Jan 11 – 12: Resen to Bitola

— Posted inUncategorized — 8 min read
In the morning I hit snooze on my alarm several times in spite of my resolve to get an early start. After a breakfast cobbled together from the supplies I was carrying, I spent more time than I should have flipping through the channels looking for either a weather forecast or an English news report. It was 8:30 when I handed my room key to the proprietor and headed out.
According to my GPS, the main road between Resen and Bitola makes a wide loop in its approach to the pass in the next mountain range, while the secondary road takes a more direct approach. (Old roads, laid down for horse power instead of internal combustion, are quite often the better routes for walkers.) The Via Egnatia guidebook would have led me across several kilometres of snowy farm trails before connecting with the cobblestone road through the Pelestra National Park, so I followed the road out of Resen until it intersected with the older route. The road out of Resen led almost directly south, and with the warmth of the morning sun I’d soon rolled up my sleeves. I’m sure the passing motorists thought I was mad.
Once I reached it, I was a little apprehensive to see that the secondary road had not been plowed, but there was a good set of tire tracks with bare road showing, so I went ahead. At the next junction about 100 m higher, the lovely clear tracks veered back towards the main road, ‎but there were still two sets of tire tracks cut into the snow, which by this time was about 20 cms deep. (After gaining this much altitude and walking into the shadow cast by the surrounding peaks, my sleeves were buttoned down again and I’d added an extra layer.)
My earlier apprehension changed to dismay when, at around the 1200 m level, I saw where the last of the vehicles had done a three-point turn and headed back down the mountain. The snow was now closer to 30 cms deep than 20, and all I had to follow was a single file series of footprints which had been laid down by at least three people before me. None of these tracks were fresh, but it seemed as if the most recent set of footprints was leading upwards. My fear was that I would walk for another hour, only to find that the hikers or hunters had turned back, just as the vehicles had done.‎ At this point, I’d been following the trail for 90 minutes, so I didn’t relish the idea of backtracking. Onwards!
The footprints continued, although the snow was so deep I had to change my gait from my normal forward stride into a side-to-side waddle as I carefully trod in the packed steps of those who had gone before me.‎ At one point, the prints I was following were crossed by animal tracks. LARGE animal tracks. Each paw print was about the length and width of my hand, although the heel was narrower. The bear had been walking up the wooded slope, but when it came across the trail I was following, it took the same path for a dozen metres or so before veering off the trail uphill again. I feel quite confident in my ability to fend off a wolf or two, but a bear is another matter entirely.‎ Thankfully, that was the only indication of four-footed wildlife I encountered, aside from a few wolf tracks that meandered along the unplowed road for a bit.
Finally, I cleared the top of a hill and saw ahead of me a collection of buildings, and a church set somewhat apart from them. Hallelujah! This was the Diavato Pass, at an altitude of 1280 m. (The church is dedicated to the Dormition of the Theotokos.) The collection of buildings below had temporarily concealed the snowplow which is stationed there. I walked into the sunny lee of the main building‎, slung off my pack, and retrieved my food from my pack. At that point, a man came out and invited me inside with the offer of tea.
Aleksandr lives at the pass during the winter months, tasked with keeping the road between Resen and Bitola open. As was the case the day before, my knowledge of Macedonian proved to be greater than his knowledge of English, so our conversation was pretty basic. Still, he was most gracious, and interested to hear of my travels. 
After refreshing myself and warming up a bit, I took my leave and started walking downhill.‎ This time I took the main road, since it was very sparsely travelled and was clear of snow. Once the old road cut down below me, I could see that it was not at all clear, and was entirely free of tire tracks. The two roads ran more or less parallel to one another for the next 22 kms, and once we’d lost enough altitude for the snow on it to vanish, I crossed back to the old cobblestone road.

