Tangled History, Improbable Peace

Kosovo is a region that, like Palestine and Kashmir, has gained worldwide fame for its unhappy recent history. Located in southern Serbia but with a majority Albanian (Kosovar) population it enjoyed a good deal of autonomy during the Communist period. So, after the fall of Communism, when the inevitable demand for independence was declared the bigger northern parent predictably moved in to 'protect its citizens'. There followed an exodus of people on both sides before the West, under the aegis of NATO with America and the Brits at the fore, intervened taking the side of the Kosovars (an easy choice as the Serbs, under Milosevic. were already a pariah state), forcing out the Serb forces and setting up a UN-run administration to try and sort out the mess. Now the western powers seem to be pushing for an independent Kosovo whereas Serbia, backed by the West's latest nemesis, Russia, will have none of it. In the Western media right and wrong seem self-evident as we all cheer for the plucky Kosovars, whereas on closer inspection the whole sorry mess is far more complicated (as is always the case).

The Kosovars would say that they are the original inhabitants of the region and therefore it belongs to them, but since the Serbs have been around in significant numbers for the past 800 years or more I consider that a moot point (though I have met Kosovars who claim that all the old churches dotted around the country are fakes, built only 50 years ago and part of a great Serb conspiracy to make people think that they've been there longer than they really have). They would also say that they have always been repressed by the Serbs, but in fact the balance of power has shifted many times over the years between the two sides, and whichever side has had the upper hand has taken out its frustrations on the other. And so both groups can point to past grievances to support their arguments. In fact Milosevic's rise to power was due to his defence of the Serbs who in the late 80's were having a hard time under the then-dominant Kosovars. Then in the 90's the Kosovars took advantage of the demonisation of Milosevic and the West's propensity to help the underdog and provoked the Serbs into a guerrilla conflict. Neither side acted in an exemplary manner and many independent observers say that the KLA (Kosovo Liberation Army) were particularly callous in actually wanting the Serbs to commit atrocities against their own people to get media sympathies on their side, something they achieved after some 800,000 Kosovars were forced to flee the region and become refugees. And so NATO duly stepped in with their "humanitarian bombing" campaign in early 1999 which infamously targeted civilian structures such as bridges, power plants and TV stations (and the Chinese embassy in Belgrade). The self-proclaimed goal of the mission was: "Serbs out, peacekeepers in, refugees back." An unfortunate turn of phrase as although the Serb military was routed and NATO forces and Kosovar refugees returned, only to be replaced by around 200,000 Serb refugees who fled the inevitable reprisals (it seems that no-one is ever innocent in war these days). And ever since the region has been administered by NATO.

And so the place is in a strange limbo before nationhood inhabited and controlled by expats belonging to various acronymic organisations and cliques: UNMIK, OSCE, UNDP, KFOR, UNHCR, ICRC, EUPT and plenty of others who arrived after the alphabet had been divvied up and had to settle for ordinary names (Halo Trust, Save the Children...). Kosovo is awash with white Landcruisers, for me the ultimate icon of UN profligacy. The Kosovars are anxiously awaiting the day they finally get their independence - it seems inevitable, not only because of international opinion, but because things have gone too far and there is too much bad blood for it to be possible to ever go back (one just has to look at the statues of martyrs from the conflict that are given pride of place in every town). Despite promises of human rights, equality and respect for minorities the thought of independence scares the living daylights out of the Serbs that remain, mostly in enclaves protected by KFOR (NATO peacekeepers) and, to all intents and purposes, cut off from the rest of Kosovo. And with reason too: many Orthodox churches as well as Serb properties were burned and destroyed (the few churches that remain in Kosovar towns now have to be guarded round the clock by foreign troops and are strictly off limits to Kosovars) in reprisal by the Kosovars after the arrival of NATO troops, Some Serbs are even too afraid to leave their villages.

