Sunday, November 13, 2016

Lonely Planet article, Hiking Macedonia



Lonely Planet article Hiking Macedonia

 Hiking across Macedonia: finding remote contentment




At 3:30am, on the fifth day of an expedition along Macedonia’s mountainous western edge, we traded our trekking poles for reins and mounted horses in search of yet another peak. Headlamps spotlighted the steam from our breath mixed with the fidgety smoke of rolled cigarettes. We left Galičnik, a village tucked into the folds of the Bistra massif, and plodded nose to tail, hoof to stone over seven dark kilometres and up nearly 1000 steep metres of elevation gain to the top of Mt Medenica.
Camp on Šar Mountain, with view of Titov Vrv (2748m) © Aleksandar Donev / Lonely Planet Camp on Šar Mountain, with view of Titov Vrv (2748m) © Aleksandar Donev / Lonely Planet
For explorers and adventure travellers who don’t know this undiscovered expanse of Macedonia, a country on the Balkan Peninsula in southeastern Europe, an excursion to this dovetailing string of summits and massifs (which include the Šar, Bistra and Jablanica Mountains) means some of the best, and most unheralded, hiking on the continent. But even for the horseback members of the group assembled – all of whom live in the Balkans and have spent a significant amount of time scaling the region’s topography – this was a treat.
Horse riding on Bistra Mountain © courtesy of Novagenus Horse riding on Bistra Mountain © courtesy of Novagenus
Over the course of eight days, we would hike (and gallop) stages that began in northwestern Macedonia, straddle the Kosovo border, and then steer south along the Albanian frontier. Our journey traversed a national park, and included visits to centuries-old Orthodox churches and a monastery built by St Clement more than 1000 years ago. We stayed in huts wedged into hillsides, and woke with frosty morning dew clinging to our tents. We had stove-cooked-coffee conversations with locals about a myriad of subjects from politics to sheep shearing, and watched as those same locals dragged thick, work-tested fingers across smudged maps and explained how the mountains here once defined the edges of Yugoslavia. The journey ended on the shores of the ancient, Unesco-protected, tectonic Lake Ohrid, 300m deep and stretching over 34km.
On the trail in Šar Mountain, with Vrtop pass and Kobilica (2528m) in the background © Aleksandar Donev / Lonely Planet On the trail in Šar Mountain, with Vrtop pass and Kobilica (2528m) in the background © Aleksandar Donev / Lonely Planet
At this moment, however, we were still clip-clopping behind our guide Vasko Velickovski, the founder of Sherpa (horseriding.com.mk), a Galičnik-based outfit specialising in horseback tours. We stopped at the summit atop steeds growing impatient under our already sore backsides. It was 5:30am. A clear sky was widening as a new sun cracked the horizon and threw beams across an expanse gilded with morning dew.
To the north I could begin to trace the itinerary from the past several days. The top half of our path had been dominated by a ridgeline wiggling along the Šar mountain range, which has more than 30 glacial lakes, some 200 endemic plant varieties, as well as brown bears, lynx and chamois. The trek – also a leg of the Via Dinarica mega-trail that runs through the Balkans from Slovenia to Macedonia – provided a slalom course to weave between the country’s most inspiring peaks.
Traditional food in Galičnik village © Nikola Spasenoski / Lonely Planet Traditional food in Galičnik village © Nikola Spasenoski / Lonely Planet
Aleksandar Donev, a local who organised our trip, trotted up and stopped his horse beside me as I stared across the maze of rippling mountaintops and tried to make sense of where we had been. ‘The beauty of this trail and this country is that you can pack an incredible range of activities, culture and food into a pretty compact area,’ said Mr Donev, whose multi-tasking, Skopje-based company Mustseedonia (facebook.com/Mustseedonia) designs tailor-made trips, provides logistical support for projects, produces videos and story-telling content and promotes responsible tourism across a country about the size of Vermont. ‘This makes Macedonia a perfect place to visit because you get both a pristine landscape and a chance to learn about history with a trek back in time to Europe’s old-world roots. I am glad we’re getting to see it now – because we will have to fight to keep it this way.’
Karanikola glacial lake viewed from Karanikola Peak (2409m) © Aleksandar Donev / Lonely Planet Karanikola glacial lake viewed from Karanikola peak (2409m) © Aleksandar Donev / Lonely Planet
In the distance I could follow that pristine landscape up to the head of our trail and the Šar Mountain: the pyramid-shaped, 2498m Mt Ljuboten. There, we overnighted at Villa Ljuboten (vilaljuboten.com), a lodge that provided a perfect starting base and where we devoured a dinner of sausages, steaks, plump tomatoes and grilled eggplants piled high on earthenware bowls and platters. We drank tumblers of homemade rakija (local schnapps) and planned our eventual hike south – a trek would take us past the 2748m Titov Vrv, the tallest point along the Šar massif. We then left the range and scrambled to the top of the mammoth 2764m Mt Korab, the country’s highest spot, which looms like a beacon over both Macedonia and Albania. After, the group was engulfed by more than 730 sq km of dense, protected pine forests covering Mavrovo National Park and cradling its famously trout-filled lake.
Hiking on Mt Plat (2398m), with Titov Vrv in the background © Nikola Spasenoski / Lonely Planet Hiking on Mt Plat (2398m), with Titov Vrv in the background © Nikola Spasenoski / Lonely Planet
‘One of the reasons I love hiking in this area is because you stay in the clouds and on some of the highest summits in the Balkans,’ said mountaineer and guide Uta Ibrahimi, the owner of the Kosovo-based outfitter Butterfly Outdoor Adventure (butterflyoutdoor.com), as we reached Korab’s apex. ‘You just ride the peaks that run between three countries – at a sustained 2500m – and stay there… looking out on the beautiful world below for days and days and days.’
As we cantered back into Sherpa’s Galičnik ranch, the sun had shifted to the other side of the horizon. We were worn out and dusty, but immediately buoyed by dinner. The smell of green, red and yellow piquant peppers, cooking naked on an iron stove, wafted above the corral. Wedges of young, white cheese sat beside pans of a savoury pastry called burek, and waited on a rough-sawn table. We sat and clinked glasses of strong, amber-coloured rakija.

