Nostalgia

It was 105 degrees yesterday, and the best thing to do was stay inside as much as possible. For breakfast, Adrijana cooked jufki, which are pieces of pasta dough cooked and then mixed with cheese and oil. Very much the comfort food. You can read a lot about the “Mediterranean Diet,” but if what I’ve eaten this trip, and the frequency at which I’ve eaten is an y indication, everyone  in Macedonian should weigh about 300 pounds.

Goran had some work to do at his school, which is right across the street, so we went there. He has really gotten around and has played with a lot of excellent musicians around the world. His school walls are covered with awards and photos, news clippings, letters, postcards and other memorabilia. Because he’s so easy going, and Adrijana too, it’s easy to forget just how well-known they are in this country.

While Goran worked on writing up some music for one of his 50 students, I caught up on this blog and e-mail. It was no rush, and I had a very relaxing time. We had a coffee at his friend’s bar, and then later met up with a graphic designer from England who came to Macedonia 40 years ago and never left. He’s done some of the Alacki’s CD and poster work, and it was nice to meet and talk with him.

We had a lunch cooked by Adrijana (grace, beans were delicious), and I just lazed around until it was time to go to the restaurant, where Adrijana was going to sing. This was the same one we went to last night, Nostalgia. It’s apparently very popular and was filled by 10:30. Bajsa was part of our party, and a couple, friends with the Alacki’s, Igor and Vesna. Igor is one of the opera singers in the chorus I met in my first few days here. Vesna is a nurse who works with elders. Igor has been trying to make his living as a musician, but the opera doesn’t pay all the bills. So, he’s forced to play keyboards in a kafana most other nights.

The music for the evening was all starigradski pesni, “old town songs,” sort of the Macedonian/Bosnian version of the American songbook. (Mary Sherhart would kill in this setting.) Just about everyone in the restaurant could sing along to all the verses. Adrijana is a real professional, singing to the various tables in an interactive way, and performing the songs as if it were the first and not 1,00th time she sang some of them.

I managed not to eat much, except that they brought us fried zucchini, pretty much the same as the kolokithakia tiganites Sandra & I had in Greece. It’s pretty great, and the batter was light. Definitely South Beach Diet time when I get back to the states…

We also had a drink called bunar (well) which is sort of like sangria: white wine, lemon, mineral water, ice, and Sprite. The wine is just there in the taste, and the drink is very refreshing. I don’t know how many glasses of that I had.

When Adrijana finished her third set around 12:30, we went back here to the Alackis with everyone, and of course, it was time to eat and drink. Lots of toasts and conversation that I couldn’t really follow. Goran stumbled off to bed around 2, and people left soon after. This kind of extended evening with eating, drinking, and conversation is, as you have probably realized by now if you’ve been following this blog, very common, and strikes me as very European. I enjoy it quite a bit, and wish there were some way of finding a version of it in Seattle. Of course, the evening starting around 10:00 doesn’t fit most restaurants or my friends’ lives very well, so I guess Sandra & I will have to re-create it at one of our garden parties.

Ohrid and Debar

Yesterday morning we bid farewell to Bob’s Pestani family and drove into Ohrid. I experienced it as a hip resort town, with all ages visiting it, lots of music and arts going on, and a big enough old town that it still felt alive and with a soul (I didn’t feel this way about Bankso, for example, although I don’t it as well). There are still the pedestrian walkways with modern shops, the innumerable sidewalk cafes and disco bars (here and in Plovdiv, similar to what Sandra and I found in Ioannina), and you can escape some of this by walking up to the old town, where it was surprisingly quiet. They are still excavating around some of the picturesque churches. A couple of the churches are perfectly situated, and one cannot help but admire how the ancients knew a spiritual spot when they found one. The Christians jumped on the bandwagon, with location and holidays, but if you get beyond that and work your way back, you cal still capture some of what led folks to these spots in the first place. That’s my main interest in seeing churches here in the Balkans; it’s what’s not immediately visible that counts.

We walked around and enjoyed the upper city, then took a water taxi back to the center. We figured a way to get out of Dodge and headed north of Stuga toward Debar. I had wanted to take this route for a couple of reasons. At the Ohrid festival in 1974, I had loved the Debar regional costumes. I had never made it up there, and the road through it hugged the mountains south of the Sar Planina, which I could at least look at if not hike in this trip. Plus, being so close to the Albanian border meant a different cultural experience.

What was first evident once we turned north was that the road signs listed places in Albanian first, then in Macedonian. Also, towns seemed to have more mosques than churches (I counted 6 in Debar alone). Kerchiefs on younger women were more in evidence, and more older men wore the tight white skullcaps. People stil drove like lunatics, however (I’ve been working on improving my driving in the states, trying to drive more safely and less aggressively, and let me tell you, this entire trip has been a good consciousness raiser).

The road followed the Drin river, which is dammed in at least two places, creating lakes which are good for photographs, but probably not so good for fish (as in the Pacific NW). At one section, workers were paving the road, and we had to take an unmarked detour around the job. This led us onto a very narrow road through a couple of out-of-the-way villages that we wouldn’t have seen otherwise. At times the “road” was more of a lane, and you had to just hope no one was coming around the corner in the other direction. There was a small car in front of us, and I told Bob that they would run interference for us would go first if someone barrelled around a blind spot. Not very charitable of me, but that’s where I was on Maslow’s hierarchy of needs, my evolutionary status.

