Memories Old and New ( Carol Taub )

My journey to Macedonia began many years ago with stories of remote rural villages, hardship and Greek oppression, related to me by Dimana Vassos, the mother of my first husband and the grandmother of my children. She’d had a difficult life, married at the age of fourteen and bearing her first child at the age of fifteen. After the end of World War 1, with no work in the area, her husband and many other young men of the village left to try to find work in Canada. By this time Dimana had two sons and lived frugally on the little money she was sent from Canada and by taking in laundry. Since she was the only woman in the village who could read and write (taught by her mother as there were no schools), Dimana became the unofficial letter writer and reader for the women of the village whose husbands had travelled to Canada. The village was called Zagoriče (sounds like Zagorichee).
Eventually, Dimana was sent a ticket for her and the children to join her husband in Toronto. In order to obtain a passport, Dimana had to change her last name and that of her children from the Macedonian spelling of ‘Vasoff’ to the Greek ‘Vassos’ since her village had been given to Greece after WW1. At this time the people were forbidden to speak Macedonian and were required to speak Greek. But since transportation in the area was by mules and they only responded to Macedonian commands, the people said they were talking to their donkeys if caught.
Dimana arrived in Toronto and again survived by taking in laundry. Her husband paid infrequent visits but managed to father two more children before disappearing altogether. She eventually learned enough English to get a job in a garment factory where she was paid piecemeal for sewing sleeves on men’s coats. She was so quick that the other women were angry because she made them look incompetent; so to keep the peace, she held back on her finished work and handed it in when there were fewer work orders. She worked hard to put her youngest son, James Dimiter Vasoff (registered with the Macedonian spelling of his name) through High-school and help support him in University.
Dimana developed a strong network of friends in the Macedonian community in Toronto but abstained from the often heated discussions on the future of Macedonia – Socialism, Communism, Independence etc. She was an emotionally strong, independent woman; she was an intelligent, kind, caring, gentle soul. She died in 1975. I admired her tremendously.
So it became a bit of a quest – to try to find the village of Zagoriče where this amazing woman had her roots. We think we found it after leaving Struga and with some backtracking to locate the unmarked, narrow, one lane, paved, laneway leading into the village. There was a grassy playing field on which a horse was grazing at the entrance to the village. The buildings were mostly of clay brick construction, some of which were very old and in disrepair. Others were newer. The village was quite clean with no trash but obviously very poor. It was sad to me to know that Dimana’s village and the people in it still struggle to eke out an existence.
We met a family (mother, daughter,son – about 9 yrs.) in the village and at first they were reluctant to speak to us. The young boy spoke very limited English and I think we won him over when I gave him a Canadian Flag pin. We tried to explain that my husband’s family had come from this village but had limited success. It seems that even an older neighbor who joined the discussion had not heard of the Vasoffs. Were we in the right village? I don’t know for sure as there are similar sounding villages in nearby Bulgaria. We did have it confirmed that we were in Zagoriče when a man (the woman’s husband?) who understood minimal English arrived in a car.
This discussion took place at the side of the road beside what seemed to be a barnyard with chickens, a dog and cat. There was a barn but we did not know if it was used for animals. The area was quite muddy and the road beyond turned to rutted dirt so we made our goodbyes and carefully turned around to backtrack the way we’d entered the village.
It was with mixed feelings that I left this area. I admire Dimana even more than ever for carving out a life for herself in Canada after such a humble beginning. She restarted her life in a strange country, essentially by herself; she successfully raised four children putting the younger two through school and eventually she owned her own home. She was an amazing woman.
Thank you Hans, for the opportunity to tell this story and for assisting me in locating and identifying David and Brian’s roots.