Sherpa ranch in Galičnik village © courtesy of Novagenus Sherpa ranch in Galičnik village © courtesy of Novagenus
‘There’s a wealth in the simplicity here that is magnificent,’ said Thierry Joubert, the director of Green Visions (greenvisions.ba), a Bosnian-based adventure tourism company. ‘You have just what is needed, and that is more than enough. Perhaps the spirit and the feeling is a product of the particular remoteness of these mountains. Perhaps it is the nature of the people. All I know is, when you are hiking in Macedonia you become part of it and you are truly content.’

Sunday, November 6, 2016

New York Times travel article about Skopje

"Beyond Kitsch in Skopje"
by Alex Crevar

New York Times Travel Article about Skopje

From my hotel room’s balcony, Skopje, the capital of Macedonia, lay before me like a curiosity shop at the crossroads of antiquity and absurdity. Its shelves were crammed with symbols of long-gone epochs, genuine collectibles and dubious tchotchkes. An Eiffel Tower topped one building. A Statue of Liberty adorned a hotel. Beyond them, authentic monuments like the crenelated Kale Fortress, with sixth-century foundations, the minimalist Museum of Contemporary Art and the domed St. Clement of Ohrid Church crowded the vista.
But it was the city center’s new hodgepodge of mammoth monuments and appliqué wedding-cake facades that demanded my attention. Hellenic statues held watch over squares and streets. Macedonia’s main government complex, recently recast as a copy-and-paste White House, complete with square portico and tympanum, begged for recognition.
This novel retro collection was part of a controversial urban-renewal project, starting in 2010, called “Skopje 2014.” For some, the undertaking, which includes statues, buildings and renovations, was an attempt to refashion the center and attract tourism. For others, it was a political scheme to leave an inappropriate stamp on the culture’s legacy — with a ballooning price tag.


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Posing for photos at Skopje’s Millennium Cross, built in 2002. Credit Danielle Villasana for The New York Times

According to a database created by the Balkan Investigative Reporting Network, 136 structures were built for more than $700 million — a sizable sum for one of Europe’s poorest countries. The strategy is a curious one for a city with a 2,500-year history spanning the Roman, Byzantine and Ottoman empires.



“The main conclusion of most of the tourists is that Skopje became Europe’s new capital of kitsch,” Andrej Zernovski, the mayor of Skopje’s Center Municipality, wrote in an email. Mr. Zernovski is a member of the Liberal Democratic Party, which opposes the country’s ruling party. “The consequences of changing the look of the city are changing the identity of the city, because neoclassic and Baroque style have never been present in Macedonian history.”
On a crisp spring day, I headed for the center, alongside men in shirt sleeves carrying leather man-bags (omnipresent in Southeastern Europe) and women with oversize sunglasses and defiantly high heels. I passed through the recently erected Arc de Triomphe-like Triumphal Arch. The Paris-cum-Skopje monument was still meringue white, not yet the blank canvas for protest — against growing concerns about corruption within the ruling party — it would become a week later.