We stopped frequently to take pcitures, of the towering mountains across the way, of villages perched on them in the distance (Galicnik was out of sight over the nearer ones, but I felt its presence). We reached Debar and stopped for lunch. Mostly men around, or grandmothers, nice trees near the center to cool off this hot day. I had some kind of hamburger with kashkaval mixed up in the middle and fried, it was pretty good.

Oftentimes during meals in the Balkans, someone, usually a Roma, will come by trying to sell you things you don’t really need, like roses, or hats, or pirated CDs, etc. While we were eating today, a man came up to us and tried to sell us a chainsaw! This was a first for me, but I gracefully declined. Turns out it might have come in handy, as minutes later, a horse-drawn carriage labelled “Taxi” and filled with wood rolled by and then returned on the sidewalk in front of the cafe. A group of employees started unloading the wood, which was destined for the pizza oven above the restaurant. All in all, a memorable sequence of events.

We finished lunch, and Bob bought a lot of CDs at a store I spotted near the car parking place. I’m sure he made the owner’s day, if not week. We continued on, playing Albanian music on the CD player. There’s some of this that I really love, and it was wonderful to be driving through this area listening to it. the Macedonians are in the minority here, but it’s hard to pick up on any tensions left over from the troubles of 2002. After Debar the road followed the river Radika, which is a very sweet stream.

We stopped at the famous Jovan Bigorski monastery. Again, well-situated, and a living monastery. A van drove up packed with groceries, and the monks unloaded them and carried them to their quarters. There were lots of pipes gushing water from the spring that mut be here, and it tasted great. We were met at the church by a monk who looked like a shorter version of my friend Craig, with a beard. The church, while having an elaborate wooden iconastasion a la Rila, was less heavily painted than church, and for me was thereby less opprressive. We saw a beautiful tree of life oil lamp in one corner. The monk said it was a gift from Ohrid, and I’m guessing idt is a one-of-a-kind. I wanted to photograph it for Sandra, but no photos allowed.

Back on the road, we soon joined up with the Mavrovo dam, and we found ourselves back in Skopje shortly. Bob had gotten his phone working, so we were greeted by the Alachkis. Bob and I wanted to take them out to eat, so we went to the Debar Maalo, a section of the city famous for its restaurants, and had a nice meal outside. We then went to a different restaurant, Nostalgia, for drinks. Adrijana will sing her tonight and tomorrow, and Bajsa has played here. The musicians were upstairs, kind of walled off, and played new-ish Macedonian tunes; at least they are still hiring live musicians. The restuarant kept things cool by spraying the dining area with mist from water pipes built into the ceiling. It worked pretty well.

Pestani

Bob wanted to visit his Macedonian family in Pestani. he had been invited to the home of a porter he met in 1965, and ended up being friends since. He’s filmed his friend’s wedding and that of his family, has his own room in their home, and even had kids named after him. I was happy to go along, and I was looking forward to seeing Ohrid again, and to returning to Skopje via Debar.

The trip down was blessedly uneventful. Once we  hit Gostivar, we could see more mosques (dzami), we catalogued towns as 1-, 2-, or more dzami towns. Big views as we approached the pass at Straze, but barbed wire blocked my attempts to see more at the rest stop there.

Pestani is halfway down the east side of Lake Ohrid. It used to be a fairly quiet fishing village, but has turned into the 2nd largest town around the lake, wall to wall with small hotels, bars, and signs advertising sobi (rooms to let). I had passed through it on my first visit in 1974 on my way to Sveti Naum for the Saint’s day there.

I met Bob’s family and spent most of the rest of the day and evening just hanging out while they caught up. His friend has two sons. One runs the bar and the other was pirating music onto CDs (this told to me matter-of-factly) until the Internet came along and ruined his business. The older son and I talked about music, and he played some old Leb i Sol albums, as well as their latest from their reunion tour a couple of years ago.

Bob and I walked around the town, visited relatives, and I took a few pictures of the sun setting over the Albanian mountains. It’s still a beautiful lake. Dinner and drinks while listening to Jimi Hendrix, the Doors, Sly, etc. (still popular here, apparently). It’s still hard for me to adjust to the juxtapositions I encounter.

Looking at this town, and thinking back on Bulgaria, things certainly have changed. One doesn’t have the experience of going into a restaurant where you a given a full menu, trying to order things only to be told they don’t have them today, and realizing there’s only one item in the kitchen. You can order anything. You can buy anything. The stores are stocked (all this was particularly noticeable in Bulgaria). Of course, there are other characteristics of post-Communist society. Graffiti is much more common; I would say it’s a problem in Plovdiv, where it covers walls, trains, even ancient monuments. There are casinos, particularly in Bulgaria, which are likely run by the local mafiosi. There are the decaying monolithic buildings of the Soviet era, bigger in Sofia than in Skopje. There are more and more English words in the vocabulary, just as in Greece (it doesn’t matter that they are written in Cyrillic, it still feels like a virus). People haven’t talked much with me about politics, and I haven’t ventured to ask unless I have a context, but ost of the Macedonians I’ve listened to feel life was better under the Communists; I wonder if the northern ex-Jugoslav republics feel the same way. I’ll ask Slavko when I see him next week. Gas is still about 3 times what it costs in the states (probably more realistic), and although people drive like maniacs, there are fewer cars on the road than in the states, so maybe your survival chances are about the same. these are all pretty simple observations, but I had time to think about them during our stay here.