What intrigues me most, however, are the parallels between Kosovo and Nagorny Karabagh. Both areas had concentrations of minorities with a different language and religion; both regions are culturally important for the majority group (Kosovo contains the seat of the first Serb patriarchate and is also the site of Kosovo Polje, where the Serbs lost a major battle against the Ottomans, perhaps the most pivotal event in Serb history, like Culloden for the Scots); both sides are using 'historical evidence' to further their claims; and both the guerrilla conflicts were dirty. Despite these similarities (and there are more) the reactions towards the conflicts from the West have been completely different. In Karabagh the West has firmly taken the side of the Azerbaijanis, denouncing the Karabaghi declaration of independence and demanding a return to Azerbaijani sovereignty. Here in Kosovo, on the other hand, the West is insisting on independence for the region. Is it because Serbia makes a handy enemy, or could it possibly have something to do with the fact that Azerbaijan has got lots and lots of oil? I would hate it to be because of the latter but I'm too much of a cynic to think otherwise. Whatever the reasons it's certainly clear that the Kosovars are glad that America and Britain are fighting their fight, so much so that most big towns have got Bill Clinton and Tony Blair streets (if you don't believe me just check the picture below). Perhaps that's the reason why George Bush went into Iraq so readily (and why Tony was so eager to follow him) - he wanted to be imortalised in a country's transport system.

Politics and history aside Kosovo is a place still worthy of a quick visit. Of the orthodox churches that are still intact there are some absolute gems with peerless frescoes and forests of columns. and in Prizren they have one of the most relaxed towns in the Balkans with plenty of streetside cafes. Some other places are less pretty: in Peja many houses are still in the process of being repaired from the damage they suffered in 1999 (people often don't have enough money to do all the repairs at once so they do bits and pieces as and when they can afford it) and Prishtina is just an ugly town filled with horrible Communist buildings.

Arabian, Balkan, Indian, Chinese... Nights

Yesterday was my 1001st day on the road, not something I imagined happening some 3 years ago when I started seriously planning this trip. I had no real plans, just to have fun and see a few things in a year, possibly a year and a half - your regular slacker trip. No deeper agenda, no grand plans to 'find myself' or anything like that, but it has become more of a journey of learning and discovery (in the Discovery Channel sense of the terms). Although I'm not going to go into a detailed synopsis at this point, being so close to the end as I am (I cannot see me travelling for more than a few months more, if only because I will have run out of money), but this European leg has shown me truth of the saying that "sometimes one must look far to see what is near". (Is that a saying? I'm not sure, but if it isn't it certainly ought to be.)

For strange, exotic rituals you don't need to go to visit the lamas in Tibet when you can go and sit in on an Orthodox mass with its hypnotic chanting, random genuflections, waving of hands around the body, incense, kissing of icons and a liberal dousing of holy water. All as completely alien to me as any Buddhist ritual. Similarly it is still possible to find isolated communities living in remote mountains living in a way that hasn't changed in centuries, but like everywhere such communities are disappearing fast.

And when we think of incredible natural scenery we invariably imagine the vast expanses of the Sahara, the windswept emptiness of Patagonia, the lofty peaks of the Himalayas or even the pristine coral islands of the Pacific. And sure, Europe's small size and dense population preclude such large-scale wonders, but if you look closely you will find natural beauties to rival anything in the world. Here in Montenegro you can find the second-longest canyon in the world (marketed here as the second-largest, a term which hurts my precise, scientific sensibilities, as it doesn't specify whether it is the depth, length or width which is superlative), a fact which, had it been in say France or America, would have been widely advertised and known throughout the world, but as it is the Tara canyon is virtually unheard of outside the Balkans. Similarly there are lazy rivers that wind through karstic landscapes similar to those of northern Vietnam and Guilin, and Durmitor national park is a feast for the eyes.