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Posters adorn a wall in front of one of the many statues in Skopje’s Macedonia Square that were built as part of the “Skopje 2014” project. Credit Danielle Villasana for The New York Times

In Macedonia Square, the city’s main quad, I made my way through the gaudy, government-sanctioned statues. A 72-foot bronze, sword-thrusting likeness of an Alexander the Great on horseback (officially named “Equestrian Warrior”), it was unveiled in 2011) towered above pedestrians. Four representations of Olympias, his mother, sat at a fountain’s edge.
At Gallery Osten, a venue dedicated to drawings with monthly exhibitions and permanent pieces by Salvador Dalí and Pablo Picasso, I met Angel Sitnovski, a local architect. We went around the corner to Gostilnica Kaj Jole, a restaurant with traditional dishes like tas kebab, slow-cooked pork and onions, which cost 280 denars, or about $5. In the same building as the Macedonia Writers’ Association, the bohemian hub was established in 1963, when an earthquake rocked the city center and killed more than 1,000 people. I ordered the stew and a local pilsner called Skopsko.
“The only good thing is they chose a small area to build all of this — about one square kilometer,” Mr. Sitnovski said of Skopje 2014’s effect on the city. He shook his head. “It’s really necessary for travelers to see the old parts that haven’t been destroyed.”


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A chess game at a cafe in Skopje’s old bazaar district. Credit Danielle Villasana for The New York Times

A list of suggestions in hand, I set out. At sunset, I crossed the Vardar River, which bisects town, to the Ottoman-era quarter, known as Carsija. I stood atop the Stone Bridge, built in the 15th century on Roman footings. Behind me, the fountain beneath Alexander was now illuminated by a kaleidoscopic light show as Wagner’s Ride of the Valkyries” blasted on a loop. Looking forward (northeast), the warrior’s father, a Brobdingnagian Philip II, stood at the edge of Carsija with a fist raised in salute to his Day-Glo son.
An aha moment washed over me. To discover Skopje’s core, one must crack its shell and dig into its neighborhoods to peel back the layers of this unexpectedly delicious city, renowned for fresh food and venues spotlighting Macedonia’s musicality.
I entered the old bazaar district, the center of life during a 500-year Ottoman rule beginning in 1392. Stone-block medieval mosques and minarets anchored flagstone streets lined with terra cotta-roofed shops selling jewelry, copper coffee sets and leather goods. Today, former hammams and hans (inns) serve as galleries and museums.


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A view of Skopje and parts of the Skopje 2014 construction project from the Kale Fortress. Credit Danielle Villasana for The New York Times

I walked up a steep alley, past tiers of bar patios, to Sveti Spas Church, which contains a 30-foot, intricately carved iconostasis and a 17th-century fresco. Next door, I took a seat at Pivnica Star Grad, which opened in 2009, brews 10 beers and had a band playing American rock to a packed terrace. I ordered an IPA.
“I think the best place in Skopje is Carsija,” said Pane Temov, the brewery’s owner, who also directs the annual Buskerfest, and helped re-establish the ancient neighborhood as a night life magnet. “I see this as an asset to the city and the diversity that comes with it.”
Two neighboring sites, on the edge of Carsija, occupy diametrical ends of that diversity. The Kale Fortress (free entry), Skopje’s calling card, was built upon the city’s original settlement, likely from the Bronze Age. The medieval ramparts one walks today, with sweeping views, were fortified many times from the sixth century to the Ottoman Empire.


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On the patio at Casa Bar in the Debar Maalo neighborhood. Credit Danielle Villasana for The New York Times

The Museum of Contemporary Art, which opened in 1970 behind the fortress, is perhaps Skopje’s best-kept secret. Natural light floods the three-wing, 32,000-square-foot exhibition space containing 3,000 pieces from 65 countries. Artists include Alexander Calder, Picasso and the photographer Robert Adams.
In the days that followed, nearly every conversation I had became political. As we hiked a trail to Vodno, the 3,497-foot mountain to the city’s southwest, my friend Aleksandar Donev, born and raised in Skopje, spoke emphatically. “This has always been a complicated and mixed city historically and ethnically — when you think about [territorial] issues with Greece, Bulgaria and Albania — but right now we’re really having an identity crisis.”
Our path took us below the cable car ferrying families to the summit and the 216-foot Millennium Cross, built in 2002. We stared down into the center and the denture-white, Skopje 2014 structures surrounded by comparatively tasteful Communist-era Brutalist architecture.


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Pedestrians alongside fountains built as part of the Skopje 2014 construction project. Credit Danielle Villasana for The New York Times

“The main square used to have flowers and an understated kind of cool,” Mr. Donev continued. “You have to scratch the surface of this city, because coming here just to take pictures of that means nothing.”
Back in town we headed to the Debar Maalo neighborhood, a 10-minute walk from the main square, but a world away. Bistros and cafes lined leafy streets. Tattooed parents pushed baby carriages. Friends clinked wineglasses at streetside lounges.
We grabbed a table under a sprawling walnut tree in Casa Bar’s patio. Opened in 2013, Casa keeps R&B playing during the day and D.J.s spinning at night. I ordered a mojito and settled into a laid-back Skopje rhythm — more concerned with eating and drinking than erecting monuments. When the subject of Skopje 2014 came up, one new acquaintance said: “It would be cool if we can use this in a good way. Maybe paint the buildings and statues different colors.”