Odime Na Mekici

Bob and I departed Larry and Margaret’s Hotel yesterday morning. It really had been wonderful to spend all that time together. They are getting ready for their own dance camp, so will be very busy the next week or so. There are so few people, here, in Bulgaria, in Macedonia, and Greece, that make it possible to keep these cultural aspects alive, but they are all doing it out of love, and I think these folks are critical to any long-term survival of these aspects.

The drive to Sofia was uneventful, thank goodness, and we passed more place names that I recognized from music and dances I had learned over the years. I repeat that it’s terrific to actually see the landscape that generated these. What’s still unique for me is to be driving a car in an urban setting, and having to pass horse-drawn carts; things haven’t completely modernized. Sofia came into view, and, like most big cities, the air about it had turned from blue to smoggy brown. There are some really ugly, Soveit-era apartment buildings with peeling paint and crumbling cement. Hard to imagine living or even visiting this city. However, the car transfer went smoothly, and soon we were on our way out of this sprawling city into the Sop region.

The landscape gradually changed to rolling hills and cultivated fields. The sunflowers were on their way out, but you could still see big patches of yellow in the distance. The border crossing was painless.

Once over the border, the landscape became more mountainous and expansive. I had never been in NE Macedonia, and it’s lovely. The population, here and apparently in most regions, is concentrated, so that you have a crowded town (like Kyustendil in Bulgaria, or Kriva Palanka in Macedonia) and then, quickly, not much around for a long distance.

We found our way to Skopje, and, with Bob trying to recognize what he remembered from many years ago, and after circling due to one-way streets, landed on Goran’s street. I would call this at least partial divine intervention if I were a religious person, similar to finding Larry’s place in Plovdiv.

Bazo met us at the door, and Goran arrived soon afterward. He told us that Gorgi the sound engineer had had a boy (named David), and there was going to be a small celebration at a restaurant in an hour. Off we went.

Gorgi’s wife is still in the hospital, but he greeted us warmly, then played the role of host (domakine) for the rest of the evening. We sat next to a wine professor, Goran, and an artist, Tanya, and talked about wine and art for a long time; I enjoyed meeting them, speaking about Sandra’s art (which Tanya seemed to understand right away), and various details of wine making. This was all in between frequent toasts of rakia to the new David.

One thing served as part of this kind of celebration is mekica, which is basically fried bread. You use the term “Odime na mekici” to indicate that you’ve been invited to this kind of event.

Bajsa showed up after a few hours, and our party was the last one to leave, of course. This was a great way to be welcomed back to Macedonia. Today, Bob and I leave for Pestani after our un-American breakfast of tomatoes and cucumbers, bourek, pita, “pizza”, gervek (hard sesame bread ring), yogurt (the drinkable kind), chai, Turska cafe, and, of course, rakia.

Battered Chicken Bites

I hadn’t had access to typing the blog for the past number of days, so I spent much of the next day catching up. I’ve never considered myself much of a writer, but I’ve enjoyed re-reading some of these adventures and those from Greece, plus people have written me also enjoying the blog, so it’s definitely been worth the effort.

I received a message from Elena that the interview I did for Macedonian TV had shown up on YouTube. Now all I have to do is wait for it to go viral and I can retire.

Bob and I went out in the early afternoon. He’s had continual problems with the phone he bought and SIM cards, etc., and was hoping to solve them. I wanted to go visit the mosque (dzumaya). It was a warm but pleasant day, again. Many of the streets we’ve walked on in Plovdiv were of stone, and in patterns similar to what Sandra & I saw in Ioannina (I’ve described this in earlier posts from our Greek trip).

Bob still couldn’t get the phone to work, so, he called his friends in Pestani from the post office, and then we went to eat. We chose a restaurant which advertised itself as a Greek restaurant. It had a short menu written in chalk in Greek outside the door, just as many do in Greece. But the decor, the food, the waiters, and the language inside was all Bulgarian. Maybe the owner was Greek.

The mosque was restored in 2008 and looks practically new. There was no one outside or inside to talk with. It’s spacious and struck me as a refuge from the busy-ness of the city. I preferred it to the overly ornamented Rila church, for example. The floating domes also reminded me of the Agia Sophia in Istanbul, although of course on a much smaller scale.

We returned to Larry’s and he had come back from Sofia with Margaret. whom I hadn’t seen for many years. It was great to see her and we started a conversation to catch up that was interrupted and restarted over the next 24 hours.

The four of us drove out to Vojvodinovo to see Ilyana Bozanova, a dance instructor who has come to the US frequently. She and Lyuben had visited Sandra and me at our Seattle home, and I had spent time with them on other visits as well. She showed us the renovated cultural center in the town. She teaches kids folk dance and singing and has built up a good-sized group there. The town has a large tax base of companies, so they were able to get a grant for the hall. It’s still small, but any support for the arts is a success.

We walked across the street to a restaurant for dinner. The day before was Ilyana’s name-day, and it’s traditional for the celebrant to treat friends. She insisted on doing this, despite our protests; you just have to go along with this. The menu had the usual wonderful English translations of items, similar in form and effect to what Sandra & I had catalogued on our trips to Greece.