Struga, Macedonia

The roads after the first 100 Km greatly improved in Albania. So much so that we made it to the capital, Tirane, in no time the next day. Tirane is large, busy and business-like. We first thought of spending some time in this town but then decided to just head for the border town of Pogradee on Lake Ohrit instead.
Now that we had entered the mountains and were riding east, Albania became more idyllic. I like the genuine towns, the old ways we saw on the side of the road. Men were cutting grass using a scythe, women helped stacking hay. The ancient implements used are handcrafted, wooden and work well even today. Grass was also being cut using motorized sickle movers of various models and with even greater variety of configurations. Fifty years ago, when I worked on a farm in the Black Forest in Germany, we used similar equipment. Am I getting old? The fields in Albania are well tended, however, and food grows in abundance.
Just after we passed the town of Perrenjas we ran into road construction. I asked the workers how long the construction site was and they told me about 30 Km or all the way to Pogradee, our target town. What to do? We would have loved to stay one more day in Albania, since a one night stay is nothing and no indication of a county. But given the conditions of the predicament we were in, riding on loose sand and gravel for 30 Km plus the threat of imminent rain, we decided to take the lesser evil and enter Macedonia at Radezha, especially since going back to Perrenjas was no option and we didn’t know if there was a hotel there.
There is no exchange booth to exchange the Albanian Leke to Macedonian Dinar at the border. The bike insurance needed to enter Macedonia costs 50 Euro per bike. Ouch! While the personal at the border tried to help, the language and the Cyrillic added to the difficulties in communication. I managed to get most of my Albanian money changed into Euros at a local store on the Macedonian side. Carol tried, too but did not like the way she was treated by the 4 – 5 young men in the store. She left the store without getting her money exchanged.
We were in Macedonia, the country - no, not the part of Greece or Bulgaria that was once called Macedonia. The conflicts with Greece about the name, about the territory and the language are ancient. No love is lost between the two countries. Macedonia is a very old land, the birth place of Alexander the Great. Naturally, Pella, the actual Birthplace of Alexander is in today’s Greece. But when Alexander was born, this was part of the Macedonian Empire and therefore he was Macedonian. Confusing? No matter, we are just riding and visiting, we do not have to solve any of the animosity between the two countries.
Not far from the border, the first larger town we come to, Struga, is our stop for the night. Positioned directly on Lake Ohrid it serves as tourist destination for many Balkan Nations. The lake is unique in the world and Wikipedia spells out:
Lake Ohrid (Macedonian: Охридско Езеро, Ohridsko Ezero; Albanian: Liqeni i Ohrit) straddles the mountainous border between the southwestern Republic of Macedonia and eastern Albania. It is one of Europe's deepest and oldest lakes, preserving a unique aquatic ecosystem with more than 200 endemic species that is of worldwide importance.[1] The importance of the lake was further emphasized when it was declared a World Heritage site by UNESCO in 1979. However, human activity on the lake shores and in its catchment area is resulting in the ecosystem coming under stress
Similar to Lake Baikal in Siberia, Lake Ohrid has a unique ecosystem. Although the beaches are fragile and endangered I wanted to see them and the uniqueness of it all. We later passed on the beaches when it turned cold and stormy. We walked around town, enjoyed the many shops in the pedestrian only zone, took a picture of the Poet Bridge, where once or twice a year international poets read their latest creations in their own language to onlookers along the river’s edge. We made the best of the town before the thunderstorm drove us for cover. Timing is everything and we enjoyed a wonderful, local meal while the rain drummed in buckets on the roof.
We were in Macedonia, a land locked country with a history so old, so long, so complicated it boggles my mind. We are in Macedonia, with a future that boggles the minds of many people. What will this country look like in years to come? The language is ancient, complicated. The writing is Cyrillic and again, complicated to the modern Western World. Most of the land is mountainous. Half the land is too rugged to farm. Split into Muslim and Christian faiths Macedonia struggles along. Yes, it has applied to join the EU. In better condition than Albania, it too, has Mercedes Benz cars in the streets. Again it is said that Russians buy the nicest, best parts of Macedonia for their vacation homes. Techno music sounds from coffee bars in bigger cities. Men wear horizontally stripped T-shirts and Gym trousers with a stripe running vertically along the outside of the pant legs. All men I saw smoked cigarettes. Many men had ultra short hair cuts. Women are made up, dressed well but in colors and styles quite different than my eyes are used to. All the signs I describe are signs of heavy Russian influence, if not of Russia itself. There is money in Macedonia but I would say it is Russian tourist money, not money from the GNP of Macedonia. I have seen no factories; I cannot say what Macedonia produces that is needed worldwide. While the past of Macedonia can be studied, the future cannot be predicted.
Carol will write the rest of the Macedonian story as it was a more personal journey for her.