The late afternoon sun was deliciously warm, but with a high mountain range to the west of me, I was soon walking in shadow again. It was a very peaceful walk, broken only by birdsong and the occasional bout of aggressive barking from the gorgeous monsters left by their owners to guard the homestead. One especially magnificent and formidable looking dog followed my progress along the fenceline until it came to a hole in the fence and darted through to my side, barking and growling ferociously all the while. I wheeled around, shouted,  and leveled my walking stick towards the creature in a threatening manner. It dove back through the hole to the safety of its own territory, from whence it continued to serenade me. (I really don’t want to hurt any of God’s good creation, but I will defend myself if attacked.)

One drawback to these long isolated walks is that it’s rare that I can replenish my water. When walking along the road in the lowlands, cafés are not hard to find, and a glass of water normally accompanies an order of coffee. By 2:30, I’d finished the last of my water, and by 3:30 I was becoming quite thirsty. (Pro tip: by the time a person experiences thirst, they are already slightly dehydrated.) 

Dusk was nearing when I saw a man walking towards his parked car beside his isolated farmstead. I turned off my headlamp, and mustering all the Macedonian I could recall, I asked him for some water. He called off the dogs and beckoned me to follow him inside. (I’ve been barked at for the past 1400 kms, but it’s only in Greece that the big dogs are not necessarily tied up or fenced in.)‎ He produced a glass and a 1.5 litre bottle of water, and indicated I should help myself. As with Aleksandr, my host was monolingual, but his offers of food and a ride into town were very clear. I thanked him, and explained that I wanted to walk. He also asked where I’d be spending the night.
Ten minutes later, Vasil pulled up alongside me with his car and insisted that I get in.‎ I accepted the ride, which led to meeting his son-in-law and wife and having tea at his home, which led to the offer of dinner, which led to the offer of a room for the night. Vasil and Trianka’s children are grown and out of the home, so they have rooms to spare. 
It snowed overnight in Bitola, but the morning dawned bright and clear. After breakfast, Vasil went out to brush the 5 cm deep blanket of snow off his car, and I tried to give his wife some financial compensation for their hospitality. As I expected, she refused, and I knew better than to even suggest such a thing to Vasil. From their home in the foothills overlooking Bitola, he drove me down to the foot of the main pedestrian thoroughfare. Conveniently, this is also where the museum is located – the museum my friend in Ohrid had identified as being the best in the country.
It was almost noon when I re-emerged. It was too late in the day to begin walking, ‎so I headed up Shirok Sokak (the main pedestrian street) looking for a hotel. There were several along the street between the museum and the river, and I settled on a very nice, modestly priced one near the museum. After unpacking, I set out to explore the centre of the old town. If I’d been more systematic, I’d have found the church of St Demetrija. Instead I just wandered, people watching and poking down laneways. I made a point of eating lunch before heading to the grocery store, so I limited my food purchases to the basics. I never did find the laundromat I’d been told about, so when I returned to the hotel I washed some clothes in the bathroom sink. I wasn’t able to get online using the hotel WiFi, and rather than composing an update to send later, I spent the evening watching TV. It was a very pleasant surprise to find Kurusawa’s “No Regrets For Our Youth” showing. No subtitles or dubbing, but since I’m familiar with the movie I was able to enjoy it anyway. I got to bed later than I’d planned, but I knew that the walk to Florina was a relatively short one.