We talked about her family and folk dance. Her son is in the US with his girlfriend on some kind of program that purportedly sets up young Bulgarians to work during the summer for international companies in different countries, to experience the culture and learn a bit of the language. There had been problems, and my feeling was that someone in Bulgaria is making money off of these bright students, sometimes leaving them in untenable situations in the allegedly host country. Larry and Margaret’s friends had helped out, but what about others that weren’t so lucky?

Larry asked Ilyana about the rise of recreational folk dance groups in Bulgaria that he’d recently experienced in Stara Zagora and read about online. There are at least 8 of these in Plovdiv alone. About 20 to 40 youngish Bulgarians get together once a week and dance to records, just Bulgarian dances. They make tee shirts of their club’s names, and get together a few times a year with other clubs for fun. This sounds an awful lot like how I and so many other Americans got started in international dance in the US, but it’s just Bulgarian. I don’t know if this is some kind of revival, a new social network, a reaction to the rigidity of the communist-era folk groups, a niche market, or what. But it’s growing, whatever it is.

We drove Ilyana home to her apartment, and she invited us up. We met her husband, who is a crane operator. He’s gotten temporarily laid off due to economics, and is remodeling their kitchen by himself. Everyone does the best they can.

We talked and watched a Bulgarian folklore channel. Various music groups make short videos, while the location is usually some kind of meadow, or folky house, with singers and dancers in stylized movements. It’s pretty odd for me, and I can’t imagine it interesting younger folks, but apparently people watch these, at home and even in bars. Lyuben and Tanya just made one with Tsvety and Bryndyn. I think I’m missing something here…

After serving us her homemade raspberry jam over ice cream and rakia, Ilyana finally bid us good night. She is a good soul, working hard with kids, doing 3 people’s jobs, creating groups and a place for young folks to gather and talk as well as have fun and learn about some aspects of their culture. I’m glad things are going better for her.

Plovdiv

Bob and I said goodbye to Steve and Jatila before going to bed after our long Leb i Vino day. They had to leave early in the morning to go back to Skopje, visit friends, go shopping, and catch a plane. I enjoyed our time together.

The next morning, Bob and I had breakfast with Elena and Jane. First they took us to a house-museum. It was once owned by a wealthy Greek and was purportedly the largest home in the Balkans at that time. It has been restored and is frequented by tourists. We discussed possible Islamic and/or Turkish influences on the home–original, or added in during the restoration. This subject had also come up yesterday related to music, as part of our marathon discussion.

After one last walk-through, we said goodbye and squeezed into Bob’s Mazda. We were heading for Plovdiv, where Larry and Margaret have a home in an apartment building next to my old kaval teacher, Professor Lyuben Dossev and his wife, Tanya Dosseva, a well-known singer. Their children had gotten married (Lyuben’s daughter had spent time in the states) and now had a son, so the families had become intertwined. Larry comes here a couple of times a year. We wanted to see the new place and visit.

Bob and I were in no rush, so we decided to forego the main highways and take a scenic southern route through Goce Delcev to Dospat, and then up through the western Rodopes to Plovdiv. We tried a very small road out of Melnik, but it looked like it turned into a goat trail, so we backed out and tried to find the main highway to the Goce Delcev cutoff. While making a left turn to head toward an entrance ramp, we were almost hit by a BMW who had come out of nowhere and cut us off. A big bruiser with a skinhead cut walked over and started yelling at Bob, who was trying to apologize, even though we had both looked in both directions before he turned. Then this guy reaches in the car window and slaps Bob on the face! Bob was physically ok, but this was a big shock to both of us. The big bully got into his car and drove off after a few more words. Bob and I talked about this on and off the rest of the day. I think he was more affected by this than he let on; he was assaulted, after all. It was the most negative thing that has happened to us or anyone else on this trip.

We did shake off this incident somewhat, and tried to enjoy the ride. The southern Pirin mountains aren’t as imposing as the northern variants, but it was still a nice ride. Again, a history-filled area, with towns named after revolutionary heroes who fought the Ottoman occupation. The road we were on is supposedly the road on whicdh jane Sandanski was assassinated. We stopped for a break in Goce Delcev, home of the musician Roumen Shopov, who now lives in the Bay Area, but decided to continue.

Eventually we reached Dospat, a dusty small town, where we stopped in a tiny coffee bar. There was a muslim family there, and in Dospat and other towns in this region we saw mosques but no churches (we could have just missed the latter). We went north from Dospat, up into the mountains, where the air was cooler. We passed by dammed lakes, where people fished, sailed, or rode bikes. No towns, although some small, rather pathetic resort villages. I have a feeling this area will get developed over the next 10 years as some kind of getaway.

After emerging from the mountains (nothing dramatic, more like big hills), it was pretty much a grind to Plovdiv. I haven’t been here for 35 years, and it’s grown immensely. One of the first signs that things had changed was the graffiti-covered streetcar. We found Larry’s home more by divine intervention than anything else (Bob’s phone still  wasn’t working). It was great to see him again. I’ve seen him on this trip more than I’ve seen him in 20 years, and Bob and I haven’t ever spent this much time together.

