May 15, 2016, From Larisa, Greece to Lake Ohrid, Macedonia
The town square, bustling last night, was quiet and deserted this morning. As is the usual progression of the morning, Paul and I were up early and went for a walk to explore and forage for coffee. We found a cute empty cafe and relaxed over a couple cups.
A little later we returned to the Metropol to get the girls up and go downstairs to the breakfast buffet. There were blocks of feta and olives, slices of white cheese and turkey, hard-boiled eggs, some cereals, and squares of fried eggs. The bread here is denser, less fluff, more substance, wish I could ship it home.
Drove from Greece into Macedonia. People back home were wondering if we would see the chaos at the border, the thousands of refugees reported in the news. We saw none of that at our crossing, just two lines, maybe five cars each.
Driving through countryside of Macedonia toward Lake Ohrid was mostly wilderness. Rarely did we see any signs of civilization, only beautiful, untouched landscape.
We knew the apartment we’d rented had a spectacular view of Lake Ohrid, a Unesco World Heritage site. Our frenemy GPS sent us up a narrow very rocky, precarious pathway calling itself a road. In a few places it looked as if the dirt road was barely wide enough to accommodate the car’s wheelbase, and if you slipped, you’d be rolling down the side of the mountain as fast as a small rock. A couple of times we came face to face with another car. The local people helped us back up or go in someone’s driveway to enable someone to pass–they were great about our lack of experience maneuvering the tight spaces. Once we got to the apartment the owners found it absolutely hilarious that we didn’t take the wonderfully wide and newly paved road up the mountain. Apparently our gps didn’t know it existed and sent us on a little adventure instead. Yup. All ended well.
The view from the apartment was stunning. I know I say this all the time, but it’s also how Paul chooses our locations— always hitting the most spectacular places, when possible.
Are hosts were absolutely the sweetest people, superhost category for sure. They offered to carry all of our heavy bags in, which we declined, but still, how nice of them to offer. We always ask our hosts for restaurant suggestions. They asked if we wanted authentic Macedonian food and we replied, “Absolutely!” They suggested a certain place at the bottom of the mountain. We took the safe paved road this time, very different from our trip up.
The restaurant didn’t have actual walls, but permanent ceiling structure with heavy plastic curtains that are likely removed when it gets warm enough. The outer enclosure were lined with large wooden furniture and antiques everywhere. I was sitting across from Madi and Kier and they looked like they were in the Smithsonian. There were elaborate models of ships and other maritime artifacts, stuff I’d never seen. Was an interesting view, such old permanent artifacts displayed in front of such temporary plastic walls, a visual oxymoron.
We ended up eating some delicious examples of Macedonian food. We’ve become accustomed to the unpredictable adventure the menu wields. We point to dishes and a surprise on a plate are placed in front of us. Then we shuffle plates around to the pickier eaters, and I’ll happily end up with the most interesting mix of things. I’m happy with anything, it’s no sacrifice. Part of why I love travel so much is every meal when we are on the road is a family meal. We are always together and therefore we eat together. It’s like having all those family dinners you wanted to have, but due to busyness and five competing schedules, rarely had. It’s having dinners where no one is rushing off to do something, you sit, talk, laugh, enjoy each other. My favorite, favorite thing in the world. Then, put us all in different locations trying new food, and I’ve died and gone to heaven. So great. The conversation always hummed at a good pace, but even adding one more person, it’s a whirlwind of thoughts and rapid-fire. It’s the kind of pace you can only have with people you know so intimately, that it clips along with a knowledge base of each other’s existing point of views, where many things are known and not necessarily said. Did I mention this is my favorite thing in the world? Nuf said.
Paul thought he was ordering a side of mushrooms and it ended up being soup. Ordinary veggies are spectacular here, the tomatoes and cucumbers are packed with more flavor. How can I describe it, just like an intensified version of their best selves when they are at their ripest and grown in their most favorite soil and climate. They served them sliced with a tiny bit of olive oil on top. And it tastes out of this world. I got tortellini with wild mushrooms. I’d had so much already that I ended up taking it home, which is what often happens.
Half way through the meal, six musicians arrived. They played and sang for all of us through the rest of the meal. I can never get enough regional folk music (with a few notable exceptions). Could have stayed for hours. Meals with music are our favorite—experiencing a new culture through multiple senses.
The night is so quiet on the mountain, we slept so soundly. Paul and I were talking about how much we like it when the girls are in the next room, something we haven’t taken for granted since Kier was 16 (so many years). I like how I don’t have to send my good-nights around the world, but can walk into the next room and kiss them on the head. It’s a rare gift, and makes me so happy.
View from our balcony when we went to sleep.