Traditional bag piper in Lake Ohrid. The old man in the hat sang along.
Sunday, July 03, 2005
XIII Another trip to Greece – almost; Poppies again; Close security; No pictures please; In search of a bus; Lake Ohrid in Macedonia – Tito - Yugoslav
XIII Another trip to Greece – almost; Poppies again; Close security; No pictures please; In search of a bus; Lake Ohrid in Macedonia – Tito - Yugoslavia falling down; Canada Day and the Fourth of July; Explosions, the usual reminders
Dear Friends and Family,
1
Sharon came back in time for her birthday on the 29th of May. Lily’s Birthday is the 30th. Gaz and I planned a trip to Greece for the long weekend. Memorial Day is a long weekend for our staff and for us. Our staff get USAID holidays which include all local holidays and all American holidays. Those total 17 days. We, on the other had, get NCSC holidays – ten. Memorial Day is one we do get, The UN and locals work on that day however. All of this is just one more of the many things that in the US is taken for granted, but here becomes a rather involved matter. This happens virtually every holiday, local, US or other, some people are off others not.
We left early Saturday morning taking our Michigan registered Cougar. The border crossing into Macedonia was smooth and uneventful. My insurance, purchased at the border several weeks earlier, was still in effect. The road to Greece through Macedonia to Greece is good; limited access four lanes until the southern section through the mountains where it is yet unfinished. There it is two lane road, but well maintained. We made good time and arrived at the Greek border within three hours.
A week or so before the trip, there was an announcement that Greece had decided to recognize the UNMIK Kosovo vehicle registrations - “KS” license plates. This would allow Kosovars to travel to Greece, assuming they have a visa. KS plates are recognized only in Macedonia, Albania, Bulgaria and Montenegro, severely limiting the travel options of Kosovars with cars. As we approached the border, Gaz was driving. Gaz and Lily have UK passports, even though they are Kosovar Albanian. In my two prior trips to Greece with our US registered car, we were never questioned nor asked to purchase insurance at the border. This was the experience of all other Americans with US plates.
For whatever reason, on this trip the not so friendly Greek customs agent told us we had to get insurance and directed us to a building on the far side of the border station that I had not seen before. Sharon and Lily crossed on foot to a little café on the Greek side of the border. Gaz and I went to get insurance, even though I was surprised we were required to do so. In the insurance office two men sat at metal desks. We told them what we needed. Between the two of them they managed to understand. One man wrote in pencil on a small sheet of paper 180 euros. At the insurance office in Macedonia, the agent has a rate schedule that can be examined and is always the same – 55 euros for two weeks, 70 euros for one month, 110 euros for two months etc. I asked for how long the 180 euros was good for. The man at the other desk said “one month.” Gaz and I went back to the border agent who was of no further help. We went back to the Macedonian border station to see if we could buy insurance there, without success. We finally decided to spend the one hundred eighty euros (over $200) for the weekend, this, before we hired a room or ate.
The men in the insurance office were now less friendly and found ways to busy themselves with other people and things while we waited. Gaz suggested we ask the women if they thought we should spend the money. They were having coffee on the Greek side of the border. We walked there leaving the car in the no-man’s-land between the two stations. Lily and Sharon were of a like mind that we should not spend the money. As we discussed our options, Gaz suggested we go to Bulgaria. We checked out of Greece, got in the car, crossed through the Macedonian station and began our trip to Bulgaria.
Bulgaria borders Macedonia on its west and Greece on its south. We needed simply to travel about half way across Macedonia to get to the border, less than 200 kilometers. The road was good, two lanes and wound its way through mountains, searching for the border with Bulgaria. Through the last Macedonian village and into the country we came to a border crossing. This was not a busy place, but pleasant on a sunny afternoon. A rural setting with rolling hills; the mountains left behind us to the west. Unlike the busy crossing we use going from Pristina to Skopje where cursory inspections and quick swipes of passports still often result in long lines. At this quiet place, the border guard instructed us to turn off the engine. The process was thorough and proper, the people friendly. Finally we were allowed to move to the Bulgarian station. Again, we shut off the engine and waited patiently as procedures were followed. There were some walkers, a truck; no one in a hurry. We were not required to buy insurance, a savings from our earlier experience, of 180 euros.
We went to a small city of around thirty thousand called Sandanski. It is know for its therapeutic hot springs. The trip through the rolling countryside gave us a flavor of this serene, neat and poor place. We found more horse drawn carts than we normally
encounter in Kosovo or Macedonia. Farms growing vegetables, similar to what Macedonia offers, and grape vineyards for wine, also as in Macedonia and Kosovo, lined the winding road. After a few wrong turns we arrived at our destination.