After we got settled, Larry took us next door to visit Lyuben’s family. Tanya greeted us first, and we had rakia and some meat and palichinki (pancakes). Then Lyuben got home, and we did everything all over again. He’s looking good, and is now the vice-rector at the Academy of Music. His English is also much better, despite his protestations to the contrary.

They had to go to bed early due to a music video filming the next day, so we took leave and went out to dinner. Larry had visited Leb i Vino a few days before we did, so discussed our thoughts about their approach to music, their hopes and plans, and larger issues that our conversations had raised for us. The restaurant we ate in had music videos playing on the TV, some sexually provocative, and this was my 2nd hit on the changes in the city.

We picked up this conversation the next morning, and then expanded it to our own interests and goals in this folklore area and our lives in general. I really enjoyed this conversation, one I can’t share with too many people due to either lack of interest in the topic, or lack of commitment, or not having a shared experience over decades. So, it was lively and stimulating.

We got hungry eventually and went out to eat, still talking. Here was my third hit on how Plovdiv (and, by extension, Bulgaria) has changed since I last visited: we soon hit a pedestrian mall which could have been any European pedestrian mall catering to international tourists. You only had to change the language. Larry said that the half-life of the stores was pretty short, and I can’t imagine them getting much business.

We had lunch in a small place near Old Town run by an Armenian, cafeteria, “point-and-eat” style. It was good; I had moussaka just to see what it was like. They used some kind of green squash instead of eggplant, and no meat. Larry had work to do for the folk music and dance seminar he’s running here which begins in a few days. So, he left, and Bob and I waslked into and around old town.

Plovdiv has been inhabited a long time, all the way back to the Bronze Age. It was known as Philipopolis after being conquered by Philip the 2nd. The old town feels more real than Bansko’s, is small, has some ruins in it, including a large amphitgheater with a beautiful backdrop, and restored houses and museums, most of which were closed as it was Monday. I wasn’t much into museums anyway, so that was fine by me. It was nice to walk around the tree-shaded streets again. There were a few vendors around, trying to sell their wares in a desultory kind of way. Bob & I took our time and wended our way back to the apratment.

A few hours later it was time to eat, of course, so the three of us joined Lyuben, Tanya, and Larry’s son Brydyn and Lyuben’s daughter Tsvety along with Alek for an outdoor dinner. I ended up ordering two trout dinners by mistake, but managed to eat them both with a little help from Brydyn. We talked about kavals, authenticity, and joked around. (Lyuben thinks some who plays authentic music is someone who had not studied in school and who has not heard other musics on the radio, just learned from their family, village, or acquaintances. He thinks it’s no longer possible for anyone to have this label, except possibly for older folks in viillages (kind of like the elders Elena and Jane were interviewing and learning from)). Lyuben had played a kaval at the Smithsonian collected around 1893. He made some recordings on it for the museum. To my surprise, he said it was in 3 pieces, like the current modern version; I’d been expecting an instrument that old would still be in a single piece, like the current Macedonian ones.

The two women left early to take Alek to bed, and we returned to Larry’s and had more rakia, discussed the policies of various Balkan countries toward their Jewish populations during WW2 and currently, and anything else that surfaced. It was a full day, but I didn’t feel tired in the least; I must be having a very relaxed time.

Leb i Vino

We left early the next morning in order to get Bob to the bust station. He decided to rent a car from Sofia and meet us in Melnik. That would give him and me the flexibility to get to Plovdiv via a southern route, while Steve and Jatila went back to Skopje to catch their flight home.

We saw him off then did some errands for the phone, money and food. I won’t go into detail on phone stuff, but it’s both convenient and a pain here in the Balkans, the latter especially if you call out of country. But the strength of signal is way better than any provider in the states; you could get 5 bars in Galicnik, of all places. If I were to come back and spend time in one place, I’d probably get a SIM card and some time and use it on my by-then-unlocked-iPhone. As it is, I’ve been using my iPhone for e-mail and news feeds when I get a wireless signal, and to check plane times, etc. on my calendar, plus making notes, etc.

OK, so we drove to Melnik uneventfully. As we arrived, Steve called Elena from the group Leb i Vino. This “group” is just her and her husband, Jane, and they work in Melnik with traditional music, dance, and arts. I’d been in touch with them several years ago, when they bought my first two Macedonian books, and we’ve stayed in contact. They’re doing a lot of very good research with elders in the Pirin as well as other areas of Macedonia. They recently put on a kemane (old upright bowed instrument) symposium, and got about 15 of the remaining players from Bulgaria and Macedonia (Greeks tried to come, but illness took over) to show up for a few days. They were also working with Dimitar Uzunski in Delcevo, the fellow who helped us at Mitko’s funeral. Their website is http://lebivino.com

We rendezvoused with Elena and she took us to their workshop, which is right on the corner of the main intersection in town, part of the municipal building. It’s a small room, with a loom, icons and other paintings they are working on, and instruments. When we walked in, Jane was playing kemane; he’s taking lessons. We talked instruments for a little while, via Elena’s very good English. Then we out to look for a hotel. The first two were full (unusual here), but the third, the old Turkish prison, had room. Afterward getting set up, we went to a restaurant owned by a friend of theirs to eat.

We spent the next 14 hours straight with them. I can divide that time into four parts: this lunch, Bob’s reappearance, music-making and converation in their studio, and their mini-show at a restaurant up the road toward the Rozen monastery. For this first part, we talked about their work, how they define “authenticity”, how they make their living, common musical and folklore interests, and many other topics.

