Right in the Balkans: Pt. 3 - North Macedonia
Chapter 3: North Macedonia:
We were nursing hangovers from a mad night out in Kosovo, fuelled by cheap booze served in the only gay club in the country: We made our way to the wonderful brutalist bus station in Pristina to catch the 08:00 bus.
The biggest train station in the county has 1 platform. This bus station has 26 stands. Which tells you a lot about Balkan travel habits. We saw a queue which we assumed was the ticket office, so joined on the back. Although after a few awkward minutes we realised that the bus station also doubled as the local driving test centre. I still had far too little blood in my alcohol system to be behind the wheel of a car, let alone take a Kosovan driving test, so we set back off towards the busses.
I like to act like the world most seasoned traveller, somewhere between Palin and Bond, fitting in as a local wherever I am. But alas, we looked like two very lost tourists, who had just queued for a driving test, when an old man approached “Skopje?” he asked. We nodded and he showed us to the bus. I think we all have an inbuilt suspicion of being approached as a tourist (especially at stations) that we’re about to get scammed. Y’know what? Sometimes people are just there to help.
There were only six of us on the 53 seater bus. Including the driver, ticket guy and four passengers, all paying 8 euros for this international bus service. The next two hours were a blur of spectacular mountain scenery, plumes of cheap tobacco smoke, and local music blasted through tinny sounding speakers.
At the border to North Macedonia, we all got off; the locals showed their ID cards to the young, bored looking official, and I proudly presented him with my UK passport. A bemused giggle and an eye roll and he handed it back to me. “Can you stamp it?” I asked. He let out a huge laugh and theatrically lined it up, stamping it as hard as he could.
Getting off the bus at Skopje and we were instantly mobbed by taxi drivers offering to drive us straight back to Pristina “You can’t be that ashamed of it, let us at least have a look” I thought.
The next challenge that we hadn’t appreciated was that we had zero North Macedonian currency. So, we found a home made looking ATM in the bus station and guessed how much we needed - We either had enough for a coffee, or to buy a flat, not a clue.
The area around the station isn’t ‘rough’ as such… but is very deprived, and very dated. Particularly the soviet dates.
Municipality Centar
The next surprises were that all of the local busses are London red busses from the 60’s which they must have bought sometime in the 80’s. I had heard that there was an abandoned pirate ship on the river here a few years ago, but that it had since been refurbished into a hotel. The reality was that there were several pirate ships on the river; the first was indeed abandoned, and the hotel one had closed the day previous for a break.
Abandoned Pirate Ship
The city was twee, and pleasant. A mix of grand palaces and impressive bridges, linked by tiny cobbled streets packed with tiny crooked shops and cafes. It wasn’t long before we found antique and militaria shops selling ‘inappropriate items’. I treated myself to some North Korean pin badges from the 1980 Moscow Olympics. The next shop had fridge magnets bearing the face of Yugoslavian dictator Josep Tito, a man responsible for the genocide of 500,000 people (mainly Germans and clergy). Quite a bold decision for a fridge magnet….
Old Yougoslav uniforms
Questionable Items
By this point I was desperate for a local beer and local food, so found a busy and very smoky back street café. I opted for a dish simply described as “Village Meat” and a local brew. It was lovey, kinda like the inside of a chicken Pukka Pie. It was just over £2.
A bit more sightseeing, and a couple of drinks later we find ourselves on the bus back towards Kosovo, watching the sun set over the snow capped mountains, to the tune of local music blasting out of the drivers phone.
We were nursing hangovers from a mad night out in Kosovo, fuelled by cheap booze served in the only gay club in the country: We made our way to the wonderful brutalist bus station in Pristina to catch the 08:00 bus.
The biggest train station in the county has 1 platform. This bus station has 26 stands. Which tells you a lot about Balkan travel habits. We saw a queue which we assumed was the ticket office, so joined on the back. Although after a few awkward minutes we realised that the bus station also doubled as the local driving test centre. I still had far too little blood in my alcohol system to be behind the wheel of a car, let alone take a Kosovan driving test, so we set back off towards the busses.
I like to act like the world most seasoned traveller, somewhere between Palin and Bond, fitting in as a local wherever I am. But alas, we looked like two very lost tourists, who had just queued for a driving test, when an old man approached “Skopje?” he asked. We nodded and he showed us to the bus. I think we all have an inbuilt suspicion of being approached as a tourist (especially at stations) that we’re about to get scammed. Y’know what? Sometimes people are just there to help.
There were only six of us on the 53 seater bus. Including the driver, ticket guy and four passengers, all paying 8 euros for this international bus service. The next two hours were a blur of spectacular mountain scenery, plumes of cheap tobacco smoke, and local music blasted through tinny sounding speakers.
At the border to North Macedonia, we all got off; the locals showed their ID cards to the young, bored looking official, and I proudly presented him with my UK passport. A bemused giggle and an eye roll and he handed it back to me. “Can you stamp it?” I asked. He let out a huge laugh and theatrically lined it up, stamping it as hard as he could.
Getting off the bus at Skopje and we were instantly mobbed by taxi drivers offering to drive us straight back to Pristina “You can’t be that ashamed of it, let us at least have a look” I thought.
The next challenge that we hadn’t appreciated was that we had zero North Macedonian currency. So, we found a home made looking ATM in the bus station and guessed how much we needed - We either had enough for a coffee, or to buy a flat, not a clue.
The area around the station isn’t ‘rough’ as such… but is very deprived, and very dated. Particularly the soviet dates.
Municipality Centar
The next surprises were that all of the local busses are London red busses from the 60’s which they must have bought sometime in the 80’s. I had heard that there was an abandoned pirate ship on the river here a few years ago, but that it had since been refurbished into a hotel. The reality was that there were several pirate ships on the river; the first was indeed abandoned, and the hotel one had closed the day previous for a break.
Abandoned Pirate Ship
The city was twee, and pleasant. A mix of grand palaces and impressive bridges, linked by tiny cobbled streets packed with tiny crooked shops and cafes. It wasn’t long before we found antique and militaria shops selling ‘inappropriate items’. I treated myself to some North Korean pin badges from the 1980 Moscow Olympics. The next shop had fridge magnets bearing the face of Yugoslavian dictator Josep Tito, a man responsible for the genocide of 500,000 people (mainly Germans and clergy). Quite a bold decision for a fridge magnet….
Old Yougoslav uniforms
Questionable Items
By this point I was desperate for a local beer and local food, so found a busy and very smoky back street café. I opted for a dish simply described as “Village Meat” and a local brew. It was lovey, kinda like the inside of a chicken Pukka Pie. It was just over £2.
A bit more sightseeing, and a couple of drinks later we find ourselves on the bus back towards Kosovo, watching the sun set over the snow capped mountains, to the tune of local music blasting out of the drivers phone.
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