Like all Yugoslavians older than fifteen, Gaz and Lily speak fluent Serbian (Serbo-Croatian officially) and are familiar with the Cyrillic alphabet used in the road signs in Bulgaria. Bulgaria, like Albania, was closed during the “Cold War” years. While the Yugoslavians under Marshall Tito traveled freely through Europe and often to Greece, they were permitted transit only through Bulgaria; twelve hour visas, only enough to get from one border to another. The result is a society that today speaks only Bulgarian. Very little English is spoken there. Serbian as a Slavic language is close enough to Bulgarian that Gaz and Lily could communicate.
Sandanski is relaxing city with good shopping, large parks with walking paths, a cascading river and hot springs, the 76 degree centigrade water piped to the surface for people to splash on their face or take home in jugs. There are clinics for therapy of all sorts and the largest hotel has a medical center that offered cosmetic surgery along with the therapeutic treatments. We simply enjoyed the sun, a sauna and two birthday dinners at very reasonable prices, one for Sharon and one for Lily.
2
The poppies are in bloom here again. They grow wild along the roadsides and in fields. They are so striking. Last year I made an analogy to spatterings of blood in a region replete with wars throughout its long history. Gaz and I were driving one day and I commented on the fact that the poppies were blooming. He told me that local legend says that the poppy fields mark sites of battles that occurred over the course of Balkan history. He then described one such site from the conflict between the Serbs and Albanian Kosovars in the late 1990’s where a number of people were killed. Poppies have bloomed there since then. There are many poppy fields in the former Yugoslavia.
3
We would say bodyguards, here they call it “close security.” I do not have close security. I recently hired a driver and although Rama is often a companion at lunch, he can hardly be considered close security. I have been out to dinner with Tom many times and as director of the UNMIK Department of Justice, he is entitled to close security. I am accustomed to having them sitting discreetly at a neighboring table. Some, like Tom’s, are KFOR solders in uniform. Others are men and women in suits with coiled wires trailing from their ears and snaking into the back of a suit coat. The Serbian lawyer who is prominent for being on a number of committees has KPS (Kosovo Police Service) close security. Ministers of the government have close security, and so on. If either the UN or the government thinks a person is a potential target, they get close security.
Tiffany’s is a popular spot for internationals and locals alike. The leader of the ORA party sat at the next table as we finished our lunch. His office had been fire bombed recently according to Edita. Then a soldier sat at a nearby table, one was by the door, several were outside. On the patio outside the sliding glass door next to our table a member of the Carabinieri – the Italian KFOR – moved nervously with his automatic weapon at the ready. He was a character from a movie set with his dark blue uniform pants folded into the tops of his black boots, his dark hair pulled into a short pony tail under his red beret. He was tall, lean and appeared serious about his undertaking.
And then more came and more. Close security were everywhere. Some were in uniforms, some in suits. Edita recognized the Minister of Finance and another minister, then several. It was a meeting. Close security outnumbered the participants by more than two to one. Having finished our meal and fearing a mistake by one jittery close security person setting off a chain reaction, we left. The road was closed for security; we walked to the main street.
4
The events of March 2004 destroyed a number of Orthodox churches. Since then, many have been guarded regularly by KFOR troops. John was here again and we took a Sunday drive down to Ferazi. There, an Orthodox church and a masque are literally next to each other. It makes an interesting picture. There a few places in Kosovo similar to this, but in Ferazi the two are exactly next to each other. John wanted a picture. He got a story to tell instead. As he raised his camera, several KFOR guards emerged from bunkers in the church yard and began waiving him off – no pictures please. His pictures are now of Sharon and I on the sidewalk a bit distant from the church, but with the church and masque n the background.
We left downtown Ferazi for the Ben-af store on the Skopje road. The Ben-af store is the one that was destroyed last summer by a car bomb. Something about competition. John remembered the story and as we left he wanted a picture. The guards who are now constantly in the parking lot waived him off - no pictures please. We try hard to believe that life here is normal but unusual things seem to happen with enough regularity to remind us that post-conflict environments do not normalize very quickly.
5
Dear Friends and Family,
1
Sharon came back in time for her birthday on the 29th of May. Lily’s Birthday is the 30th. Gaz and I planned a trip to Greece for the long weekend. Memorial Day is a long weekend for our staff and for us. Our staff get USAID holidays which include all local holidays and all American holidays. Those total 17 days. We, on the other had, get NCSC holidays – ten. Memorial Day is one we do get, The UN and locals work on that day however. All of this is just one more of the many things that in the US is taken for granted, but here becomes a rather involved matter. This happens virtually every holiday, local, US or other, some people are off others not.
