![\"Macedonia1\"](\"https:\/\/www.theexpeditioner.com\/wordpress\/wp-content\/uploads\/2015\/11\/Macedonia1.jpg\")
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The Macedonia town of Skopje disappeared from the rear-view mirror of our jeep about 9 miles ago. The road has become narrower and is starting to wind back and forth. My stomach is doing flip-flops. I glance over at Oliver who I met just a couple hours ago and marvel at the fact that he\u2019s steering the jeep with one hand while flipping through his phone with the other.<\/p>\n
Even though it seems it\u2019d be hard to maintain control of the jeep driving like that, it doesn\u2019t occur to me to be scared. Oliver has probably driven this route countless times. He loves the gas pedal. He\u2019s taking me straight into the Karad\u017eica Mountains<\/a> where we\u2019ll meet up with Jebda, a hunting guide and park ranger at Jasen Nature Preserve<\/a>.<\/p>\n My stomach lurches with every turn of the steering wheel. I rummage in my backpack for the motion sickness pills and quickly swallow two with a gulp of water. I decide to put the pressure point terry bracelets on too. I stare straight ahead even though the scenery on all sides is a dense autumn foliage mural in myriad shades of red and yellow.<\/p>\n Oliver is on the phone speaking Macedonian. He\u2019s telling someone that we\u2019re almost there and I hear the words for “mud,” “road,” “clouds” and maybe “bread.” He laughs with one of those amazing belly laughs that come from way deep down and suddenly we\u2019re screeching to a halt on the side of the road. I notice that it\u2019s really the side of a cliff and there are no guardrails in sight. It still doesn\u2019t occur to me to be afraid.<\/p>\n I peer through the side window over the cliff and think I see rocks and dirt falling. If I were to open my door I\u2019d step right into a big space of nothing. Oliver is making another phone call but this one is more difficult for me to understand. He may be talking faster or just using more slang phrases. He ends the call.<\/p>\n \u201cSorry,\u201d he says, \u201cI just needed to call ahead and make sure no one was coming down the road toward us.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWhat?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThe road isn\u2019t wide enough for two cars so I called to the rangers up ahead to see if anyone was on their way down the mountain. Wouldn\u2019t want to end up careening into the abyss.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cNo,\u201d I say, \u201cbut what if someone doesn\u2019t know to call?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cOh anyone who would be driving on this road knows.\u201d<\/p>\n I don\u2019t say anything else. I\u2019m pretty sure his plan is flawed. But, what the hell. We take off with a skid leaving gravel and dirt sputtering in our wake.<\/p>\n My motion sickness medicine has kicked in and I spend the rest of the ride watching the sun try and fight its way through the clouds and trees. Every once in a while, I am blinded by its rays and I find myself smiling.<\/p>\n \u201cWhere were you before Macedonia?\u201d Oliver asks.<\/p>\n \u201cCroatia, Montenegro, Albania,\u201d I rattle off.<\/p>\n \u201cIs Albania part of the European Union yet?\u201d asks Oliver. \u201cI know they want to be. Financially it would be a really positive thing for them. We want to be a part of the EU here too. Macedonia has applied for membership but it keeps getting blocked by Greece.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cGreece? Why?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWell the official name of Macedonia is the Former Yugoslavia Republic of Macedonia, or FYROM. We don\u2019t want to be associated with the former Yugoslavia Republic anyway. We want to be just known as Macedonia. Greece doesn\u2019t want us to be called Macedonia. They think only their province of Macedonia should be called Macedonia. It’s ridiculous really.\u201d<\/p>\n I\u2019m not sure if province is the correct term as I don\u2019t know much about Greece but Oliver is upset and animated and very sure. His voice has an edge to it now and I see that the guide persona has been officially cracked. I am now getting the native Macedonian who isn\u2019t at all careful about what comes tumbling out of his mouth.<\/p>\n \u201cThat does sound rather absurd,\u201d I say. \u201cA lot of angst about the simple thing of naming something.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYeah, It’s frustrating. Macedonia is often overlooked because it\u2019s so small. We seem to be at a stalemate. Government officials meet and meet but no solution is found.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cHow long do you think it\u2019ll go on?