For those who have never been to this region of the world (including myself, prior to March), seeing the Balkans in person helps to understand why its people(s) have fought so hard to retain it. From Skopje, one can see the outline of a rugged landscape, can glimpse the snow-capped mountains peering behind the rising apartment complexes, even while marveling at the tangibility of the endemic conflicts embodied in the glowing cross brazenly set atop one of the highest hills. But only when one gets away from the city does one begin to appreciate the country's stunning beauty. The hills reminded me of slightly less verdant Swiss Alps, with a clear timberline, set with extensive mountain lakes fed (presumably) by snow melts.
Yet there was an odd sense of emptiness. Now, with places that have never been inhabited or culled by humans, even the most desolate landscapes seem complete somehow; even the sense of void in, say, northern India feels natural in its stillness. But it is completely different when one drives along lonely mountain roads ragged with vestiges of unfulfilled domestication. Whole towns empty, almost giving a sense of being laid waste, waiting for the arrival of the seasonal tourists seeking (I gather) skiing nirvana.When we stopped for lunch, for example, we entered a huge log-hewn resort boasting of its international bienvenue, and we walked into a dining room the elegance of which matched the magnificent view of the mountain slopes, the sun-reflecting lake, and the tiny church perched on the water's edge. But we were the only ones there. It was like walking into an old west ghost town, only the proprietors here were much younger, better-dressed, and much more capable of quality cuisine.
The land itself also fed my growing sense of incongruity. I initially thought the afore-mentioned streams, for example,were bejeweled with some diligent mountain dweller's week's-worth of laundry. I thought I had returned to Zambia. Only when we got closer did I realize that what we were seeing was trash, loads upon loads of colored cloth, plastic, and other junk washed down the hills, thereafter getting caught in tree branches and rock outcroppings.In retrospect, I should have realized that the country of Skopje's burgeoning urban development was hardly the place to have women doing their laundry in mountain streams and hanging them on nearby trees, but somehow it didn't seem out of place at the time. After realizing what the "clothes" really were, though, I couldn't help regret the vagabond image of the landscape.
The purpose of our outing, though, was more than just touring the countryside. After a few hours' ride, we arrived at St. Jovan Bigorski, an orthodox monastery perched on the very edge of Mt. Bistra, above the banks of the River Radika. The Macedonia tourism website describes it as reminiscent of Mt. Athos in Greece, and it certainly warrants such a comparison. The monastery is a remarkably efficient, self-organized complex, supplemented by visits and supplies from the townspeople nearby. The architecture reminded me again of a central European chalet, complete with the rich contrast of white walls and dark, intricately carved wood, completely consistent with a nineteenth-century monastery built on the remains of an 11th-century church. The complex is in a moment of recovery, though, as it was still being repaired after a fire in one of the buildings. This seems to be a not inconsequential threat. Evidently, being out in the middle of the mountains poses difficulties when it comes to fire prevention and control.
Several of us couldn't help remarking afterward, though, that it's a shame so much work and devotion has been dedicated to a structure symbolic of the divide between the lay parishioner and the God he or she worships. After Jesus offered himself on the cross, the veil in the temple was torn, symbolizing that Jesus is now our intermediary between heaven and earth; we need no other emissary. But the iconostasis physically embodies the idea that the priest has a special status in relation to God that is simply unavailable to his flock. How sad that something so beautiful can symbolize something so disheartening.
It would have been nice to try to discuss such issues with one of the brothers. Unfortunately, the brother who was supposed to guide us around received a cell phone call shortly after meeting us and stepped away--for a whole hour! We waited patiently in our little alcove, laughing at how every time we met a religious leader, his cell phone rang. But then the minutes began to multiply, and we waited longer...and longer...and longer. By the time he returned, his time with us was just about up, as was our time at the monastery. We received the quickest of tours around the main building, before heading out to the van to continue our journey into the mountains. We were, of course, on a schedule, with many more things yet to see.