We left early Saturday morning taking our Michigan registered Cougar. The border crossing into Macedonia was smooth and uneventful. My insurance, purchased at the border several weeks earlier, was still in effect. The road to Greece through Macedonia to Greece is good; limited access four lanes until the southern section through the mountains where it is yet unfinished. There it is two lane road, but well maintained. We made good time and arrived at the Greek border within three hours.
A week or so before the trip, there was an announcement that Greece had decided to recognize the UNMIK Kosovo vehicle registrations - “KS” license plates. This would allow Kosovars to travel to Greece, assuming they have a visa. KS plates are recognized only in Macedonia, Albania, Bulgaria and Montenegro, severely limiting the travel options of Kosovars with cars. As we approached the border, Gaz was driving. Gaz and Lily have UK passports, even though they are Kosovar Albanian. In my two prior trips to Greece with our US registered car, we were never questioned nor asked to purchase insurance at the border. This was the experience of all other Americans with US plates.
For whatever reason, on this trip the not so friendly Greek customs agent told us we had to get insurance and directed us to a building on the far side of the border station that I had not seen before. Sharon and Lily crossed on foot to a little café on the Greek side of the border. Gaz and I went to get insurance, even though I was surprised we were required to do so. In the insurance office two men sat at metal desks. We told them what we needed. Between the two of them they managed to understand. One man wrote in pencil on a small sheet of paper 180 euros. At the insurance office in Macedonia, the agent has a rate schedule that can be examined and is always the same – 55 euros for two weeks, 70 euros for one month, 110 euros for two months etc. I asked for how long the 180 euros was good for. The man at the other desk said “one month.” Gaz and I went back to the border agent who was of no further help. We went back to the Macedonian border station to see if we could buy insurance there, without success. We finally decided to spend the one hundred eighty euros (over $200) for the weekend, this, before we hired a room or ate.
The men in the insurance office were now less friendly and found ways to busy themselves with other people and things while we waited. Gaz suggested we ask the women if they thought we should spend the money. They were having coffee on the Greek side of the border. We walked there leaving the car in the no-man’s-land between the two stations. Lily and Sharon were of a like mind that we should not spend the money. As we discussed our options, Gaz suggested we go to Bulgaria. We checked out of Greece, got in the car, crossed through the Macedonian station and began our trip to Bulgaria.
Bulgaria borders Macedonia on its west and Greece on its south. We needed simply to travel about half way across Macedonia to get to the border, less than 200 kilometers. The road was good, two lanes and wound its way through mountains, searching for the border with Bulgaria. Through the last Macedonian village and into the country we came to a border crossing. This was not a busy place, but pleasant on a sunny afternoon. A rural setting with rolling hills; the mountains left behind us to the west. Unlike the busy crossing we use going from Pristina to Skopje where cursory inspections and quick swipes of passports still often result in long lines. At this quiet place, the border guard instructed us to turn off the engine. The process was thorough and proper, the people friendly. Finally we were allowed to move to the Bulgarian station. Again, we shut off the engine and waited patiently as procedures were followed. There were some walkers, a truck; no one in a hurry. We were not required to buy insurance, a savings from our earlier experience, of 180 euros.
We went to a small city of around thirty thousand called Sandanski. It is know for its therapeutic hot springs. The trip through the rolling countryside gave us a flavor of this serene, neat and poor place. We found more horse drawn carts than we normally
encounter in Kosovo or Macedonia. Farms growing vegetables, similar to what Macedonia offers, and grape vineyards for wine, also as in Macedonia and Kosovo, lined the winding road. After a few wrong turns we arrived at our destination.
Like all Yugoslavians older than fifteen, Gaz and Lily speak fluent Serbian (Serbo-Croatian officially) and are familiar with the Cyrillic alphabet used in the road signs in Bulgaria. Bulgaria, like Albania, was closed during the “Cold War” years. While the Yugoslavians under Marshall Tito traveled freely through Europe and often to Greece, they were permitted transit only through Bulgaria; twelve hour visas, only enough to get from one border to another. The result is a society that today speaks only Bulgarian. Very little English is spoken there. Serbian as a Slavic language is close enough to Bulgarian that Gaz and Lily could communicate.
