A day in Skopje was three thirty in the morning when the bus ride ended. In fact, it was a van adapted to a dozen passengers, without even an anagram of the private operator of that line, the Sofia-Skopje, but that night only seven seats are occupied. Unless we say that they were all Albanian. I do not remember if I got wink at some point, and if I did, so it must have been very elusive. It is not easy to sleep on a hard seat, traveling on back roads. I believe that much of the four-hour journey were spent making me mental issues, and wondering how on earth could be profitable this line of seven passengers, in the absence of two unlikely travelers as we were, would have been five ...
The bus station was a white building, bright, recently built. He was attached to the other station, the train, much older, dark and neglected, and whose entry is not found to be virtually surrounded the building. From there we would have to leave next week to Belgrade. In one of the recesses of the station was waiting for us one of those trifles surprising, meaning we could not figure out until several hours later ...
... was the name of a gambling house.
At three thirty in the morning, Spain sleeps. In the Skopje bus station, however, the buses leaving and arriving at the most inopportune times, and there was continuous movement. It was evident that the aubobús is the most popular means of transport in the former Yugoslav Republic of Macedonia. Even with the bleary and bloodshot eyes, decided to sit back on a metal seat with the backpack as a pillow until the sun came up, but the presence of several Roma children permanently search dissuaded us of that. Decided to take a burek tea in the cafeteria of the station, where we attended a distinctly Slavic woman, with characteristic snub nose and square-toed, and props (hairstyle, clothing, perfume) Soviet eminently. We understand Russian, but also showed an excessive enthusiasm. As the day began at dawn around five o'clock, we walked into town, distant about twenty minutes from the station.
had rained. However, despite being in the middle of December, the temperature was surprisingly pleasant, above 5 ° C. Several hours later, the sun having been present, even would deny me the jersey. We went through a shopping mall and leisure-consumerism, but to a lesser extent, comes into existence in FYROM, where some excesses were evident last night. Nothing strange, considering he had just started on Sunday. The background was the
Kamen Most, the stone bridge over the river Vardar Skopje natural border between former Soviet republics that remained on the left, with its huge square Makedonija first, and the Turkish-Albanian Uskup left to right, where we were going to run first.
Crossing the bridge means enter the
Čaršija , the "market town" Turkish. In the case of Skopje (Uskup, in Albanian), three or four parallel streets, with many small shops, many of them, jewelers Zlatar
- and the occasional minaret, which flow into the
Bit Pass, the Bazaar . A very early morning, just a couple of restaurants opened their doors, so we headed to one of them actually did not seem no great difference between them, run by Albanians, and ordered a plate of goulash
, just what one expects to be asked before seven o'clock. But yes, I served it with no problem while trying to communicate with us in Italian. It is still curious fascination that most men feel the Turks and fraternal peoples
for all things Italian: try to wear the same white suits, wear the same shoes as art, the same superlative belt buckle, the same slicked-back hairstyle ... although the budget is not the same, of course.
As the morning wore on, life began to manifest in Čaršija
, especially in those areas closest to the Bazaar. It was not an Arab souk, but something much more modest, quantitatively and qualitatively, but not enough to miss at least a sense of direction. Fabrics, trinkets and some edible adorned those galleries covered with corrugated iron, which, however, also allowed occasional filtered light beam.
A few meters away, outside the grounds of the bazaar, and was, in fact, the very
Čaršija, under Beute Isa Mosque, and the surrounding mountains still capped as a stamp of bottom, took place another market although in this case was not fabric or trinkets, but cattle dealers, which stretched along the main avenue of the city for several hundred meters.
streets began to ascend from modest houses, into what seemed an excellent vantage point from which to see the city as a whole. Not a soul, just the odd stray dog. In fact, we had not chosen but
long road leading to the top of the hill where stands the
Kale, the Byzantine fortress. And indeed, the views were exceptional, especially in the downtown, with its blocks of Soviet-style buildings spread at the foot of Mount Vodno. Despite being virtually unknown, Skopje census to give more than half a million inhabitants, and certainly seems to have them.
Lowering the Kale in full
Čaršija , we find an old man, possibly not as much as your skin and teeth suggested, barefoot on a porch door. Curiosity made us head out, and I guess his (her curiosity) made him speak to us. In Albanian, it could not be otherwise. He made us go upstairs, but not before us barefoot. In fact, was the ruler of a mosque, installed in a building apparently normal. We sat on the carpet, of course, no praying, while enjoying the intimate tranquility of the place provided. Given the difficult language for dialogue, good man continued his monologue, which based on tenacity and a good dose of body language we were able to interpret crystal. Told us how his brother, who lived in the American city of New Jersey, lived in a society where only imported material, ostentation. He did not want that, he already had everything I needed in Skopje. And had Allah, of course. The truth is that I convinced ... at least in the mundane.
recrossed the
Kamen Most, though in this case, in reverse. Makedonija Square is the center of an urban structure radiocentric, where the main artery, which curiously
, also called Makedonija, leads to the old train station, now converted into a museum. On this street there is a small statue of the most illustrious of the city, the Mother Teresa of Calcutta, but did not see it from afar. Not for nothing personal against the late missionary, but because the statues do not call me the least attention. Just like the museums.
hovered three in the afternoon, and we had half a day awake, and just having cheated a little stomach. The restaurant Kaj Marshalot was found to be the place to arouse such physiological needs. Communist iconography (and communistic too), for a kitchen not much given to ration cards, with dishes that intimidated most decorated the walls to the greater glory of Marshal Tito. As a result, two people who met for about 18 euros to change.
With just a couple of hours of daylight ahead, we set out to walk the Skopje large blocks and wide avenues. In fact, nothing particularly different than any other of those cities that I so passionate about this. Perhaps more empty than others, but it was Sunday. Some dim lights began to light up prelude to Christmas.
were soon swallowed by the streetlights. Mount Vodno was no longer visible but the huge lighted cross on top. It was night, and the train to Belgrade was waiting for us ...
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