Lezhe, Albania

A glorious morning started us off, the weather was wonderful. Finding our way through Montenegro is easy enough and once familiar with the road signs, it is not difficult to find your way. Naturally we got lost a few times because I did not see the one sign giving us directions, but we managed well. Montenegro is not large. The valuable land is along the coast, and I am told is mostly owned by rich Russians. I have rarely seen so many Mercedes Benz cars in one spot. Not the latest models, mind you, but the Mercedes Star is on about 50% of the cars on the road. Smoke puffs out of their maladjusted mufflers, choking you when you ride behind them. The same is true for the busses and trucks that run on diesel fuel. Most emit a visible, black exhaust. I felt a scratchy throat at the end of the day from riding in traffic, at a slow pace behind clouds of emissions.
The whole coastline of Montenegro looks wonderful and there are towns that are exclusively for the very rich. Sh. Stefani is such a town. I only saw it from afar since it is placed on an Island and to get to it was too difficult and time consuming. We followed the coastline and the roads are in basic good shape. Yes, we went through the resort towns of Budva and Petrovac but did not stop there. These towns were busy metropolitan towns, lots of traffic, lots of noise, lots of cars, and yes, they had some beach sections but we went on. The high, rugged mountains to the left of us probably had some awesome riding roads but we wanted to make it to Albania and with a short dip towards the capital of Podgorica we took a short cut and entered Albania.
What a shock it was. The crossing into Albania was without difficulty. Yes, we had to change money (I Euro = about 140 Leke), yes I bought a map of Albania since I could not find a map outside of Albania and yes, and we had to by extra Insurance for 9 Euros each bike. All the formalities were very friendly; it was a cinch getting into Albania. What shocked me and especially Carol, were the road conditions and the way people lived. The housing was old, made of concrete blocks and not well taken care of. The first 60 or so Km of the main road was like a washboard. I took a BMW strap I carry for emergencies and tightened it around Carol’s Givi top box. The box bounced so much that we were afraid it would fall off. Everything rattled that was not tight or screwed down tight.
Potholes abounded. The road took our full attention and concentration. We missed the chance to take some pictures of missing manhole covers in the middle of town but we did see in time that the covers were missing. One uncovered manhole had an old tire stuck in it to warn drivers, another was just there, no warning, no barricade. In the middle of the road, in the normal tire track I passed a manhole with no cover. I felt like I was back in Siberia. Albania has applied for entry into the EU but I cannot see how they can manage to get in. The roads are deplorable; the living conditions are one of the poorest I have seen on this trip. And we just entered this country and it is early afternoon. Where will we sleep tonight? Entering Albania is like stepping back in time. A lot of merchandise is still transported by horse. I saw coal delivery wagons, trash and scrap iron hauled this way. We shared the road with pigs, cows, horses, a very over-loaded hay wagon and even a woman pushing a wheelbarrow filled with water jugs.
After a few miles we entered the larger town of Shkoder. I could not see a hotel, yet I also saw smoke spewing Mercedes Benz cars. So there must be some money here. I was concerned about finding a hotel. Where do you start when you do not speak the language? To make things worse, a lot of signs are in Cyrillic. When we entered the next bigger town of Lezhe I stopped and asked a police man sitting in a car if the town has a hotel. He thought a little and then indicated to follow him. This nice guy led us into town and stopped in front of the, presumably, only, hotel in town and with a smile, left us there. Naturally, it started to rain just then. I left the bikes with Carol and walked into the lobby of the only hotel and surprise, they had a room for us for 4200 Leke (30 Euro) incl. breakfast. Parking was in the back of the hotel behind the hanging laundry but was not easy to find since it involved finding your way by reckoning alone through the one-way back alleys of the neighborhood.. We made it; we had a hotel for the night.
It was early in the afternoon but I felt good that we stopped. Firstly we avoided the major rain fall, then we found a hotel with a spot for our bikes and we were in a major town and could explore whatever there was too see. We survived the first part of Albania’s roads without accident and are in one piece. The top box, albeit rattling severely, did not come off. Walking up and down the streets of Lezhe gave us a chance to observe Albanian life on a Friday afternoon with people rushing about. The sun had returned and the weather was pleasant. We could adjust ourselves to our new surroundings.
Yes it was a shock to enter into a county in Europe that is still very much like it was 30 or 50 years ago. The past Communistic Regime’s imprint is still clearly visible and has not advanced much in the last decade. Visit Albania and you will visit like you would have visited in 1980. There is a lot of work to be done here. The people are friendly, helpful, and basically happy but I felt like the leadership, the master plan was missing. Buildings have been started and then abandoned. Old factories are in decay. Lots of young families and/or young men have little work and little income. Friday night’s entertainment was to walk the large main street up and down and to show off your new dress or pants and be seen; or to sit and watch the strollers and enjoy your cup of coffee; strong Turkish coffee that causes heart palpitations. Lezhe is no tourist town but it served us well as our first town in Albania.
Dinner for two was an amazing 1500 Leke that night. Albania is a bargain to travel in if you find a hotel.

