotten it) helped me with my bags as I was in some pain by now, and I was whisked away by my host who had come to meet me at the station. My three days in Bitola passed without incident – but the journey from there to Tirana is worth another blog post of it’s own. So more next time!