Country Struggles

Day 0 / Day 1

It was instantly a stressful morning, but everything went so quickly. Packed my bags, talked to the neighbors about a bus from Bulgaria to Macedonia, exchanged money and then off to the airport. I checked my bag and then met with my Bulgarian entourage. Pictures, hugs, smiles, more hugs, kisses, waves…and then I felt myself becoming Mateo. I could feel my ties breaking with Detroit, if only for a month. The thick fog of problems I had created for myself in Michigan began to clear as I transformed into a traveller; a nomad; an adventurer. 

One last kiss and hug for my Momma, and we walked to security. A voice from behind me said, “Nice shoes!” and pointed at her yellow and red laced Chuck Taylor’s. This is when I learned I would be travelling with two lady escorts.  Anita about 12, and Lana, 10. I, also wearing Chuck’s had my new friend. We bantered back and forth about reading, about music (as I got my first taste of Justin Beaber), art, Bulgaria, and Detroit. As we eventually left the ground, all the memories of travels and excitement of my past came flooding back. I remembered flying with Clair and began wishing she were beside me…

The plane was fairly standard. Poor food, terrible movies, rude children, but I survived. Quick transition in Amsterdam then on the ground in Bulgaria. It was at this point things began to get hectic. As we waited for our luggage in the Bulgarian airport, two men approached me and asked for my id. My Bulgarian escort politely explained that I was American and was no threat. They looked me up and down for about 2 minutes and decided I was ok. I guess it was the beard that threw them off.

So we waited. Then we waited. And waited. Nothing. Our luggage had transformed into a myth. As a woman at lost and found explained, there was no record of our plane; they don’t know  where it is or where it is going. Huh? 

Because this took an unprecedented amount of time to sort out, I was becoming concerned I would miss my bus to Macedonia. I expressed this to Mitko and we exited the airport where we were met by 30 or so ecstatic Bulgarian family members. Pictures, hugs, smiles, more hugs, kisses…Then Mitko grabbed me and with a serious look upon his face he said, “we will get you to the bus. Give me your money.” Quickly he exchanged my money with a large gentlemen standing next to me (to be honest, the whole transaction seemed a bit sketchy), and then pointed to a short, stocky man I can only describe as the Bulgarian Danny Devito. He pointed in the direction of the garage and we quickly…very quickly began heading towards the airport. Although his legs were short, he moved like puma. His feet were a blur as if he were a character in a Warner Brothers cartoon. 

We hopped in the car and his driving was an extension of his walking. We were silent, but inside I was screaming, “oh my god, we are going to die!” He sped in and out of lanes, cut off trucks and cab drivers, and I think there may have been a child casualty. We blazed pass grazing cattle, sheep in the road, stray horses wondering around the perimeter of the airport and in seconds, we were at the bus stop. He jumped out of the car, ran into the numerous companies offering tickets, and found the one to Macedonia. I bought the ticket and he pointed and spoke, “Yours.”

The bus was a catastrophe. I was told the ride would be approximately 2-3 hours. Not so…6.5 hours. And because no one spoke English, this fact was hidden from me until the final stop. In the meantime, we got to the border of Macedonia and began the lengthy process of customs, Bulgarian Border Control, and then Macedonian Border Control. We were all pulled off the bus and had to empty our bags. After about 45 minutes, we began filing back onto the bus where then our passports were taken. No problems. At the second Border Control, they were taken again, but this time there were issues. Two people were asked to exit the bus. One, an Arabic man, the other, a girl sitting next to me. This girl was probably in her early 20s, with very revealing clothing. Her tanned chest almost completely visible and her teal thong exposed. I began fearing the worst for them both, thinking of the inappropriate things this Border Control could do to them without repercussion. We were given back our passports and the two passengers escorted off, were loaded into a separate van. And just like that, both vehicles were on the move in separate directions.

This “2-3” hour bus ride was not only annoying to me, but Boiken, my Albanian, had been waiting Skopje, Macedonia expecting my arrival around 6pm. We pulled in at 10 and there I saw, a plump, balding, Albanian, cigarette in hand with his arms open wide. I had made it. 

 

*I should probably keep this to myself, but in the last leg of the bus ride, I began dosing off. Due to the winding roads up and over mountainous terrain, one particular cut of the steering wheel, sent me spread horizontally into the aisle where I hit my head on the arm of the seat across from me. I smiled (a universal gesture I thought) and tried to laugh it off as three or four surrounding passengers gazed at me in the most menacing way. 

The drive to Kosova was another 2.5 hours. Boiken had a friend in the Movement drive since he (as long as I’ve known him) does not drive. On this ride, I learned of the efforts of Vetevendosje (Self-Determination) and the struggles of Kosova, Serbia, and the Albanian people, some of which I already knew. Genocide, loss of identity, power stuggles, political corruption, land wars, and the like. And I’m going to help! Or something…

Boiken explains we are going to be in Kosova for about 2 hours. At 4am we were to be picked up by the leader of Vetevendosje and drive to Tirana, Albania for a wedding. At this point, I had been asleep for approximately 12 minutes in the past 2 days. We stopped at a gas station briefly, purchased a few beers (legal to drink in the car) and drove on to a humble home in Prishtina, Kosova. Later, we grabbed a bite to eat, and slept. A little. But I had arrived and I was safe. Almost expectedly lost my bags, almost deported, almost crushed in a car wreck, almost time to go home?