I spent some time hiking in the afore-mentioned park (as I expect these to be my last major mountains). Rather aimlessly I headed along a trail and noticed a name that sounded interesting: Bobotuv Kuk. Well, I just had to check it out for myself and set off. Pretty soon I passed three guys from Podgorica who were walking along with strange contraptions strapped to their backs which, upon approaching, I found out were snowboards. Surveying the lush greenery around me I asked them whether they were crazy, to which they replied "probably", but that there was some snow near the summit. I left them behind me and headed on, and sure enough, below the peak there was a small, remaining snowfield, not that I would consider trudging 6 hours uphill with a heavy plank of wood strapped to my back for less than 400m of snow. However 400m of snow is lot when going up a steep hill with old trainers and it possibly ranks amongst one of the more stupid and dangerous things I've done, but with the summit in sight there was no way I was turning back. And so I finally made it to the top (passing a group of climbers decked out in heavy boots, tied together with ropes and making a right meal out of the ascent) to be rewarded by some of the most spectacular views in the world (I was later to discover that, at 2522m, it was the highest mountain in Montenegro), before quickly turning back and trying to make it back to town before sunset and a well-deserved hot shower.

New Country

My first impression of Montenegro was not a good one as the immigration officer stamped one of the three remaining blank pages in my passport when there was plenty of room on other, used pages for the stamp. No big deal one might think, but to the traveller they are vital as many countries issue full-page visas and so I have room for only two more. Usually I stand by the immigration counter watching the officer like a hawk, steering his attention (and stamp) towards a space on an already used page, but this time it wasn't possible as I was on a cross-border bus and all the passports were collected together and taken into a back-office to be processed. One would think though that it would be possible to at least train these stamp monkeys that little bit.

But enough of my moaning, what about Montenegro? As the latest rat to have abandoned the limping ship that once was Yugoslavia Montenegro (or Crna Gora as they call it) is the youngest country on the planet, less than a year old (it's official birthday is the 8th of June). Since it's such a small country they didn't even bother to make their own money and have adopted the Euro instead, which certainly makes things easier for me. Youth, however, is no guarantee of virginity and the Montenegrin coastline is an extension of the exquisite Dalmatian riviera that starts in northern Croatia. Black, heavily wooded karst mountains (hence the name of the country) rise straight out of the sea to form irregular, sheltered bays with the occasional, discreet sandy beach. Due to the difficult topography this was the only part of the Balkans to remain free of Ottoman rule (which, if you mention it, gets you extra brownie points with the locals). Small, medieval towns dot the rugged coast, each a little maze of cobbled alleyways and cute little churches. The most famous are Budva and Kotor, the latter tucked away at the end of a secluded gulf, which is universally acknowledged to be one of the most beautiful in the world. This, unfortunately, is not a recent revelation, as is eminently shown by the large number of houses being built in the area and even larger number of real-estate agents advertising in English, German and Italian as well as the grotesquely large yachts moored in the marinas. Hopefully the interior will be less crowded with tourists.

Monuments To Paranoia

Like all small nations the Albanians are inordinately proud of their history and culture and trace their roots back to the ancient Illyrians who lived in the region and occupied themselves by waging wars against the Romans and Macedonians. Their national hero, however, is Skanderbeg who fought the advancing Ottoman empire for some 25 years halting their advance into Europe and thereby helping to save Vienna and Italy from the 'Terrible Turk'. Every town here has a Skanderbeg street and every history museum delights in showing maps of his campaigns with coloured arrows denoting troop movements. Despite him being the first to forge the first idea of Albanian nationhood very little remains from his rule except for a few ruined castles and the adoption of his crest of a double-headed eagle as the national flag. The legacy of the more recent Communist regime, on the other hand, is readily apparent. Most visible are the many public sculptures in the Socialist Realist style typical of Communist propaganda of the heroic worker/partisan/farmer. More intriguing, however, for the observant bus passenger are the countless one-man bunkers and pillboxes that dot the countryside. Hoxha was paranoid about being overthrown and so he set up a network of over 700,000 of these bunkers all across the country to defend against enemy attack. If one looks closely though most of them are not directed outwards in anticipation of an external attack, but rather inwards to stop an uprising from within (perhaps there is some justification in this as America and Britain did try to overthrow Hoxha in the early 50's but failed disastrously due to tip-offs from a British double-agent).

