An Excursion

On Friday the 22nd I had the opportunity to Skype the sixth graders from the Blanchard Memorial School in Boxborough, Massachusetts. I had taught there for 33 years and retired two years ago so it was great to see the faces of so many students that I last knew as fourth graders. They grow so fast. My former colleague, Rob, set up the meeting with the help of the Blanchard staff. Although there were audio problems, I was able to answer their very-well thought out questions. Next school year, when the computers are finally installed at the Nikola Karev school, we’ll have some great opportunities to have the students from both countries interact and work together on some fun projects.

On Saturday the sixth and seventh graders from the Nicola Karev Primary School went on their end-of-the-school-year class trip and I went along with them. At 7AM five home room teachers and about 80 students on two busses, took off for a day of travel to five different points of interest in the surrounding towns and villages.

The first stop was in Radovis, an agrarian town where we stopped to view a new church that was recently built by a Macedonian gentleman who had made a fortune in the U.S. Upon his return, he built this beautiful church for his community in thanksgiving for his blessings (This is my understanding of the story. If anyone reading this blog has more knowledge on this topic, please feel free to post your comments at the end of this blog.) The church is exquisite and will be around for many centuries.

We then boarded the busses for Smolari, where there is a waterfall that is well worth seeing, hidden in the mountainous forest or forested mountain. We had to pass through a small village, and hike up a steep trail to get to the waterfall. It was well worth the challenging effort to spend a few Kodak moments on site. On the way down, we bought freshly picked cherries from some of the local youths who had set up a lemonade-for-sale style stand in the forest. Needless to say, they were delicious although I question whether they had been washed. The students found a vendor that sold ice cream and so as to blend in and since it wasn’t winter and I wouldn’t catch a cold from eating one, I contributed to the local economy and bought a bar- an ice cream bar that is.

Our next destination was Bansko, another agricultural town where the plan was to have lunch. Bansko is also known for its hot springs and there used to be numerous places to use the water to treat various health issues. It was about lunchtime and the day was heating up and the farmers were coming into the village on their tractors to grab some refreshment at one of the cafés. The students wanted to wait until the next stop before eating lunch and so they refreshed themselves with ice cream and soft drinks from the local prodavnitza (convenience store).

The next, and as it turned out to be our last, stop on our excursion was the town of Strumica – established in the 2nd century B.C. There were parks , and amusements, and shops and malls and cafes and fast food. The students from Probistip were set free and told to report back to the busses in three hours. The teachers found a nice outdoor restaurant where we rested and leisurely dined, and when the bill came, I was told that I had been treated to lunch. Macedonian hospitality again.
After a brief stroll through the center and a few minutes of throwing in the park, the frisbees that I had brought, we departed for home.

I learned a lot more about Macedonia on our trip. I witnessed how well the students got along with each other and how supportive they were of each other and how they are so much like the students in the USA. I got to practice my Macedonian and they were able to practice English in an informal and relaxed atmosphere. I was able to drive Alexandra crazy with questions about agriculture, business, education and law in Macedonia. I discovered they grow rice and mine gold here.

One of the neatest things while traveling on the bus through the” food belt” of Macedonia was witnessing areas where ancient farming techniques are still being practiced. I saw hectare upon hectare of tobacco fields where each tiny plant was tenderly hand placed in the ground. I saw a farmer scything a field while another worker was pitch forking the dried hay onto a horse-drawn cart. I saw more horses and donkeys than tractors and cars. I saw a fish farm. I saw shepherds and goat herders. With the exception of a passing motorized vehicle every now and then disturbing the setting , one would come to believe that he had been transported back to the 16th century.

I also learned that farmers can grow poppies that are used in the production of morphine. I saw many blossoming poppy fields while busing through this area. The growers must sell the whole plant, not just the pods, to licensed pharmaceutical companies.

Luckily, Monday was a National Holiday – Saints Cyril and Methodius – a relatively new holiday (you couldn’t celebrate saint’s days during the former communist days) which also recognizes the country’s teachers. The long weekend was needed to rejuvenate body and mind in preparation for the final weeks of this school year.

While I was writing this blog, my apartment building shook a few times. The area experienced some earthquake tremors from a seismic occurrence whose epicenter was in a town some distance from here. Not to worry I’m told, it happens all the time. So the next time my walls sway and the sofa vibrates, I’ll be sure not to be concerned.

Wherefore Art Thou ?

When I awoke on Wednesday morning, I immediately realized that I was once again living in MY OWN domain. “Wherefore art thou my sweet Lee B.?” There are no longer half-full coffee cups abandoned in each of the three rooms. I find a horizontal surface, no longer cluttered with the concoctions fabricated to hide, suppress, inflate, deflate , accentuate, diminish, cover, uncover, remove, straighten, curl, color, highlight or otherwise improve what God gave a woman when she was born. I proceeded to check my e-mail without waiting for my turn to use my computer. It was back to normal – normal being a relative term.

But then I realized that my best friend (and wife to boot) had departed Macedonia for the warmer climes of Egypt to meet up with her best friend since high school, where they will see for themselves if there really are camels, pyramids and sand in Northern Africa.