Jan 10: Ohrid to Resen

— Posted inUncategorized — 4 min read
Although my goal is to reach Jerusalem in time to celebrate Pascha there, I discovered I had a deep reluctance to leave Ohrid. ‎I was packed and ready to go by 8:00, but then I shared a “Turkish” coffee with my host. (He is Turkish. Native Macedonians refer to it as “Macedonian” coffee, in Greece it is “kafe Hellenikos,” and my sojourn in Lebanon acquainted me with “ahweh.”)
As usual, I consulted my Via Egnatia guidebook on the section that I’d be covering that day, and as usual, I decided to stick to the road. The trail led up through the mountains of Gracinica National Park, with warnings to carry spare batteries for the GPS unit and enough supplies to make it through, as well as information about the danger of getting lost and the possibility of helicopter rescue. And these warnings were written with fair weather hikers in mind, not a solo winter pilgrim!
It was a long climb up from the plain surrounding Lake Ohrid‎. The road led around the cluster of peaks that reached over 1600 m elevation, and so instead of a 24 km hike straight up through the mountains I took the 36 km detour around them. (I may be crazy, but I ain’t stoopid.) By the time the road had reached 1000 m altitude, I was looking for a dry and level patch to stretch out for a powernap. I had a chocolate bar instead. By the time I hit an elevation of 1100 m, I was looking for a hotel, motel, guesthouse, hunter’s shack — anywhere I could find shelter for the night. It was almost 4:00 PM when I finally reached the top of the pass at 1200 m, and I was delighted to see a cluster of cars parked near a small building with smoke coming out of the chimney. I was surprised to see a café this far from anywhere, but I wasn’t about to question it. As I got closer, though, I noted the graffiti on the walls and the lack of any signs. Still, I heard music and voices, so in I went.
The two men sitting at the table in the middle of the small room looked up at me, surprised but not upset. A quick glance around the room showed me that whatever this was, it was most certainly not a café. The bed in the corner was the most obvious clue. I apologised and explained myself as best I could to the men who didn’t understand English. They offered me a Macedonian coffee and a seat, and I gratefully accepted. After resting for a bit, I pulled my headlamp out and affixed it to my hat and prepared myself for the last 13 kms. Mercifully, this was all downhill on a relatively untravelled road.
As I approached the outskirts of Resen, I noticed a hotel‎ on the opposite side of the road. The signs were on, but everything else was dark so I continued on towards the centre of town where I knew there was at least one hotel. When I arrived, I discovered there were, in fact, two hotels. One was closed, and the other was fully booked. I misunderstood the directions I was given to the “Holiday Inn,” and walked about a kilometre before I stopped someone on the street and asked about the hotel. When he directed me back to the hotel I’d passed by an hour before, I flagged a cab and tossed my pack in the back seat. For the price of a cup of coffee, the English speaking cabbie took me around to the side entrance of the hotel, rang the bell, and translated for me. It wasn’t a particularly nice room (in fact, it was the third worst place I’ve encountered so far), but there was heat and a bed.  No WiFi of course, but at that point I was simply glad to be off the road. It had been a long walk, and I never did hit my stride — walking was an effort the whole day. I said my prayers, and resolved to get an early start in the morning.

‎

Jan 6 – 9: Ohrid – a panegyric

— Posted inUncategorized — 2 min read
The pearl of Macedonia. The Jerusalem of the Balkans. With a reported 365 churches, chapels, and monasteries in Ohrid, it is theoretically possible to attend services in a different church each day for a year. Saints Kliment and Naum established a hospital and a university here in the 10th century, and their relics remain as a solace for the faithful. Saint Nikolaj Velimirovich was the bishop of Ohrid for 21 years, until he was imprisoned by the Nazis in 1941 and eventually transferred to Dachau.
What more can I say? I could try to describe the physical beauty of the lake and the old city on the hills and the broad sweep of the lakeshore promenade. I could talk about the way the lake shimmers in the sun, and the colours it revealed to me: purple, aquamarine, grey, green, a dozen shades of blue, clear as glass, and fiery orange reflecting the clouds at sunset.‎ I could tell you how the white and cream buildings of the city gleam, bearing witness to the validity of the name “City of Light” as Lynchidinos was known.