The northeast of the country is the most remote and scenic region and is known as the Albanian Alps (for obvious reasons) with several peaks exceeding 2500m. Although I didn't have time for any hiking I wasn't going to miss the most scenic ride in Albania (possibly the Balkans?), which, paradoxically, is also the most comfortable in the whole country (Albania's roads are not the best). From the northern town of Shkodra minivans leave early in the morning heading eastwards to the cul-de-sac village of Koman. A large dam towers over the village and once a day ferries leave from the other side of the dam along the 60km artificial lake. Although the lake is very long at its widest it barely exceeds 50m and in parts the gorge forms vertical walls hundreds of metres high on either side and it looks as if the boat is heading straight towards one until, at the last minute, a bend suddenly appears from amidst the outcropping rocks. But this is no pleasure cruise - the ferry is the only link to the outside world for the handful of people living in the surrounding mountains. Every now and again the ferry would pull up to a cliff face where someone would be standing as if stranded. As the boat would get closer a rocky path would be faintly discernible winding its way up the steep sides to some cottage that would be hidden at the top of a neighbouring mountain. And even for the communities on the other end who have road connections the ferry is still the first transport choice due to the poor conditions of the mountain roads. So not only do you get a beautiful ride, but you also see something of the local life along the way: people coming back from town laden with their weekly shopping, perhaps with a couple of piglets stuffed in a sack, and possibly some of the older men will be wearing the traditional, white, pleated kilts and leggings that used to be worn throughout the southern Balkans. Because the ferry goes only once a day I had to hitch my way back along the horrendous roads via the aptly-named town of Puke.

Tales Of The Unexpected

Albania is certainly unlike any other European country and whilst travelling here the unexpected becomes the norm. (Or that could have more to do with the fact that I'm travelling 'blind' with neither guidebook nor map and so everything is a bit of a surprise really.) One day I get a half hour lesson in Albanian whilst buying bread and the next my tent gets pelted withstones by a stupid kid, who then has the nerve to ask for money. The country is still remarkably rural with no towns of any real size except for Tirana the capital. It reminds me very much of my childhood memories of Communist Czechoslovakia, and even the people here seem to have the dull, matte colouring of a 70's movie. Bumpy, narrow main roads wind their way through broad valleys linking up drab, concrete towns until, out of the blue, you come across a real gem, like the towns of Gjirokaster and Berat which sprawl down hillsides below rundown forts. Narrow cobbled lanes wind between stone houses and villas dating from Ottoman times. Unfortunately most of the churches and mosques from the period are damaged or destroyed completely following Hoxha's own little Cultural Revolution.

Communication is also proving difficult because although Albanian is an Indo-European language it is so far removed from the surrounding Slav and Romance languages that it is only when you hear the numbers that the relationship becomes clear. And because tourism hasn't really caught on yet the general level of English amongst the population is quite low. Instead the most commonly understood language is Italian due to the large number of Albanians that travel there to find work and the importance of Italy as a trading partner (70% of Albanian trade is with Italy). So I am forced to dig into my reserves of Spanish and smatterings of Italian that I've learned from mafia movies: capisce? bene bene! Suffice to say a lot of hand gestures are also needed to make myself understood.

Finding accommodation is also rather comical but I have finally perfected a technique that seems to work: when I arrive in a town I shoulder my backpack and start looking lost and foreign (not difficult as I am both) and sooner or later I will be approached by someone saying "hotel hotel?" offering a bed in a private home for half the price of a hotel room. Okay, sometimes it might be dodgy as when my host came back one night, obviously drunk and shouting about Italian mafia and damning the Serbs and the Russians for the whole neighbourhood to hear. But another time I got a big room to myself with TV an en suite, which was very handy as I really to needed to wash my clothes. It also gave me the opportunity to check out Albanian TV. I honestly believe that you can tell a lot about a nation from the TV programmes they watch and Albanian TV proved to be very interesting. The local productions are incredibly amateurish with wobbling cameras, poor lighting and shoddy effects, but the channels have a great ace up their sleeves: the small size of the country and the relative lack of laws, and so in the evenings they just put on DVDs of recent films with Albanian subtitles - absolute heaven for me, though I'm sure somewhat against copyright.