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cHard to say. It could be pretty close to forever. People are stubborn and don\u2019t like change.\u201d<\/p>\n Ain\u2019t that the truth, I think to myself.<\/p>\n About halfway up the mountain, we\u2019re heading down a short muddy incline toward something that is reminiscent of a stream. Oliver guns the engine and looks over at me with a grin. \u201cSometimes when it\u2019s really wet, the jeep gets stuck here.\u201d We don\u2019t get stuck and the jeep powers up the opposite side of the riverbank.<\/p>\n There are a dozen or so stone houses with clay roofs up ahead. They all have neat rows of windows and two chimneys. We drive up to one that has a couple of large dogs lounging beside it and Oliver calls out for Jebda. A man emerges from the house dressed in four different types of camouflage with binoculars hanging around his neck and a rifle and backpack slung over his shoulder. He\u2019s tall and burly and walks and talks with a measured steadiness. I can see why he would be a good hunter. Calm and patience radiate from him. He doesn\u2019t really smile but it doesn\u2019t matter. I smile enough for both of us.<\/p>\n We get back in the jeep and Jebda drives us to the trailhead. I again think about the fact that I\u2019m off in the mountains in Macedonia with two men I\u2019ve only just met and I try to remember if I posted anything online that morning that would lead someone to me if I were to never return. I\u2019m not frightened as I think these things. It\u2019s almost as if someone else is thinking them.<\/p>\n After 10 minutes we pull over and clamor from the jeep. We set off up the mountain. Jebda is in front, then me, then Oliver. The trail is steep and rocky. I watch Jebda\u2019s feet and step exactly where he steps. Oliver and Jebda talk a little on the way. I find it strangely comforting to be in the middle of their words and feel safe and exhilarated at the same time. The mountain is quiet, vast and strong. Every once in a while Jebda stops and motions me forward to look at the view.<\/p>\n The peaks of the mountain disappear into a cloudy haze. It looks as if you could climb the mountain to the clouds and I wish we had the time to try. I know, though, that it\u2019s much further than it looks. Clouds always are. Jebda hands me the binoculars at one point so I can watch a herd of mountain goats make their way down a cliff, sideways down an incline that seems to be at a 90-degree angle from the ground.<\/p>\n They never slip or falter and even from where I am I know they don\u2019t have any fear. I realize that here, on this mountain, there doesn\u2019t seem to be much fear. I think it was Jebda who banished it. There is something primal and simple about the man. It’s not simple in an unintelligent way, but simple in a way of existing with the mountain and other creatures, in the way his feet always know where to step just like the goats; in the way he can sense without turning around if we are lagging behind and need a break.<\/p>\n We\u2019ve been hiking for a couple hours and the ground is slippery with snow. Oliver falls behind me and we come to a stop in the turn of a switchback. Jebda shakes his head and points to Oliver\u2019s boots. They exchange a few sentences. The only word I know is the one for snow, which for some reason strikes me as funny and I laugh to myself.<\/p>\n “So,” Oliver says, “Jebda thinks we shouldn\u2019t go too much further because I don\u2019t have the proper footwear. You do though. He says your boots are good.”<\/p>\n This fills me with great pride. We trudge forward and up for about another 20 minutes. We\u2019ve reached a plateau with a tiny wood primitive hunting shack.<\/p>\n \u201cIn the summer,\u201d Oliver says, \u201cthe hunters will sometimes spend the night in this shack.\u201d It has two sets of bunk beds, a tiny wood stove in the corner, and an old leaning cabinet that appears to have a few chipped plates and cups, a kettle and some pieces of soap. We set our packs down to rest and Oliver says that Jebda will carry them all on the way down since it\u2019ll be a bit treacherous.<\/p>\n Jebda has gone around to the back of the shack and calls for us to join him. We make our way through the snow and are met with another view of the mountain. There is one small ray of sun making it through the mist and Jebda is standing in it. His eyes are focused far across the ravine to something I can\u2019t see. There is love and calm and something I can\u2019t name in his eyes and, again, I am struck by the simplicity of it.