Sandanski is relaxing city with good shopping, large parks with walking paths, a cascading river and hot springs, the 76 degree centigrade water piped to the surface for people to splash on their face or take home in jugs. There are clinics for therapy of all sorts and the largest hotel has a medical center that offered cosmetic surgery along with the therapeutic treatments. We simply enjoyed the sun, a sauna and two birthday dinners at very reasonable prices, one for Sharon and one for Lily.
2
The poppies are in bloom here again. They grow wild along the roadsides and in fields. They are so striking. Last year I made an analogy to spatterings of blood in a region replete with wars throughout its long history. Gaz and I were driving one day and I commented on the fact that the poppies were blooming. He told me that local legend says that the poppy fields mark sites of battles that occurred over the course of Balkan history. He then described one such site from the conflict between the Serbs and Albanian Kosovars in the late 1990’s where a number of people were killed. Poppies have bloomed there since then. There are many poppy fields in the former Yugoslavia.
3
We would say bodyguards, here they call it “close security.” I do not have close security. I recently hired a driver and although Rama is often a companion at lunch, he can hardly be considered close security. I have been out to dinner with Tom many times and as director of the UNMIK Department of Justice, he is entitled to close security. I am accustomed to having them sitting discreetly at a neighboring table. Some, like Tom’s, are KFOR solders in uniform. Others are men and women in suits with coiled wires trailing from their ears and snaking into the back of a suit coat. The Serbian lawyer who is prominent for being on a number of committees has KPS (Kosovo Police Service) close security. Ministers of the government have close security, and so on. If either the UN or the government thinks a person is a potential target, they get close security.
Tiffany’s is a popular spot for internationals and locals alike. The leader of the ORA party sat at the next table as we finished our lunch. His office had been fire bombed recently according to Edita. Then a soldier sat at a nearby table, one was by the door, several were outside. On the patio outside the sliding glass door next to our table a member of the Carabinieri – the Italian KFOR – moved nervously with his automatic weapon at the ready. He was a character from a movie set with his dark blue uniform pants folded into the tops of his black boots, his dark hair pulled into a short pony tail under his red beret. He was tall, lean and appeared serious about his undertaking.
And then more came and more. Close security were everywhere. Some were in uniforms, some in suits. Edita recognized the Minister of Finance and another minister, then several. It was a meeting. Close security outnumbered the participants by more than two to one. Having finished our meal and fearing a mistake by one jittery close security person setting off a chain reaction, we left. The road was closed for security; we walked to the main street.
4
The events of March 2004 destroyed a number of Orthodox churches. Since then, many have been guarded regularly by KFOR troops. John was here again and we took a Sunday drive down to Ferazi. There, an Orthodox church and a masque are literally next to each other. It makes an interesting picture. There a few places in Kosovo similar to this, but in Ferazi the two are exactly next to each other. John wanted a picture. He got a story to tell instead. As he raised his camera, several KFOR guards emerged from bunkers in the church yard and began waiving him off – no pictures please. His pictures are now of Sharon and I on the sidewalk a bit distant from the church, but with the church and masque n the background.
We left downtown Ferazi for the Ben-af store on the Skopje road. The Ben-af store is the one that was destroyed last summer by a car bomb. Something about competition. John remembered the story and as we left he wanted a picture. The guards who are now constantly in the parking lot waived him off - no pictures please. We try hard to believe that life here is normal but unusual things seem to happen with enough regularity to remind us that post-conflict environments do not normalize very quickly.
5
Part of what we do in the project is to train judges and court personnel and to hold various meetings and workshops. John was here to train. We also had planned a week-long training in Lake Ohrid in Macedonia preceded by a working group meeting to help draft the law upon which Kosovo courts will be structured. We would rent a bus, take the working group participants to Macedonia then the bus would bring the second group for the training and pick up the first group and take them back. It was a bit tricky. The trip is about five hours by bus, so the bus needed to be the best we could find.
The low bid proclaimed to be the best in Kosovo. Gaz and I went to see his busses. Gaz summed it up when we got into the car to leave. “Quite frankly, I’m not that impressed,” he said. I agreed. Now we knew we needed to see the high bid even though, and maybe because, he proclaimed that his busses were the “best in the Balkans.” The only problem was that he operated out of Prizren, nearly two hours from Pristina. Gaz asked him to bring a bus to Pristina. These discussions went on for a few days until he called Gaz one day and said he was at the military airport picking up Turkish KFOR troops and could we go there to see the bus. We had a workshop going, but Gaz found me and we quickly left for the military airport. Neither of us had ever been to the military airport. It lies just beyond the commercial airport seemingly in the middle of well tilled fields. As we neared the commercial airport Gaz got a call from the driver. It seems that the bus was loaded with Turkish KFOR troops who were ready to leave, could we hurry. Within five minutes we were driving toward the fences surrounding the small terminal building and tarmac upon which rested a C-130 cargo plane with Turkish insignia on its side and tail. We drove through a gate and toward the row of loaded busses as though we belonged. No one stopped us. We found our bus and parked. We were greeted by the driver who quickly welcomed us aboard. We inspected the bus as thoroughly and rapidly as we could. The soldiers seemed friendly enough in the circumstances and I have no idea what the driver might have told them about who we were or why we were there. The bus was excellent and as a precaution we jotted down the plate number. Gaz called the owner and told him we wanted that bus.