But upon arriving in Tirana accommodation proved to be rather tricky as my arch-nemesis, George W. Bush, is about to come to town (although he'll only be staying in the country for 7 hours) and so not only were beds scarce but prices were ridiculous. Damn that meddlesome Yank! The city itself is laid out in typical Grand Communist style, with ridiculously wide boulevards and pavements and a gigantic central square (perfect for military parades) and all around are boxy, concrete apartment blocks which, thankfully, have been painted various pastel shades to try and minimise the damage they inflict upon our retinas. Actually there is only one real 'site' in Tirana and that's an old mosque that managed to survive the Hoxha years which has incredible frescoes on the inside unlike any I have ever seen in a mosque, with depictions of palaces and trees (buildings are particularly rare in Islamic art).

How Did They Get Here?

Literally the first thing I saw in Albania was a bolt of lightning framed by ominously dark clouds amid a torrential downpour. Not the most promising start to a country. The south of Albania is home to the country's biggest tourist attraction: the ruins of Butrint. Probably 95% of the visitors to the country come here, not so much because the ruins are terribly spectacular (though they're not without their charm) but because they are less than an hour away by boat from the holiday island of Corfu. And so busloads of sunburnt Brits and Germans trample through on organised day-trips making inane comments as they pass. Once they are gone though it is possible to enjoy the place once more. The ruins are on a small peninsula in the middle of a brackish lagoon, joined to the mainland by a narrow isthmus. This means that everything is slightly swampy and partly underwater, giving the place a sort of lost-in-the-jungle atmosphere, especially with the throngs of sunning terrapins that slip into the water as you approach.

The southern port of Saranda, the entry point for the cruises from Corfu is certainly a strange place. There is a mad pace of development and there are many hotels strung out along the waterfront and more are being built, and yet I saw only one other tourist in town. Obviously they are waiting for next week's rush. Another paradox is that, despite being the second-poorest country in Europe (after Moldova) at least half the cars, and this is no exaggeration, are Mercs. Just like gold teeth and oversized shoes in Azerbaijan, Mercs are the must-have status symbol here in Albania. OK, so they're not brand new and are generally older, castaway European models, but they still point to something not quite legit going on below the surface, especially when most of the drivers seem to be young, thuggish looking men. Maybe it's better not to ask where the money comes from though (at least not the guys actually driving the cars).

Here Be Dragons

So here I am now in Albania. For quite some time now I've been telling all who would care to listen (and quite a few who didn't) that I was really looking forward to visiting the country. Not that I know much about the country, on the contrary, I know very little.Albania is Europe's very own black hole, a place we know must exist from surrounding,circumstantial evidence, but about which direct observational data is lacking. It is perhaps the most under reported country on the continent. But it must be a fascinating place as it is the only country unequivocally in Europe to have a Muslim majority; up until recently blood feuds were the norm in some regions; and during the Communist period it was one of the most isolated countries in the world (Enver Hoxha, the country's dictator, as well as breaking relations with the West, also broke diplomatic ties with most Communist countries because he perceived them as too lax and revisionist). But I have only just got here, so instead I will regale you with stories of my last few days in Greece.

After having been thwarted by Zeus on Olympus I felt determined to do at least some hiking and so set my sights on the Zagoria region in the northwest of the country. Despite Greece having a reputation as a beach-and-ruins holiday destination, the mountains of Zagoria easily hold their own in natural beauty and splendour when compared to other, more well known, hiking destinations although this may be partly because of the poorly marked trails on which getting lost is a certainty. It seems that the person marking the trails was given a paintball gun as the signs are just haphazard splotches of dull red paint, which unfortunately is very similar to the colour of a local species of lichen. Needless to say confusion reigns. But poor trail-finding aside I had a great time traipsing up and down the mountains and the fairytale gorges, though I am determined that in future I shall get myself better footwear and not just sandals held together by dental floss (a really useful tool for the intrepid traveller as it can be used to fix things, tie things together, as a fishing line, and, or so I am told although I believe it's an urban myth, one can also use it to help clean your teeth) and that I shall make a greater effort to leave non-essentials behind. Because I wasn't doing a circuit I had to lug all my baggage with me, which sometimes (depending on food and water) amounted to 25kg. Among the treasures of Zagoria were the Drakolimni (Dragon lake) whose population of placid, 5cm newts is scant reason for the fearsome name; the Vikos gorge whose awesome (in the original sense of the word), unscalable cliffs hem you in and make you fell oh-so small; and the traditional villages, with cute names like Papingo and Koukouli (reason enough to visit them), that blend into the hillsides with their simple and harmonious architecture. But the greatest feeling was finally coming out onto a high Alpine meadow after hours of slogging up a very steep hill and finding the place carpeted in yellow, blue and purple wildflowers in their millions, each smaller than a fingernail, tended to by bees living up to their reputations and knowing that I was the only person to revel in the sight, sound and smell of the place. Bliss, and certainly worth the preceding hours of torture.



