Front Matter - Part 04

days before had just aired that morning. After telling me a bit about Kiril Pejchinovich, the priest who had built this monastery and over whose grave we were standing, the professor invited me to visit the Leshok museum which was located on the first floor of the same building where we had just had tea with Bishop Kiril. When we arrived at the front steps, Professor Momirovski introduced me to his colleague Professor Petrushevski, also born in Leshok. As soon as we entered the building we exchanged books. I gave the professors one of mine (that’s all I had with me) and asked them to share it. Professor Momirovski gave me one of Professor Petrushevski’s books entitled “Village of Leshok, Tetovo 1019 – 2003” and one they have jointly written entitled “Historical-Chronological description through photographs and documents of the Leshok Monastery” which they both autographed for me. Professor Momirovski later gave me another of his books, this one of poetry entitled “Nasleden Genski Kod” which roughly translates to “Hereditary Genetic Code”. The museum was busy with visitors, mostly Begaltsi from the Diaspora, and it was difficult to concentrate while constantly being interrupted but thankfully what the professors told me during the tour is also written in the books which I will read at my leisure. Most of the tour was about the various personalities who fought to protect and preserve the monastery over its long existence and about the churches and their history. Part of the tour was a visit to a small church called “Sveti Kiril & Metodi”, the size of a small room inside the building. When I asked why there was a third small church inside the building when two already existed outside, I was told that it takes three churches to make a monastery. As we continued the tour Professor Momirovski took me to a small room where the real cover of Kiril Pejchinovich’s tomb was safeguarded. The tomb outside was recently restored after it was damaged during the most recent conflict. Just as the professor was reading the old inscriptions on top of the marble plate we were again interrupted but this time by a priest calling out my name. This priest was accompanied by a second tall priest who was introduced to me as Pop Peritsa Bojkovski about whom I had written a story in my history book. While I stood face to face with this person, the first priest turned to page 485 in my translated book and read the few paragraphs that described this poor man’s ordeal at the hands of his abductors. The passage was a news story I had picked up from the internet but never in

my life would I have expected to meet the real person. I didn’t know what to say and neither did he as we stared at each other shaking hands. As soon as the first priest finished reading they left. Seconds later as I snapped out of my surprise I asked the professor what had just happened. He smiled and said this place has a lot of history. I ran into pop Peritsa again and again smiled at him shyly as we passed each other by. After the tour I went outside and ran into Ireneusz Shlupkov who had brought copies of his book “The Communist Party of Greece and the Macedonian National Problem 1918-1940” in hopes of selling some. He asked me what he should do since he knew that I am not above selling my own books so I suggested he set up a stand right there and do the selling himself. By now it was getting very hot so I headed for the trees. Leshok is a beautiful place nestled on the slope of a tall mountain, full of lush green vegetation as far as the eye can see. I tried taking pictures of the mountains but a photograph can’t do justice in capturing the majestic greatness of tall mountains. On my way up I ran into Gjorgi Plukov, a Begalets from Canada, enjoying the shade with his family and friends. He invited me to stay with them for a while and I was offered peaches, grapes and other fruits to snack on. The fruits were local. I was surprised that grapes had ripened so early in the season in Macedonia. While sitting with Gjorgi, Marko, the reporter and radio show host from Skopje, came by and invited me for coffee up at the Leshok café. There I met several other reporters from Skopje including a lady named Tanja Bitoljanu. Tanja was interested in interviewing me for a documentary her company was making about the Macedonians in Greece. While talking to Tanja, Gotche my Oshchimian friend found me and gave me the CD with songs he promised to give me and showed me a lot of old photos of his relatives from Oshchima. Tanja also showed interest in Gotche’s photographs and asked him to tell his story when she found out he too was from Greek occupied Macedonia. Gotche gave her his phone number where she could reach him. Tanja spoke to her producer who insisted that we leave the noisy monastery and do the interview and filming at one of the houses in the village down below. I followed Tanja and the filming crew as we meandered down the narrow streets until we reached our destination. There I met several other people as we sat at a picnic table waiting for more people to arrive. I was offered an