Around 4 pm,Bob drove slowly by and we all yelled at him to catch his attention. He came in and sat down for some food and another 3 hours of conversation. We continued on the topics we had started. We moved to their studio, where Elena, Jane, and I played some music together for fun, with me playing tambura and then kaval. I really like the music of this region, as arranged in this manner. They’ve gotten a lot of their material from “babi” (grandmothers) and other elders. Some of the lyrics and songs they’ve collected have given them information they’ve applied for some educated guesses on local history. We discussed the pros and cons of recording their interactions with the elders (video and/or sound).

After 8 hours total of talking, etc., they got ready for their show and we drove up the new EU-funded road to the restaurant. Melnik has a long history, and was once one of the main towns on the Balkan trade routes. It is now a protected town, with a population of 150 residents and “thousands of tourists”. There are old ruins to see, and even pyramids (named “peppers”) similar to Stob’s. At the restaurant, we waited for the bus tour group to show up. Bob, Steve, Jatila, and I went next door to the newly-opened wine cellar and sampled some local vintages, all red.

The tour bus still hadn’t shown up by 10:00, so we ordered dinner and talked some more. Around 11:30 things finally started happening. Leb i Vino did a nice short show, and we danced with them a little. They wore traditional costumes that Elena had made. For her costume, she used dyes from local roots, and did all the sewing herself.

They got positive feedback from the diners, some of whom were from Thessaloniki and also spoke Macedonian. I tried out my Greek, but they stayed in Macedonian or reverted to English. My sense is that people enjoy their show, and they are pretty much the only thing going in Melnik in that area. They get good support from the town and the restaurants, are on a local calendar each year, and perform in different places in Europe. They also have a young son named Alexander. Still, it’s hard to be an artist anywhere.

We drove back to their studio at 1:30 am. I was in their car, and we discussed the heavy metal groups that we liked. This was seen as perfectly normal, no contradiction with their main interest whatsoever (nor mine!). Back at their place, Jatila bought some things from them we all finished up the conversation. I offered to sell some of their CDs on my web site on consignment. They agreed, so I will work up some pages for them when I get back. I had given them the Dragi set and the Zeljo CD as gifts. We decided to meet at 9:30 for breakfast the next morning.

Although we disagreed about a number of things over the course of 14 hours of conversation and time together, we did that amicably, I felt, and I do hope they get support to continue their quest to bring older, more authentic cultural experiences to adults and especially children in their area. It’s a monumental task, and they are currently doing it with little support. An EU grant would help, as would a third person (at least) to do recording, but I don’t see them having the time or prioritizing those things to make them happen. I really enjoyed our day together, and there were also many areas of convergence of values and ideas that we celebrated. I hope we can spend time together again.

Blizki bez Granica

I had never been to Rila, whose monastery was an internationally protected site situated in the Rila mountains. We also wanted to visit the area due to a festival in the small village of Stob that Zenil had told us about. I didn’t have high hopes for the festival, but since we were there anyway, we decided to check it out.

Our first stop in the town of Rila to find lodging was a Soviet-style enormous htoel with peeling exterior walls. There had to be something better, and we eventually found a new, clean, small place with an outdoor eating area and grape arbor further into this small town. The proprietors’ son spoke Spanish, since he was studying in Barcelona. So, now I was getting completely confused by the 7 languages I was encountering, only one of which (English) I spoke with any fluency: Macedonian, Bulgarian, Greek (which continually slips in), German, Italian, Spanish, and English. I still regret that I didn’t master another language when I was small, and I admire the ability of anyone who speaks more than one or two languages. Next lifetime, for sure. Meanwhile, Americans have to get going on the world citizen boat; we’re way behind the Europeans (except, of course, for our own immigrants).

We got situated and headed for the monastery. The road followed the charming Rila river and then headed up into the mountains. The monastery is definitely worth a visit, even if you’re not a big monastery fan. The church certainly has had a lot of attention paid to it. They were restoring the outside, which had some interesting murals depicting heaven and hell. “Bricks” were actually painted on, as were the black and white “marble” on the outside. (I was reminded of the real black and white marble I saw at the church in Siena, when I visited there in 1978.) Inside, every square inch was covered, with paintings or gold. There was also a reliquary which looked like the arranged remnants of last night’s dinner. Candles were everywhere, and Czar Boris III’s grave was there, too. The architecture was elaborate, but you know, I’ve seen enough churches, and found the obsessive decoration oppressive. Plus, any visit to a church has, for many years, reminded me of the aspects of Christianity and any other organized religion that I despise. This despite the positive and important role that the church and religion and faith has played in the lives of people here. Again, I was drawn to the topographic map of the area that included hiking trails, but that wa not to be this trip. We headed back for dinner before the festival.

Stob is a hole in the wall known for its “pyramids”, which I believe are stone formations from the sandstone of the area. I found this out when I googled Stob looking for info on the festival. We had stopped here for lunch earlier in the day on the way to Rila, to get info about the festival and check out the area. We sat by the Rila in the shade and it was quiet and pleasant, except for the calga music playing over the kafana loudspeakers near us.