6
Lake Ohrid in Macedonia is already becoming a European destination of sorts for conferences and vacations. An alpine lake in the mountains in the south of Macedonia on the border with Albania, Lake Ohrid has all the ingredients for a thriving tourist area. The border runs through the middle of the lake. The Albanian side remains undeveloped. On the Macedonian side, the socialist era hotels are being privatized and remodeled. The process will take several more years, but the process is well underway. The town of Ohrid is ancient with a modern tourist flare. It has a quaint harbor, shops and cobblestone streets winding up the side of a mountain. The resort hotels stretch along the shore and are variously on a bluff overlooking the lake or nestled along the shore with gravel beaches. Churches and monasteries lend quaintness to the scene. From our hotel on the beach, we could walk up a grade to a road that goes past the Gorica hotel along a bluff and ends at the fence surrounding the Macedonian government owned estate formerly a residence of Tito. Tito had such residences in all the best spots in the former Yugoslavia.
Without exception, our older judges and lawyers attending the meetings reminisced about the Tito days, the days of the former Yugoslavia. They talk of how they used to go to Lake Ohrid often. Now, they say, the border crossing makes the trip not as convenient. Many people in Kosovo and Macedonia talk of the days when everyone had jobs and money. They traveled all through the Balkans and beyond. There was peace. Everyone seemed to get along. Tito, for all his faults, was able to maintain a balance in the Balkan states that crumbled immediately on his death.
We went to town on one of the few afternoons when I could get away. We wandered up the cobblestone streets and past the shop of a photographer. It was in an old building. The door opened into a long hall lined with his photos and ended in a room overlooking the harbor. It was neither well kept nor maintained. The pictures hung on all walls and leaned against the walls on the floor in stacks. He spoke good English and was delighted to be able to show his art. As he described his photos, he did not describe the scenes by what was in the picture - such and such village, etc. - but rather told us what he saw when he took the picture. For example there were two empty and broken chairs on a stoop. One had a broken leg, the one next to it a broken back. He said, “here is a couple, he has a broken leg, her back is bad.” The picture of the old wrinkled woman with missing teeth and smoking a cigarette was mounted beside a similar looking old man with no cigarette. He described; “she is smoking a cigarette, he wants to smoke but he has no cigarette.” It was a interesting experience. We mentioned that we were there from Kosovo for a conference. He immediately began to look all through the piles on the floor and all about the room for a picture. I thought it might be of Kosovo. He finally pulled up a frame with two pictures in it. On the left a picture of an old abandoned classroom with a bench turned on its side and schoolhouse type trash on the floor. On the wall, a map of Yugoslavia, canted downward to the right with the color peeling. The second picture was a woman in the doorway of a traditional and old house, and a man on the steps that led down from the house. He was partially clad in soldier’s clothes – an old soldier. He was looking at her and she him. The photographer said, “see,” pointing to the map on the wall of the deserted classroom, “Yugoslavia is falling down.” Then he pointed to the couple in the second picture. “She is asking, ‘where are you going?’ He says. ‘I’m going down.’”
7
July 1 is Canada Day. Our Independence Day is the fourth of July. Here, this year, the US Office – the equivalent of an embassy if this were a country – held its Independence Day celebration on July 1. Our Canadian friends who work for KFOR invited us to a Canada Day celebration at the KFOR headquarters at Film City on Dragadon Hill on July 2. The Kosovars will celebrate our independence day on July 4.
8
On the night of July 2, Tom called looking for Matt’s number. He advised that three bombs went off that night. One in front of the UN headquarters, one near the OSCE (Office for Security and Cooperation in Europe) building and a third by the Kosovo Assembly building. I asked if there were any particular security problems. He said it was the usual reminder bombings. There are those who feel a need to remind everyone that there is a threat out there still. As status talks – the discussions to determine what Kosovo’s future will be - increase, so will the incidents of this nature.
Until next connection,
Dan
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