‎

Or more than the physical beauty of the place, there is the profound spirituality of the people: the despairing activist who has accomplished more than she will ever know, the ‎mostly secular Muslim psychologist who mourns with those who mourn and rejoices with those who rejoice, the faithful Orthodox woman who is more gifted than she dares imagine, the family who is raucous and joyful and accomplished — I didn’t just meet these people in my three days in Ohrid, I got to know them.
I could compile a list of the churches I visited, the Liturgies I attended, the sites I visited, and yes, that is something I have done in my notebook, but this post isn’t about that. This post is about why I hope to return to the Balkans after celebrating Pascha in Jerusalem (God willing!). This post is about Ohrid in the spring, when the snow has melted and the flowers burst into bloom and the trees are vibrant and green and the sun is unfailingly warm and bright and the nights full of song and laughter.
Rome is magnificent and I have written at great length about my experiences in the Eternal City‎, but for me, Ohrid remains unspeakable.

Jan 5: Prrenjas to Struga

— Posted inUncategorized — 7 min read
Has it really been nine days?!?  Although I’ve uploaded some photos and sent two brief updates, it’s been that long since my last substantive post. To put that in perspective, in that time I’ve crossed two international borders and one time zone and venerated the relics of two saints.
When last I wrote, I’d arrived in Prrenjas, just west of the border with the Republic of Macedonia. The next morning, I got an early start and headed towards the mountains. The Via Egnatia guidebook indicated that the trail branches off from the road at the first hairpin turn. The weather was brisk, but the snow I’d encountered in Librazhd was on the other side of the pass I’d crossed on my way to Prrenjas. I could see the snow on the peaks ahead of me, but the description of the trail in the guidebook sounded pretty straightforward, so I decided to take it and cut off several kilometres of walking along the looping road.
It was easy going until I passed the last of the houses. The “trail” I’d been expecting turned out to be goat tracks in the mud – literally! ‎ Fortunately, this was on the west side of the range that runs north-south, so the bright morning sun hadn’t yet thawed the frozen ground.‎ The goat prints made for very good traction up some fairly steep slopes. I was very grateful for my walking stick! “Two legs good, three legs better!” As I continued to ascend, the mud was replaced with snow, but the goat prints continued to help me. During the previous afternoon (or two or three), the snow cover had slushified in the sun and then froze solid overnight. I removed the rubber cap of my walking stick to expose the sharp metal point that dug right in instead of skittering across the rather thick shell of ice and carried on. (The view back over the valley was stunning, and the photos I posted to Flickr just don’t capture it. There are times I regret mailing my camera home.)
I took a break at a snow-covered alpine meadow which had a large rock at a convenient height for sitting.‎ (I put my accordion-folded foam sleeping pad on it for insulation.) After having a quick snack and some water, I headed off again. The thing is, there were no more goat tracks to follow. Instead, I picked up a trail that had been beaten into the snow by several different doggish critters. The paw prints ranged from medium to ginormous, so I figure I was tracking wolves. (My sharp pointy walking stick has multiple uses, but fortunately the stabby function wasn’t required.) The trail ascended the slope in just the way I would’ve chosen to go myself, so I was content to keep heading up. 
Finally the valley the tracks had been following became too steep, and the clearly defined trail dissipated in the low scrub. The slope was too steep for me to see how far I was from the ridge, so I started slogging up. By this time, the snow had been exposed to the morning sun for several hours, so instead of walking lightly along the top, each step I took sank ‎at least ankle deep, and sometimes to my mid-calf. This was challenging, to say the least. 
Although I still couldn’t see the top of the slope, there were telecom relay stations on two peaks to either side of me, and they were steadily nearing. I knew that the road to the border was on the east side of the slope, but I didn’t know how far below the crest it was. Still, I reasoned that there had to be a service road of some sort between the two stations, so I continued up the path of least resistance. When I finally cleared the ridge, Lake Ohrid lay far below me, and across the lake, the city itself. Seeing that brought me almost as much joy as finally spotting the road below me, with a set of footprints to follow.
Hmmm, I seem to have neglected to mention the wind. And the bitter cold. It’s really quite amazing how much difference a few hundred metres in altitude ‎can make. By the time I reached the road (and yes, it probably would’ve been faster to stay on the plowed paved surface), I had my scarf wrapped around my head and my hat pulled down against the wind, so there was very little exposed flesh. My eyes, upper cheeks, and the bridge of my nose was all that was showing. Small wonder that a car coming into Albania from across the border slowed while the passenger aimed her smartphone at me. Just as on my approach to the Great St Bernard Pass, that made me feel very manly and heroic.
The border crossing itself was uneventful. I got another stamp in my passport and continued on my way. (Again, it was a pretty good feeling to be waiting in line at the border ON FOOT, with cars on either side of me.)‎ I knew that shortly after the border, a road led down to the shore of Lake Ohrid – with plenty of switchbacks. I’d hoped to take that and then walk through the small towns (i.e. places with cafés) to Struga, but my guess is the road hadn’t been plowed. I was watching for it, but there were no breaks in the solid bank of snow to my right until I was long past the point where I could’ve turned. 
Although the road had been well plowed at the border, as it gradually descended towards the plain, the road conditions grew worse. By the time I reached Struga, the entire road was covered in a sheet of ice ten centimetres thick, with ruts worn through to the pavement from the slow-moving traffic. The narrow twisty streets of Struga were even worse, and it was not at all unusual for pedestrians to be moving more quickly than (although just as carefully as) ‎the traffic.
The first two hotels I tried had nobody at the reception desk, and no bell or other way of signalling my presence save hollering. (No response.‎) The third hotel had a restaurant on the ground floor, so I entered that way. The room was fantastic, the shower was delightful, and the WiFi signal was good enough for me to listen to the gold medal game between Canada and Russia online. I’d gone to bed early, with an alarm set for the 2:00 AM (local) start time. With only 14 kms to cover to Ohrid, I could afford to sleep in the next day. I only wish I could’ve watched it! (On January 11, a waiter at a café I stopped at told me he’d watched the game on TSN.) I went back to sleep at 4:30, very happy with the result. 
This seems like a good place to end this update. On crossing in to Greece today, I lost an hour with the change in time zones, so it’s later than my body realises. ‎I should probably just say my prayers and head to bed, but I’ll probably start composing my thoughts on my time in Ohrid before I go to sleep.