A truly enchanting place to end my short stay in Greece, a country I plan to revisit for there is lots more to see. Though next time I will hopefully be able to pick up more of the language for I was spoilt by the Greeks' mastery of English (though my science background did help a bit in deciphering the alphabet and some of the meanings of words). One thing that I enjoyed linguistically though was finding uncommon English words alive and well and very common in Greece. So, for example, whilst waiting for a bus you are in stasis, when leaving the cinema you go out via the exodus, and metaphors aren't just for conveying ideas and images, but also goods (they're lorries).

But now for a change of scenery and a slightly more sedate itinerary of city-hopping, at least until my calves manage to untie the mass of knots that have formed in them.

Tagged

In a slight change from my usual fare of travel posts, today's post contains 8 random facts about me as I was tagged by Ini with a malicious meme that is spreading around the entire blogosphere. Anyway, I'm not sure if I'll be able to come up with 8 interesting things to say about myself, but here goes anyway.

1. As a kid I used to make sure I climbed the same number of steps with each foot i.e. if I went up a flight with an odd number of steps beginning with my left foot the next flight would be started with the right foot.
2. I have developed an intense dislike for throwing food away and will go to great lengths not to (licking the very last morsels out of jars of honey or chocolate spread and picking the last scraps of meat off bones) and will generally finish up the leftovers from other people's meals. When I was housesharing I often didn't even have to cook!
3. I used to be a huge Lord of the Rings fan (well before the films came out) although with some therapy I am slowly getting better. By the time I was 12 I had read the book over 10 times (sometimes I read in class whilst the teacher was talking and once he even confiscated my book, so I just went to the library and loaned it out) and have since read it in two other languages. I used to collect the original Middle Earth card game and my dreams came true when I lived on the road with Tolkien's Two Towers and could see them every morning from my bedroom window.
4. I am not good around babies and little kids in general. They're OK from the age of about 6 until 12 when you can start indoctrinating them properly. Then is the whole adolescent period when they should just be locked away in a cellar until they're 16 (I speak from experience as a teacher!) when they can once again be let out once the whole puberty debacle has passed.
5. I'm full of useless trivia. It comes from reading too much. I can't do anything practical, but ask me the height of Everest, the capital of Mauritania, or the names of the 4 stomachs of a cow (in order) then I'm your man.
6. Despite having a driving licence for the past 7 years I've barely driven since and I, for one, certainly wouldn't trust me behind the wheel of a car.
7. I am completely tone-deaf, can't sing (don't know the complete words to any songs anyway) and have next to no coordination. Therefore my only party piece is the ability to snap my fingers in a very loud and strange way.
8. I've let my facial hair grow into quite an impressive beard, of which I am more than slightly proud, because I am lazy, I use it to store food, and because I thought it would help make me look more Muslim whilst travelling in the Middle East (didn't work though as I still wasn't allowed into the al Aqsa mosque).

Since this is a meme and must be passed on I tag Kangaroo so that she can practice her English and because there isn't anything better to do in Bielefeld. I know I ought to tag more, but since I'm travelling I don't have time to read hundreds of blogs regularly.

(In case you're wondering, the answers to the trivia questions are: 8848m; Nouakchott; and the rumen, reticulum (also sometimes referred to together as the reticulorumen), the omasum and the abomasum.)

Mad(e) In Macedonia

For the past year or so I have been following, on and off, in the footsteps of Alexander the Great. From Mount Aornos and the banks of the Jhelum river in Pakistan, through the remains of Persepolis, a couple of Alexandria's (one in Turkey and one in Egypt) and as far as the Siwa oasis by the Libyan border. This guy sure got around! But now I have finally come to where it all started, here in Macedonia.