<\/p>\n The three of us stand in silence, watching the trees wave in the wind and the clouds swirl around the craggy peaks of the mountains. The quiet is soft and true and I think about my feet rooted to the snowy, rocky ground beneath me as if I have sprung from the earth. Then I realize that I have, that we all have. We come from the earth and the stars. Standing here on the mountain in the sky is the closest we get back to that beginning while still living. I want to stand there forever.<\/p>\n Oliver is the one who breaks the spell. \u201cWe should be going,\u201d he says, \u201cmy feet are freezing.\u201d Jebda and I both slowly step away from where we have been standing.<\/p>\n Coming down is easier than going up and none of us fall. I am still under the spell of the mountain and don\u2019t say anything. We pile back into the jeep and Jebda hands out sandwiches. We eat in comfortable silence and drive back to the lodges. We climb out and Oliver turns to me smiling, \u201cI hope you enjoyed the hike. You know, you are our first American tourist.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWhat? Really?\u201d I reply.<\/p>\n \u201cYes,\u201d he says. \u201cIf you had given me more warning that you were coming, Jebda might have carved you a plaque.\u201d<\/p>\n I look from one to the other. Jebda looks sheepish and Oliver just looks happy, giddy even. I realize that this is a big deal for them and that Oliver is at least partially serious about the plaque thing. I can\u2019t stop smiling and I think what a perfectly wonderful problem that is: to be unable to stop smiling. I suspect they know that my smile is a huge thanks.<\/p>\n \u201cWe should get going,\u201d Oliver says. I ask Jebda for a photo and he agrees. Oliver takes it. I turn to thank Jebda. He suddenly gruffly hugs me and smiles.<\/p>\n \u201cCome back soon,\u201d he says in English.<\/p>\n Oliver lets out a loud laugh and slaps him on the back. \u201cJebda never speaks English,\u201d he says to me. \u201cHe must really like you.\u201d<\/p>\n I hug the mountain man one more time. Oliver and I get into the jeep. Jebda watches us go, waving. I look out the back window until he disappears from view. Oliver and I are both quiet for the hour drive back to Skopje. I\u2019m trying to hold onto the feeling of being connected and grounded with the earth for as long as I can. Oliver pulls into the bus station and turns to me.<\/p>\n \u201cThanks so much for coming,\u201d he says.<\/p>\n \u201cThank you for taking me.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThank you for being such a good guest.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThank you for picking me up and dropping me off at the bus station.\u201d<\/p>\n We thank each other for about 10 more minutes before I start to open the door.<\/p>\n \u201cYou can come back any time,\u201d he says, \u201cand, don\u2019t worry, the mountain is part of you now, it will always be. It always was.\u201d<\/p>\n I nod and slide from the seat to the concrete. My feet land with a soft plunk onto the ground and I realize he\u2019s right. We did not come into this world. We came from it.<\/p>\n By Vanessa Nirode<\/span> \/ The Macedonia town of Skopje disappeared from the rear-view mirror of our jeep about 9 miles ago. The road has become narrower and is starting to wind back and forth. My stomach is doing flip-flops. I glance over at Oliver who I met just a couple hours ago and marvel at the fact that he\u2019s […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":24645,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":[],"categories":[2569,2049,1,2562,6,2573],"tags":[3267,60,3295],"yoast_head":"\n![\"Macedonia2\"](\"https:\/\/www.theexpeditioner.com\/wordpress\/wp-content\/uploads\/2015\/11\/Macedonia2.jpg\")
<\/p>\n![\"Macedonia3\"](\"https:\/\/www.theexpeditioner.com\/wordpress\/wp-content\/uploads\/2015\/11\/Macedonia3.jpg\")
<\/p>\n![\"TheExpeditioner\"](\"\/Images\/aboutuslogo.jpg\")
<\/p>\n<\/div>\n![\"Vanessa](\"http:\/\/theexpeditioner.com\/Images\/Twittersmallround.png\")
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\n![\"Vanessa](\"https:\/\/www.theexpeditioner.com\/wordpress\/wp-content\/uploads\/2015\/11\/Vanessa-Nirode-Bio-Picture.jpg\" "\\"Noelle")
Vanessa is a solo traveler, cyclist, runner, and writer based in New York City. In her spare time she works as a tailor and pattern maker for television shows and movies. She is the granddaughter of a dairy farmer who was the son of a dairy farmer who was the son of a dairy farmer, an Amish woman, a woodworker from Ribnica, Slovenia, and a farm girl from Medvode, Slovenia. Like Anne Frank, she continues that most people are good at heart. She loves all the mountains. And she knows how to milk a cow. You can follow her adventures on her Instagram here<\/a>.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"