There were many more people present now, a half hour before the scheduled start of the performances at 8. We looked for and found Zenil, whose group was one of the three performing. We told him about Mitko’s death, but he had already heard via phone. The other two groups were to be one from Serres, Greece, and one from Stob itself. Zennil introduced us to the festival organizer. The theme was “Blizki bez Granica” which roughly translates to “Neighbors without Borders”, a reference to the shared culture of Macedonian in these three neighboring countries, I believe it was a sincere attempt to at least symbolically override the political differences present in this area for so long. The organizer got some tee shirts for us and a pen, too.

If you’ve never been to one of these festivals, they are held in the town center and usually consist of a makeshift stage with an iffy sound system, various food, trinket, and game booths, sometimes a ride or two, and a lot of standing around or sitting at tables and socializing. They also always start late.

Zenil’s group from Delcevo came on first. I found it over-choreographed, but there were at least recognizable dance steps in it. A very young kid came on and sang “Dej Gidi Ludi Maldi Godini” a well-known song made famous by Sarievski and which Dragi sings on one of his CDs. All the dancers and the two musicians were young, this being a youth festival. The tapan player was a little shaky, but Zenil helped him out.

The second group was from Serres, in northern Greece. I had visited the town many years ago, and Yvonne Hunt has done some important research on the dances and music in the area. I was hoping for some older women’s group with zournas. I really must have been out of my mind, because what the Greeks brought were 3 young (late teens, early 20’s) women singers, and a female accordionist. They sang Milo Mou Kokkino, Thalassa, and then the instrumentalist played something, possibly even from northern Greece (unlike the previous two numbers) that strayed in and out of 9/8. I found this all very embarrassing, and wondered if it was some kind of subtle slight in the ongoing battle over Macedonia’s name and attempts to get into the EU. Both countries are doing what I consider childishly provocative acts. (The Greek poses are well-documented in the media, but cf. the Skopje airport’s new name, or the Alexander the Great tee shirts in the Macedonian pazar. I just wish everyone would grow up.) Was this another one? I don’t know. Once off the stage, all four women of course lit up cigarettes.

The final “group” was Stob, wasn’t even a group. Two young folks came out, male and female, with wireless mikes, and proceeded to sing over a computer back-up. People actually danced to one of the numbers, so that was fun. At the end, speeches were made, and souvenirs and flowers were handed out to all participants on stage. I have to admit that I was saddened if not surprised by the content of all the performances. Apparently, this is what one sees at festivals these days.

The festival continued with a group from the Sop area further up north, performing on the stage and in front of it. The only interesting thing about this performance to me was the presence of older women in the group (no males at all) who did the same choreography as everyone else. When I say “choreography”, please don’t get the idea that there was anything remotely folky about the dancing. It was all lines, movements, and stage smiles. They could all have been wearing leotards or anything else. This while having an incredibly rich dance culture. But again, I wasn’t surprised. And they were very communist-era precise. They did a good job, really. It’s just not my thing at all.

A very poor female singer followed, who had trouble staying on pitch, even though her computer backup practically overpowered her voice. A professional singer from the Pirin singer came on after her. She had a great voice, but did only one song that could be called folk-ish, and then sang some pop stuff. Same for the good male singer who followed her, another professional. People (not just the dance groups) danced a lot, mostly to the songs in 9. I joined in and had a good time.

While this was all going on, a trio of accordion, clarinet, and tapan, was playing for the tables on one side of the square. The fellow paying them was pretty drunk, and unless you were at that table, they couldn’t compete with the volume of the loudspeakers from the stage. Another group, which appeared later in the evening, was a Roma brass band group. Like the other trio, they were going from table to table as people played. Jatila, who loves dancing, started moving to the beat on our way out. The drummer saw her and came right over, bringing the rest of the brass with him (new customer). She had a good time for about 10 minutes, with Steve tipping, until they moved on to the next payer. I did not join in here, partially because it was Jatila’s dance, but also because the ratio of commerciality to kef was too high. There wasn’t some of the necessary internal joy in their playing that I’ve experienced with other groups at other festivals. Yes these are jobs, but musicians can transcend the purely commercial aspects of the gig and transmit the music in a real way. These guys didn’t make it to that place, and I couldn’t even tell if they were interested in doing so.

We managed to extricate the car from its parking place, where it had been hemmed in, and I drove us back to the hotel without getting killed. We needed to get up early the next morning to get Bob to the bus station before heading to Melnik.

Bansko

After leaving Delcevo, we climbed up to the granica with Bulgaria and went through the border-crossing process. This wasn’t too onerous, as it was a less-traveled crossing, but still had some glitches, of course. Steve had two pieces of paper for the car, one of which said the car could cross the border, and the other one which said it couldn’t. A phone call by a border officer took care of that. Then we just had to go through about 5 control stations in 100 feet, involving various stamps and money payments. It had the flavor of the bureaucracies one endured in the communist era here, or of an unemployment line in the US.

We eventually made it through and wound our way down to the plain near Blagoevgrad. I had only been in this area once, to see Pirin Pee (a singing festival) in 1974. I had suggested we go to Bansko due to the loveliness of the village and area as described by Sandra, Mary, Henry and other friends, and also to hear some of the men’s singing in the area. Henry and I had done a lot of that repertoire when we were in Evo Nas together, and Atanas, Mary’s friend, was the leader of the group. Unfortunately, he had written me back telling me he was going to be in Varna, and we were going to miss him.