Actually it all started with Alexander's father Philip, who took Macedonia from being a poor, backwater Greek province to ruling the entire country, so that when Alexander came to power he had to look further afield to do his conquering, creating the largest empire the world had seen. It's a shame then, after spreading Hellenism far and wide and founding so many cities (at least 9 more bearing his name) that so little tangible evidence remains of those halcyon days in Macedonia itself. Of the once-great capital Pella and the majestic royal city of Aegae barely anything remains above a few foundations (even the names of the cities themselves are mostly forgotten). Luckily neither time nor people managed to get at Philip's tomb at Aegae where there is enough opulence and gold to give even Tutankhamun a run for his money.

And seeing as we're on the subject now's a good time to talk about the Macedonia question. Ask any Greek and they will tell you that Macedonia is the region of northern Greece, always has been, always will be. Whereas your average European would probably say, "oh, isn't that one of those countries formed by the breakup of Yugoslavia?" No (Oχι)! insist the Greeks. Only a small part of that country is actually Macedonia. And of course they steadfastly refuse to call it Macedonia, preferring to say Former Yugoslav Republic Of Macedonia, or better yet just FYROM or Skopje (after the capital) so that they don't need to use the M word. The Greeks feel that their northern neighbours are trying to usurp their history with every new instance of name-grabbing (e.g. calling the main airport in Skopje, Alexander the Great airport) making the headlines this side of the border and further fanning the flames of discontent. To illustrate how emotive an issue this is among the normally phlegmatic Greeks one only has to hear the story of a once-popular celebrity who got the dream job of hosting the Eurovision song contest two years ago when it was held in Greece. After inadvertently calling Macedonia (the country) Macedonia her gaffe made the front pages of every newspaper and her career lay in tatters. But at least it's good to know which buttons to press to annoy the Greeks.

Frappé In The Rain

"Welcome to the city of dampness," was how Theo, my local contact in Thessaloniki, greeted me. And although I'm sure he was exaggerating the weather seems to be wanting to prove him right with a steady serving of drizzle interspersed with regular downpours. And although Thessaloniki might not be everyone's number one sun, sand and sea destination the city has much to offer. Thessaloniki has always been Greece's second city, during the Byzantine period it played understudy to Constantinople and today to Athens; but Salonicans don't mind as they take things easy drinking their frappés (which, by the way, were invented in Thessaloniki) because they know that in terms of culture and nightlife they are number one. And so with Theo and a few of his friends I indulged in a spot of cafe culture, something I have rarely done on my trip (partly from expense and partly because nursing a solitary drink in a place crowded with groups of chattering people is a sure-fire way of feeling lonely).

At first glance it would be hard to guess at Thessaloniki's historical pedigree as most of the town is modern and extraordinarily unspectacular owing to a huge fire in 1917 which destroyed most of the city. Of the buildings that did survive many were churches, some amongst the oldest in the world. So, every so often, whilst wandering through the city, you will come across these squat, dowdy brick buildings sitting incongruously amongst the bland concrete jungle. And although the churches aren't particularly pretty to look at from the outside either, some of them have exquisite mosaics and frescoes inside. And if you're lucky you might even come across an old Turkish bath or Ottoman mosque, but you might not know as they look just like the old churches.

One aspect of Thessaloniki's history that I found rather intriguing was that, during the Ottoman period and after the fall of Iberia to the Catholics, it became the Jewish capital of Europe as the exiled Sephardic Jews found a new, more welcoming, home for themselves. And up until the beginning of the last century the Jews formed the majority in the city (before WWII there were more Jews in Thessaloniki than Jerusalem). What makes this particularly interesting is that, following the Nazi occupation of Greece when some three quarters of the Jews were killed and much of their property destroyed, very little remains to testify the once-vibrant community, and this, coupled with the scant attention that is paid to the Ottoman period of their history (unless it's the Greek resistance movement), means that this is a facet of their history of which many Salonicans are only vaguely aware.