Kotor, again!

We woke up to tremendous thunder, to buckets of rain coming down outside our room. Lucky for us we had covered the bikes with our bike covers before we went to sleep. Do we get dressed and ride in this weather? The sky is gray, the town deserted outside. It is early, 6 AM. Breakfast is not being served until 9 AM, we paid for it already. Everything is soaking wet outside. It would be a good time and a good way to leave; we could even fire up the motors and ride out of this Forbidden City since I believe no policeman would be walking his beat in this kind of downpour. Not even a dog is stupid enough to walk through a miserable, cold shower like this.
I did what I very seldom do, I did nothing. It is now 10.30 AM and I am sitting in the bar downstairs writing these words. I had my omelet, a cup of strong coffee and all is updated on my blog journal. All I need is an internet connection, but with weather like this the satellite uplink will not work. Carol solved 2 difficult Sudoku puzzles already. There is just nothing to do but read and wait. The rain is letting up; it still rains, but not as heavily as earlier. We walk from shop to shop around the town. I get to know the town dog that lives by himself in town without ownership. Somehow he survives. I get to see how the town of Kotor moves without any tourists. The rain surly keeps the visitors away. The real pace of Kotor is very slow. The local people talk to each other, say hello, shake hands, give each other a kiss on each cheek and just talk. It sure is small town living. Women sit under a large umbrella, smoking their cigarettes, talking. We are the outsiders, the visitors with the money. They are the owners of this place.
Carol and I walk all over town in the afternoon. By now the rain has stopped but it is too late to start riding. We will wait until tomorrow. We discover little visited sections of town;
see an old hospital built by the Venetians and a fish market. We see dilapidated buildings, too. We hear the bells of all the churches in town toll. We hear the practice session of the local orchestra, trying to play a Bolero. It sounds terrible. We see things with a visitor’s eye yet we try to be as local as possible. Carols sends some postcards to her loved ones. I just sit and take in this village life; the good of it and the ugly, too.
I know life is the daily in and out for most people; daily routine, daily chores, daily responsibilities. I am very lucky, I am blessed, I can just visit and then leave. The people here have to stay every day, face the tourists every day. Their very existence depends on visitors. Kotor is a tourist spot; not extremely attractive, but good enough for a one day stop over. Cruise ships are the main source of income for all. The lack of parking spaces makes visits by car cumbersome if not impossible.
We will leave Kotor tomorrow, rain or shine, yet I also had a great time doing nothing but watch.