Still, I was glad to be visiting. The route eventually took us into the Pirin Planina. These mountains, fabled for me me who’s been playing music from the area, singing and hearing songs about them for so long, and knows something of the history surrounding them, rise unremarkably at first. But once you get near Razlog, you see the highest peaks, and they are imposing. I would definitely like to return here and hike up in the mountains. The highest, Vihren, has had its face disfigured by ski slopes, but it still manages to maintain its majesty.

Bansko’s center is faux quaint, but whatever village feel is present is overwhelmed by the resort feeling of the place: it appears ot have reinvented itself as a ski destination. The mehanas are decorated in the old style, but have karaoke music. We arrived on a day when there’s no music whatsoever. We found an inexpensive hotel, and itg turns out one of the managers is from Delcevo, and his wife works in the GoreTex factory run my Mitko’s grandson! This was the final “coincidence” of the day. We had a nice, long dinner outside, as the four of us spent some time talking about ourselves.

The next day we walked around the old town. On many doors were the posters of dead people one sees frequently, marking the 40 day, 6 month, or various year anniversaries of a loved one. We some banica fresh out of the oven and stopped for coffee and a light breakfast.

Bob had decided to rent a car, but quickly ran out of phone minutes on the new Macedonian phone he’d purchased in Berovo. The main problem was that except for Avis, no one wanted to rent a car that would also travel into Macedonia. Apparently there is a big market for stolen rental cars in this area of the Balkans, so most agencies restrict rentals to in-country. Steve, always helpful, offered to assist Bob via his Bulgarian phone once we got to Rila. We decided to head there and see what happened.

Mitko Stanoevski

Our last night in Berovo was typically celebratory. We had a real feast with lots of food, including a main course of goat that people thought was lamb. The Alachkis then handed out individual certificates and took pictures. Goran had arranged for another brass band to come, and they burst into the restaurant around nine and played a frantic set that included a little of everything, including Hava Na Gila. We all had a good time dancing, although I personally felt the happening the day before was more spontaneous and real.

The next morning was one prolonged series of goodbyes. I really had a good time with the folks I met and at the seminar and in the Berovo area. It was removed enough from a big city to give me some alone and nature time. I could see myself visiting this area again, maybe to do some of the day-long hikes available in the area.

Steve, Jatila, Bob and I managed to load all our gear into a rental car, and we finally set off for Bulgaria after stopping at the pazar and a supermarket to stock up on food for the trip. Outside of Bervovo we passed a Roma encampment in a filed by the side of the road. It didn’t seem to big, maybe 50 people, and it was the only encampment I’ve seen so far. Baking in the hot sun, it looked like a big change from the Roma quarter in Berovo

We had our first decision to make when we hit the intersection near Delcovo. No one had been there before, so we decided to take the short detour to check it out before we headed for the order. We drove this way and that, heading uphill by the river. At an intersection, we decided to head back and asked for directions of a group of men standing by. Aя we started to drive away, Bob, who’s been gracious throughout with his language and translation skills, noticed that they were wearing costumes, real ones. So, he asked them about it, and they told them that there was a funeral that day. On further questioning, it turns out that the funeral wa for the lead dancer of the Kopacka group, Mitko Stanoevski, who had died the night before at age 91. This was the same person and group that Zenil, our dance teacher in Berovo had cited as the source of the dance he taught us the previous week and which had filmed ourselves doing just yesterday! The funeral was to happen within the hour, and we decided that this was just too many “coincidences” and we should stay.

Soon, a hearse with a priest drove up, and the funeral procession began. We walked up behind the small group of men and women, plus the dancers and two tapan players. There was a ceremony in a small church attended by the family, while the rest of us waited. Mitko’s grandson approached Bob, who, after asking permission, was filming the funeral, and asked if he would send him the video, since the photographers he’d been planning on being there hadn’t shown up. He runs a Gore-Text factory in town.

After the short ceremony, we walked to the grave site. He was to be buried next to his wife, who’d died a few years earlier. Both graves stones had their pictures on them, just as I had seen in the Ratevo cemetery. The casket was brought out of the hearse and put on the ropes over the grave. Although it was open, the body itself was wrapped in cloths. The priest said prayers, poured wine over the body in the sign of the cross, and put some soil (“dust to dust”) over the body. A eulogy was read by Dimtar Uzunski, a member of the group who is a retired music teacher, is writing a monograph about the Kopacka group, with plans for another one about Mitko, and who, in another “coincidence”, knows Elena and Jane of Lib i Vino, whom we are going to visit in Melnik.

The priest gave the direction to lower the body into the grave. As this was happening, the dancers linked themselves in a belt-hold, just like the dance, and the tapan players started playing the four main drumming sequences of the dance. I found this very moving. People threw chunks of sand on the coffin as the ceremony finished and the diggers covered Mitko up. We had the usual drinks, bread, and sweet wheat or barley berries afterwards on an outdoor table.

Dimitar then invited us to his brother’s home a few hundred feet away, where we had some coffee. He’s a talkative fellow, with a lot of knowledge of the music and dance of the area. Being “only” 71, he hopefully still has some time left to transmit what he knows to any of the younger generation interested in continuing Mitko’s legacy.

We soon left Delcevo and headed to the border.