assortment of drinks but I asked for water, it was hot and I was very thirsty. Unfortunately before the rest of the crew had arrived I received a phone call from Slave who was looking for me. Bishop Kiril was asking for his guests to join him for lunch. I apologized to Tanja and the people there for having to leave before the interview was even started but I promised them I would be back after lunch. On my way back I ran into more people I knew and I kept asking if they had seen Vera Foteva but everyone I asked said they had not seen her, not at Leshok and not even at other Begaltsi events. This was very unusual for Vera not to be there so we were all wondering if something had happened to her. I have not heard from Vera to this day. If someone has any information please let me know. When I arrived in front of the building Slave was waiting for me and escorted me to the cafeteria. There were about fifty guests sitting at a long table with Bishop Kiril sitting at the center. Slave and I sat on the opposite side facing the Bishop. The table was set with fresh fruits, bread, salads, appetizers, feta cheese, wine, pop, water and rakija. I was both thirsty and hungry as I had not eaten since lunch the day before. It was 2:30 pm by now and it seemed as if everyone was hungry because the food was sure disappearing fast. We paused for a while for the blessing and to let Bishop Kiril say a few words then resumed eating and drinking. The wine, pop and water were going fast but no one was drinking rakija so I thought I would try some. Rakija is an alcoholic drink distilled with anise so it has a unique flavour. Rakija is a very old fashioned drink popular with Macedonians. The meal also included large portions of pork, chicken and dessert. It was a meal worthy of a Bishop. Thank you Dedo Kiril. After I finished eating I continued to drink rakija and Slave decided to join me. I offered the bottle to others nearby but they shied away from it. I found the rakija here unusually strong and very clean tasting without any after taste so I asked Slave where they get it. To my surprise he said they make it here. Both the wine and rakija are homemade right here in Leshok. Imagine that? I will have to visit Leshok again in the future. After we finished lunch we thanked our hosts and left. I reminded Slave of my obligation to Tanja so he drove us to the village. As soon as we started going down the hill I regretted getting Slave involved because the dirt road we were traveling on was so bad we all thought the car would fall apart from the holes and bumps. The village was a

maze of narrow streets and because we took a different path I couldn’t find the place. Given the situation with the road, I asked Slave to abandon the search and head back for Skopje.

On the road to Bitola

When we arrived in Skopje from Leshok the evening of July 20th, I asked Slave to leave me with John and Tsena at Makedonka’s house. There Makedonka treated us to drinks and snacks, including fresh baked bread and feta cheese while we watched the news about the Begaltsi on television. I was scheduled to go to Bitola the next day so I asked John and Tsena if they wanted to come with me. Spiro would have taken us no problem but as it turned out there was a Begaltsi banquet in Skopje the next day which John and Tsena wanted to attend. I wanted to go to the banquet too but unfortunately I was running out of time; my relatives in Bitola were expecting me to be there since Monday. As soon as I got to my apartment that night I received a phone call from Slave asking me to be ready at 7:30 am the next morning for an 8 am live television interview at the MTV1 studio. I had no problem with that because I wasn’t expecting Spiro to arrive from Bitola to pick me up until much later probably 9 am so I agreed to go. I got my wakeup call the next day as usual and was reminded to wear formal clothes. We arrived at the studio on time and were shown in. The morning show is hosted by two young ladies both named Eli so while the one Eli was interviewing a family of swimmers, the other Eli questioned us to get some background information. Both lady hosts spoke very fast so I explained to Eli that she had to take it easy with me and make sure I understood the questions. She was very understanding and helpful. The interview went well but took much longer than expected and I was getting concerned about Spiro. Both Slave and I had to turn off our cell phones to make sure we did not disrupt the live broadcast and Spiro had no other way of contacting us. It was just past 9 am when we were done so while I was collecting my books which I had placed on a table for the filming, I asked Slave to contact Spiro and let him know what was happening. When Slave returned he said, “We have a problem.” I thought it had to do with Spiro so I asked if he had made contact with Spiro. Slave said yes he had contacted Spiro and told him where we were but the problem was Tanja Bitoljanu was looking for me, still wanting to do the interview for her documentary. Slave said the film crew was ready at a nearby café and advised me to do the interview. I was concerned about Spiro so Slave contacted him and

