Macadamia, not Maceration

To be on vacation, you first need to have a job. I’m pretty sure that’s how it works. If you don’t have a job (or a regular course of study), you can travel, but it’s not a vacation. So this is my first time traveling neither for business, nor on vacation. It’s something of a different feeling. In the last weeks, since I gave up my apartment, I’ve spent about ten thousand miles in the air. I’ve brought the same set of bags, with the same set of clothes on each of my little trips. So the difference here is that I’m not so much vacationing as I am relocating… however briefly. Make no mistake, I’ll be back in NY before the kids get back to school, but for now, I live in Macedonia.

I’m either getting way accustomed to long flights, or the airports in Rome and Budapest are strikingly western. I spent about eighteen hours getting to Skopje and the biggest culture shock I ran into along the way was the massive line at the JFK gate of passengers collecting their duty free cartons of Marlboros and Mentos (the fresh maker). There must be some sort of synergistic magic between the nicotine and the hydrogenated coconut oil that drives europeans crazy. Or maybe it’s the guar gum.

I didn’t sleep as much as I planned, but beyond that it was smooth sailing. Smooth air sailing. In a plane. In the air.

This is my unplanned trip. I did no research on Macedonia before my arrival. It was only after landing that I realized the country’s pronounced more like Macadamia than Maceration. Yet, thanks to the kind folks at Habitat (who maybe want to make sure I show up on time for the build), there was a dude waiting for me outside baggage claim, with my name on a sign, ready to drive me to my hotel. So much for going where the wind takes me.

At least the room is nicely sparse. I’ve got everything I need, but it’s economy helps me live out this nice eastern block fantasy I got. All the furniture is nailed down (nailed up, actually. Much of it is crammed up near the ceiling. Seriously) and cannot be moved… which plays nicely into my suspicion that the whole room is bugged!… In Macedonia, TV watches YOU! Ha Ha HA HA!

I dropped my bags off in the room and set out to get a bite to eat, and maybe a taste of the neighborhood. Skopje, the capital, is an eclectic mix. It’s something of a cross between soviet bauhaus architecture and Los Angeles suburban sprawl. Each block is dotted with residential high rises with forms following their functions straight into snoozeville. But there’s a lot of open green space, and tons of little playgrounds (you know: for kids). Right across from my hotel is a park, and just beyond that a super market. Here I can not only load up on the local currency (denars), but also do a broad survey of their consumer products.

I don’t want to sound like I’ve already gone native, but the array of products sold could give any western chain a run for it’s money. I wuss out and settle my stomach with a generic yoghurt drink, but there are endless options to chose from. I swear there were twenty different varieties of catsup. It may not be as posh as a Whole Foods, but in addition to the myriad of prepackaged goods, there are all sorts of stations in the back where food is being prepared fresh. Walking along the back aisle is like running a gauntlet of odors: deep fried bananas and fresh squeezed grapefruit juice were pretty dominant though.

After a quick shower and change of clothes, I feel good enough to go back into town for a real dinner. I make it all the way to the city center (called Macedonia Square) which seems like their Champs Elysees and Time Square rolled into one. There are all sorts of streetfront cafes and signature stores. A stone bridge separates this new part of the city from the historic core across the Vardar River.

I settle on a nameless cafe with a strong clientele. The menu is extensive and I stuff myself on a greek salad that’s so tasty it breaks my heart, and a giant piece of grilled salmon that’s size is inversely proportional to it’s price. I hate to talk about it, but the whole meal cost me just twelve dollars. The square is reasonably active with couples and families strolling around, listening to the street musicians. There’s a different look to the people: their bodies and their clothing. But I can’t say for sure I’d notice if the whole city picked up and moved to Brooklyn. There’s a certain line between hipster and eurotrash that seems to have blurred. No tattoos here though. Not sure why. Just an observation.

My walk to the square was about two miles in hot daylight. I’m trying to get a sense of the area so when I’m ready to turn in, I take a different route back to the hotel. The whole city feels very safe, but I end up on a darkened road with little traffic. I walk with purpose, but also see how frightened I can make myself. I have this thing about fear scaring off danger. It’s only when we’re not scared that things actually go south, right? I see a man walking towards me. He’s nothing but a backlit profile; a shadow. I step down into the street so we wont have to squeeze past each other if we meet at a spot where the sidewalk narrows. I turn and look back over my shoulder as a car passes me. When I face front again, the man is gone. He could have turned into a driveway, or walked into a house, but I don’t see any likely candidates. Or he could be crouched behind that dumpster waiting to jump me when I walk by. I know that fear seems silly, but imagining it is part of my little game. I walk on and every few steps, I turn and peer around any obstacles I pass. There really are a lot of them. By the time I get up to where I last saw this shadow man, I’ve looked between parked cars, and down side streets and alleys. He’s vanished. I walk straight past where he last stood, but keep looking behind me to see if he pops out again. Behind a narrow gap between two chain link fences, again backlit, there he is, standing just a few feet from me. I can’t see his eyes, but I’m sure he can see mine. I keep my pace, but turn back every few seconds to see if he follows after me. He does not.

Not yet through smacking my heart around, the city floods the street with a string of innocents passing me by; making me feel foolish for my fear. First a mother carrying her baby in her arms; out for a stroll. Then two young girls deep in a cyrillic conversation; oblivious to my presence. Finally a young boy walking a younger puppy. Skopje feels safe. But that shadow guy was creepy. No question.