Brief update from Ohrid

— Posted inUncategorized — 2 min read
The walk from Prrenjas to the border was wild, beautiful, and challenging. I’m glad I took the path that I did, but might not do it again in the winter.
Struga was ice-bound. My friends here told me that they normally get a few centimetres of snow, which melts in a day or two, so they are not equipped for snow removal on the scale needed this winter. As a result, the narrow lanes of Struga had ruts that sometimes reached the pavement through the eight centimetres of ice that had been packed into an uneven and slick surface.
Although it’s only 30 kms away along the shore of the lake, Ohrid was noticeably warmer than Struga, with about half the ice, and the major pedestrian areas in the centre of town had been cleared. My three days in the “Jerusalem of the Balkans” were full of delight and wonder. Since there’s an international airport here, I’m thinking of stopping over for a few days on my way home in the spring. The extra flights may be prohibitively expensive, but it’s something I will investigate once I reach Istanbul and finalise my travel plans.
Tomorrow morning I’ll be walking to Resen. The Via Egnatia trail leads up into the moutains through a national wildlife reserve, and across a plateau at 1300 m above sea level. While that is a stunning walk during the warmer months, it’s simply not safe in the winter, especially for a lone hiker. Instead of the 26 kms of trail walking, I’ll stick to the road. The route is 38 kms because it goes around the massif, so it will be a long day of walking.‎ The forecast looks good, with sunshine and a high of 9 Celsius.
I’ve been too busy the last few days to properly record my experiences, so there may be one or two much longer “catch up” posts over the weekend. (But that also depends on how long I’m walking.) And now, an early night so I can hit the road shortly after sunrise.