explained what was happening and told him where we would be. Spiro said he would meet us there in a short while. It took us a couple of minutes to get to the café by car and there was a surprise waiting for me there. Sitting among the crew was Dr. Dushko Aleksovski whom I had met in Canada a few years back and had written several articles about his work on petroglyphs or “rock art” as he calls it. I had also written about his work in my history book so it was an unexpected pleasure for me to see him again. After meeting everyone Slave announced that he had to go. He had a business to run which he had neglected for the last week or so. Just as we set up to do the filming, the camera man complained the camera was not working. It appears someone had forgotten to charge the battery. Unfortunately the crewman had no charger but I was told there was no problem as their studio was nearby and so as not to waste too much time it was decided that we would all move to another café, one closer to the studio. I asked the producer to contact Spiro and let him know where we were going. When we arrived at our destination Spiro was there waiting for us. As luck would have it, after everything was set up to do the interview, the electrical socket where the camera was plugged in was not working. While the café owner and crew tried to get the camera working Tanja treated us to some fruit flavoured iced tea. By the time the filming started it was past 10 am. There were no pauses during the filming as the interview continued for fifty minutes until the camera ran out of tape. I was asked many questions pertaining to the Macedonian involvement in the Greek Civil War, the Macedonian prisoners on the Greek Islands, the refugee exodus, etc., etc. I was able to answer every question and in fact gave them more information than they expected. I was prepared purely by accident because I am currently writing a book about the Macedonians in Greece from 1939 to 1949. Having done my research for the book greatly helped me answer all their questions. The documentary film is due to air sometime in September this year. To learn more about the Macedonians in Greece please read my ongoing series of articles entitled “the Macedonians in Greece” at: http://www.maknews.com/html/articles.html#stefov A couple of things that I emphasized in the interview which I want to mention here are that Macedonians as a single nation have been struggling for their freedom and to form their own state since Roman times and that we the Macedonians from Greece, living in the Diaspora,

are not willing immigrants but refugees, victims of war and economic strife evicted out of our homes by the Greek state. Just because we happen to live outside of Greece does not mean that we have abandoned our country, homes, rights and dignity which Greece has taken away from us. Every Macedonian I have met and spoken with in the Diaspora has a story to tell. These stories have patterns that point directly at Greece and the wrongs it has done to the Macedonian people. As of yet, I have not met anyone who said they left because they wanted to leave and as such have willingly abandoned their family home and lands. The stories I hear paint a different picture, a picture of a people who left out of fear for their lives. A people who left due to economic strife and neglect and only abandoned their families, homes and lands because they were harshly dealt with by Greece. These injustices Macedonians are NOT willing to forget. Instead they expect Greece to reverse its attitude and admit responsibility for the wrongs it has committed and apologize to those that they wronged just like the Australians and the Canadians apologized to their indigenous people not too long ago. By the time we finished the interview it was almost 11 am. We were expected to be in Bitola by now but instead we had to go back to my apartment so that I could change my clothes and pick up my stuff. It was burning hot outside but finally we were off to Bitola. Spiro decided to take a less direct route so that he could show me some of the scenery. We drove on a newly built highway which Spiro used to take every day from Skopje to Bitola when he worked in the Macedonian Parliament so he was familiar with it and because of the higher speed limits he said it was possible to get to our destination faster. As we left Skopje I recognized the scenery. We were traveling on the same road we had traveled the day before when we went to Leshok. I noticed the maximum speed limit was 120 K/h but no one stuck to the limit. Almost everyone was traveling at least 20km over the speed limit with some traveling even faster. As we drove deeper into western Macedonia we noticed custom automobiles made from refurbished American cars, even some new North American cars. Spiro said, “Do you know who owns these cars and worse they race them without regard to the lives they take, even their own?” I did not ask and did not want to know who owned such cars but I had my suspicions.