(An aside: When my Macedonian acquaintances and the students were asking me where Lee was going, I would respond in Macedonian that “she was going on a vacation with a friend. I was unknowingly using the word “priatel” which is the masculine form for “friend”. Many a Macedonian and quite a few students initially looked a little confused at such an American tradition of letting one’s wife go on vacation with another man, but they accepted it as the way we do things in our country. Once I realized that I should be using the word “priatelka”, (meaning a female friend) people seemed to respond without the quizzical look on their face.

While Lee B. was here, we had a wonderful time. We were wined and dined by the families of my counterpart (Alexandra), my tutor (Jasmina) and my colleague (Dobchay). We visited my wonderful host family in Negotino and got a tour of Kocho’s vineyard. We were given a personal tour of the ancient city of Kratevo by Trichay, a news journalist who lives in Probistip. We picnicked in the beautiful mountain village of Lesnevo. We quickly toured the cosmopolitan capital city of Skopje (the weather was too warm) and stayed with Michael F.(PCV). We visited the lakeside town of Dojran and stayed with Phil (PCV). We were invited into a neighbor's apartment to spend an hour conversing in languages that none of us understood but with each of us comprehending what the other was talking about. We drank home-brewed rakija and wine. We spent hours together at outdoor cafes (not during school hours) drinking expresso and beer (not together) and talking with Maceonians who wanted to practice their English. We sampled Macedonian cooking at local restaurants where you could order an appetizer, a salad, a bountiful entrée, drinks, coffee and dessert for less than $8. We rode on buses, in taxis, and in privately owned vehicles. (How come you ride ON a bus but IN a taxi or IN a car?)

We accomplished all of this in addition to spending hours at the school with the students who seemed to be infatuated with Lee, especially the girls who had many questions to ask an American woman. They were somewhat disappointed when they learned that she had to go back to America so soon but relieved to know that she would be returning again in the autumn.



The three goals of the Peace Corps are: (1) To help the people of interested countries in meeting their need for trained men and woman. (2) To help promote a better understanding of Americans on the part of the peoples served and (3) To help promote a better understanding of other peoples on the part of Americans.

Goals two and three were positively and unquestionably addressed with Lee’s visit to this land of beauty, hospitality and friendship.

A Wife's Impressions II

As a guest writer on my blog, Lee Barber writes:

“Aj Dobra” (roll the ‘r’) I said aloud as I touched the sheets hanging on the sunny balcony off Majkl’s stan (apartment). It was indeed very good that the laundry had dried in record time and I would have a dry pillow case to use tonight.

Then I realized with a start that I was literally talking to myself in Macedonian. The village of Probistip is tucked deep in a mountain valley in northeastern Macedonia where there is little need to learn English. Michael has made three good friends, all under thirty-something, who speak it well and generously share their time as translators for him, but for the rest we rely on his entry-level command of Macedonian. After 3 ½ weeks of hand gestures, charades and simply talking until I stumble on a word or two that are similar in both languages, I’m starting to get the hang of it. Not so much to speak it, but I’m continually surprised to find myself catching the general drift of a conversation in a language I don’t speak.

For the most part this is because the Macedonian people love to socialize and aren’t about to let a little thing like lack of a common language stop them from inviting a stranger in for coffee and a visit. As they bustle about making Turkish coffee and setting out platters of home-baked goodies and meats and cheeses , they talk a blue streak and don’t seem to mind if your responses are either unintelligible or consist exclusively of “Nay rahz bay rum” (meaning “I don’t understand”). They seem to take the attitude that we’re talking, therefore we’re sharing, a lovely approach to the world, eh?

The talk is not always of good news, though, as there is great unemployment in the village since the mines started closing and the textile factories have slowed to a crawl. Many of the women have so much time to bake, can vegetable and preserves, and tend their gardens because they have lost their jobs.

A mining engineer who is worried that his job too may be cancelled at any time explains that his wife, whose degree qualifies her to teach high school physics, has not been able to find a job in the eleven years since they graduated from college.They are glad she can be home with their two young children for now, but she would like a life outside the family, too.

A young woman with a degree in food chemistry considers herself fortunate to land a job as a nanny and housekeeper in Italy because she does not have the political clout required to get one of the scarce professional positions available.
They speak of these problems with disappointment, but not despair. In some ways they were better off under Communism because the government provided jobs and social welfare, but many of them see these times as a passage to better ones they hope will come when Macedonia is accepted into the European Union.

Americans are such a rarity in the villages that we are picked out instantly, if only for the aggressive way we walk. After five months working in the schools, Majkl is treated like a celebrity by the children of Probistip, who all seem to know everything about him even if they have not had him in class. Any reservations the women of the town may have had about him seem to have vanished with my appearance: the fact that he has a wife seems to make him a safe bet, so even the baba’s who peered suspiciously at him in the past are inviting us in at every chance.