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The city’s Museum of Contemporary Art. Credit Danielle Villasana for The New York Times

For dinner we walked across the main thoroughfare, Bulevar Partizanski Odredi, to Gostilnica Toto, where locals squeeze into the taverns and spill onto its curbside terrace. We ordered simple, hearty dishes: green salads, roasted zucchini and red peppers, blocks of cheese, warm bread, stuffed grape leaves, bowls of a homemade purée called pindzur (green peppers, garlic and eggplant), and sausages, called kepabi. We drank half liters of Zlaten Dab beer. We sipped grappa. The bill for two came to $22.
Across Southeastern Europe, even among hard-to-impress neighboring countries, generalizations about Macedonia — slightly larger than Vermont, population 2.1 million — persist. One is the landscape’s dense beauty. Another is the diversity of its music.
“We are in some interesting crossroads between the East and the West,” Vlatko Stefanovski, the globally renowned guitarist and Skopje resident told me over Skype on a break between European gigs. Mr. Stefanovski, who mixes traditional and popular styles, was a stalwart of the Yugoslav rock scene in the 1970s and 1980s. “We have influences from the old Byzantine music, we have influences from the Ottoman times, and we also have influences from the classical music of Europe. And in recent times we have big influences of pop music and rock and jazz.”
As my week came to a close, I put aside a day to visit two places that highlight the city’s strengths: Matka Canyon and Sektor 909, a seminal nightclub opened in 2003. I first headed to the canyon, 10 miles southwest of Skopje. The gorge, cut by the Treska River, covers nearly 20 square miles. Around the river and lake, created by the Matka Dam, trails wind through forests that act as arboretums with 77 butterfly species. Trekking along one path, I watched climbers and a kayak competition. I passed three monasteries, wedged into rocky nooks, built between the 14th and 17th centuries.
By the time I arrived back in Skopje, there were already murmurings of marches to protest the country’s ruling party, which was under investigation for offenses including wiretapping, blackmail and electoral fraud. However, when I walked into Sektor 909, thoughts of protests dissolved with the beats pulsing through the mirrored space bathed in seductive red strobes.
Dancers mixed with off-duty D.J.s checking out the competition. “When we started, a few promoters fought for different styles of music — we were Detroit Funk House,” the owner, Ognen Uzunovski, told me. Mr. Uzunovski said one reason he continued to promote eclectic styles was because he had a role “to educate young people, especially in this political situation.”
The Colorful Revolution, as it has become known, began the next day. Men and women, young and old, all took to the streets. Frustration and creativity intersected in the form of peaceful marching, plastic whistles and, definitively, paint.
Within a week the bedizened emblems of kitsch became vehicles for Pollock-esque, purposeful art as protesters hurled balloons filled with paint on government buildings, the Equestrian Warrior, the Triumphal Arch. The symbols of corruption became the substrata for liberation. The shell was cracked. Beneath the surface, an ancient capital on the verge of a Renaissance was making its debut.


Wednesday, November 2, 2016

USF Tampa Faculty Spotlight

Thanks to the University of South Florida Tampa for celebrating my Fulbright Award to Macedonia! 

Seen below -- announcing the award on the USF Research Park sign, near the main entrance to USF and the Faculty Spotlight at the USF CONNECT building.


Tuesday, November 1, 2016

USFSP Faculty Spotlight, Harbor Notes

Thanks to USFSP for the Faculty Spotlight in the 28 October 2016 Harbor Notes:


Faculty Spotlight: Judithanne Scourfield McLauchlan

A photo of Dr. Judithanne Scourfield McLauchlan
   Judithanne Scourfield McLauchlan
Meet Dr. Judithanne Scourfield McLauchlan, associate professor of Political Science in the College of Arts and Sciences. Her areas of research and expertise include U.S. Constitutional law and judicial process, U.S. campaigns and elections, civic engagement and civic education, comparative Constitutional law, and civil liberties and civil rights in the U.S. 

McLauchlan is a three-time Fulbright Scholar. Her first appointment as a Fulbright was to Moldova in 2010. In Spring 2017, she will travel to Macedonia as a Core Fulbright U.S. Scholar to teach Public Law at the State University of Tetovo and at South East European University in Tetovo. 

At USFSP, she is the founding director of the Center for Civic Engagement and she incorporates civic engagement into every course she teaches. Among them is a quadrennial course called "Road to the White House," which enables students to intern in one of the presidential campaigns.