Spiro too showed me the spot in Karpalak where our eight Macedonian soldiers died and the place where some people were thinking of dividing Macedonia. As we continued to travel south-westerly I noticed the terrain was looking lush and green. The mountains looked tame and covered with green vegetation unlike the mountains we passed by a week ago in Eastern Macedonia which looked wild, desolate and burned by the summer sun. I couldn’t help but feel sad about losing this land and felt angry at those who entertained the idea of wanting to give away this beautiful and fertile land. Did they have any idea what they were thinking? By the number of Mosques in each village we could see that most of western Macedonia was inhabited by Muslim Albanians. As we passed by villages we could also see that many of the newly built houses were vacant. They build houses here but live and work elsewhere mostly in large cities in the Diaspora. No one but themselves knows the real reasons why they do that. To me and others from the Diaspora, people look and act alike but to those who live in Macedonia there is a psychological divide between the two ethnicities. Village after Albanian village, even in the center of Skopje, I saw the red-with-black Albanian flag, a foreign flag by itself displayed in public. And even though it irks every ethnic Macedonian, they can’t do anything because they are now allowed to display the flag by law. The Macedonians see this as pure provocation which can’t possibly be good for either side. To me it would appear that in order to placate some “higher power” authorities are working against the will of the majority of the Macedonian people. No one could explain to me the rational for having provocative foreign flags flown in Macedonia nor how that could benefit everyone and help to bring the various ethnic groups closer together or foster peace in the region. The straight road turned into treacherous constant turns and curves as we continued to climb the mountains at break-neck speeds. I looked down the steep slopes and wondered how safe this road could be without guardrails especially during the night or in winter under icy conditions. Then I remembered that Spiro traveled this road for four years under every condition possible and managed okay. We were both quiet as the car came to a halt at the top of the hill and Spiro announced it was time for lunch. After filling the car with petrol we walked up a hill to a restaurant and sat outdoors but when the

waiter failed to notice us we went inside. It was burning hot but there was a cool breeze blowing. The restaurant was full of people, mostly young, and judging from the conversations most were foreigners, probably tourists. I had not eaten supper the day before or breakfast that morning so I was good and hungry by now. I was Spiro’s guest again and Spiro spared no expense to please me when it came to ordering food. “How does a Shopska salad (tomato and cucumber bits drowned in shredded feta cheese), a hamburger (large), a portion of broiled pork (large pork injected with cheese) and a plate of French fries sound to you?” he asked. “Then we will have some ice cream for dessert. But first we will have a couple of Skopski (beers),” he said. That was fine by me I said but who was I to argue? It was an excellent lunch. Thank you Spiro. The road was just as treacherous coming down the hill but soon we were down in the valley and the road became less of a distraction as Spiro continued to tell me stories about the various landmarks. As we came closer to Bitola he showed me where his father (my uncle) worked and then where he works. Bitola looked much older than Skopje. It was a typical city left over from the Ottoman era with narrow streets leading all over the place. After arriving in Bitola our first priority was to get together and meet with the rest of my relatives. Afterwards Spiro was going to take me to meet a couple of his close friends. My visit with my cousins went well as we briefly met at my aunt’s (Spiro’s mother) house where we all got together within a short time after we arrived. Just before dark Spiro drove us to the outskirts of Bitola, to a beautiful outdoor café where we met Risto and Petar. Spiro had said to me I needed fewer interviews and more contact with people from whom I could learn and if anyone fit that profile it would be Risto or Dr. Ivanovski, as I soon came to know him. Dr. Ivanovski was a storehouse full of knowledge and led most of the discussion. Dr. Ivanovski’s expertise is in prehistory, less familiar to me which made me all the more interested. I asked him if he knew of Odie Belchevski because Odie is also into prehistoric stuff especially in linguistics and the study of Homeric words. Dr. Ivanovski said he had met Odie the day before and had had a long discussion with him. I had promised Odie I would look for him during my visit in Bitola and what better time than to invite him to join the discussion right there