Next time: there are a few things I’m looking forward to back in the States…

A Wife's Impressions

Warning: While I am is constantly cleaning up Lee’s mess, rearranging everything to accommodate her every desire, and having to share all my stuff with her in my “bachelor” apartment, I have assigned her the task of writing this newest posting. Please forgive the lower quality writing style that follows.

It has been two weeks since I (Lee) woke up in Probistip and I’m amazed at how quickly one can get accustomed to conditions that seem unthinkable to an American from New England at first blush.

Like needing to plan at least two hours ahead before taking a shower—that’s how long it takes for the tank hanging over the bathtub to heat enough water for a quick wash-up. It takes about a half hour to heat water to wash dishes, so we tend to save them up for the end of the day.

And discovering why the village has no recycling program: materials we take for granted are scarce and expensive, so very little gets thrown out. Soda bottles become wine decanters; jelly jars make fine sugar canisters; butcher paper can be used to grease a baking sheet.(No such thing as Pam)

It’s an excellent day when a merchant gives you a plastic bag because your cloth bags wouldn’t hold all your purchases--it means you can keep your bread fresh an extra day or you can cut it open to use as a pastry cloth.

And learning to watch out for oneself. Apparently Macedonians still believe people should have a certain degree of common sense and see no need to post signs indicating that hot products will be hot, that a road obviously under construction could hold unexpected hazards, or to warn people to watch their step around gaping holes in the pavement.

The posted photos tell most of the story: Probistip, where Michael is assigned, is truly a different world from ours--sort of post WWII era Eastern Bloc with cell phones and grocery scanners. It strikes me as strange that they would spend money on such technology when they lack so many conveniences Americans take for granted. But here my own cultural assumptions have skewed my perceptions: this is not a choice for them; technology is relatively inexpensive whereas, for example, it would cost a fortune they don’t have to replace all the Turkish toilets with ones that flush.

I am reminded that choices come only with affluence.

The town we're in is tightly packed into a small valley, with houses stopping abruptly on the edge of town to give way to fields and vineyards and lambs and goats. This is the kind of ‘cluster zoning’ small town America has been resisting since it was first proposed in the 1970’s, preferring instead to control growth by demanding one or two acre minimums for each new house built. End result? Suburban sprawl that means no one can get anywhere without a car.

Though each home here sits on only a tiny patch of land, every square foot is put to use. Give a Macedonian a two by five-foot patch, and he’ll grow strawberries, leeks, lettuce, tulips, roses—you name it. Those who have cars pave only the two strips needed for tires and plant the middle strip with onions and root vegetables. Poles with a few wires strung between them support grape vines, which leaf out in the spring to form cool shady patios by the time the summer sun heats up with Mediterranean ferocity.

Without massive expanses of lawn to fertilize, water, weed, and mow, their energies go in to creating tiny Edens—virtual outdoor rooms, glimpsed through garden gates but otherwise totally private, overflowing with immaculately maintained roses, lilacs, lemon trees and tiny evergreens growing in patches of ivy.

To compensate for small house lots, many families also have plots of land outside the village where they grow grapes to make their own wine and rakia--a deadly cousin to brandy which is tossed back at the slightest provocation. Michael's host family, seen in the pictures posted in May, took us up to their plot, which we reached by hiking up a hill past a shepherd (a full timer whose job description hasn't changed in thousands of years)and his flock and fields of wildflowers.

Kocho is one of the lucky ones whose plot is relatively flat, but from his hilltop vantage point you see plots of grapevines clinging to the hillsides at angles only a billy goat could love. Undeterred, small growers like Kocho turn the soil between rows each year one shovelful at a time and trek out regularly to tie the vines meticulously to succeedingly higher layers of wire as the spring and summer progress.

On May 1--celebrated fervently here to honor the working man and woman--people go out into the woods and fields and up mountain tops to have skara--roughly comparable to what we call a barbecue. Since rain threatened this year, our hosts hauled tables out on the patio and cooked up the unbelievable assortment of meats pictured in the May photos. Not only is the food fantastically tasty but even the simplest snack is presented in a way that puts Martha Stewart to shame.

You rarely see a chubby Macedonian though, at least in the villages, because whatever you want or need you must walk to acquire--and have I mentioned that it's hilly here? You get interval training whether you want it or not. Which is good, because along with the very healthy cucumber, garden tomato, cabbage and leek salads and chorba (a thick Macedonian soup) I have acquired a taste for burak (pronounced boo-rahch). The closest thing I can compare it to is a huge croissant pastry filled with meat or cheese and spinach and baked in a sea of oil. Macedonians eat them for breakfast along with drinkable yoghurt.The light variety is about as tasty as fat free cream cheese, but the high test is ambrosia.

I'll have the rest of my life to eat egg white omelets and lowfat cottage cheese, I reason, so on the mornings that I don't go into school with Majkl I walk a few blocks down to one of the little shops that seem to occupy every third building and pick one up fresh for 30 cents.

Michael is badgering me for another post, so more later. The buzz is that strawberries are coming in today and to the quick go the spoils, so
I’m going to hoof it down to the town square where the stalls are set up and see what I can score.