and then. Unfortunately the only number I had was from the home he was staying in and I was unable to get hold of him. Dr. Ivanovski covered a lot of material during the short time we were together and there was no way I could remember it all. But he said, “Don’t worry you can read about it in my books.” To my surprise he pulled out six books all written in Macedonian and handed them to me. Five are self published and very controversial, the sixth entitled “The Mediterranean Original Homeland of the Europeans” was published in 1998 by MUB “Sveti Kliment Ohridski”, in Bitola. If anyone knows anything about the Pelasgians and Phrygians it would be Dr. Ivanovski. I just need to find the time to read his books. We had a productive meeting that evening that could have lasted all night but Risto and Petar had to go to work the next day. Spiro and I on the other hand had had a long day and needed to rest.

Heraclea and Ohrid in one day

I spent the night at Spiro’s mother’s house and as usual was up early. As it happened, Sofia (Spiro’s mother) is an early morning person too so I had an opportunity to get to know my aunt a bit better. She is an old Partisan’s widow who now lives alone. She manages okay on her pension but does not have the money to buy extra things. The cost of heating fuel (parno) will be going up over 60% in Macedonia this coming winter so she is worried she will not be able to afford it. “I will have to switch to electricity,” she said “because I can’t afford the extra cost.” Her apartment is equipped with central heating, electric space heating and wood stove heating. I imagine most old apartments are. Cost wise, wood would be the best choice but she is too old and weak to handle the wood. Even though each apartment is privately owned, the building she lives in and its central services are managed by the city. She has to pay monthly fees. I figured 8 am was an appropriate time to contact Spiro and it was. Soon afterwards he arrived and picked me up. It was quiet outside as there was very little activity in the morning compared to the evening before. “What did you expect this early in the morning?” Spiro said. “People are still sleeping. They stay up late because it’s too hot to sleep and sleep-in in the morning when it’s cooler.” Since no place that we wanted to visit was open this early in the morning, Spiro took me to a café in downtown Bitola. It was a huge restaurant and according to Spiro very popular in the night. It is owned by a Macedonian from the Diaspora who converted it from an outdoor walkway to a money making venture. It looked more like a Canadian restaurant, very spacious with a high ceiling and ceiling fans circling above. All around the walls on one side were fish tanks with huge live fish. I imagine the fish are not there for display. I did not ask. “I want you to try something new today,” Spiro said as he asked the waiter to bring me a chorba (soup) made of cow’s stomach. I don’t usually eat soup for breakfast, let alone soup made of a cow’s stomach but I was game for anything new especially when it came to sampling the famous chorba people talk about. The large deep dish of garlic spiced chorba came with bread, feta cheese and a dish full of hot peppers. I tried the soup first. When the first spoonful hit my taste buds I felt nauseous. It was the heavy taste of garlic coupled with the fat floating on top that turned my stomach but biting into a bit of fresh

bread solved the problem. As I overcame the feeling, the chorba seemed to be calling to me to try some more. Spiro watched me as I first struggled with it then wolfed it down. “Do you want some more?” he said. I laughed and said no thank you but I pity the poor person who will be standing next to me all day smelling the garlic. I was a bit squeamish about eating the hot peppers at first but after trying one I ate all of them. They went down real easy with feta cheese and bread. What a breakfast! Spiro mentioned that the cow gut comes from North America frozen but with all the spices and fat in the soup how can one tell? After we finished our breakfast and morning coffee we were ready to go. The Bitola museum was our first destination but it was still not open. Given that we had to be in Ohrid by noon for yet another television interview, we decided to go to the Heraclea archeological site first. Unlike Stobi, this site is more developed. It has a visitor’s building with a model replica of the site just as it looked when it was first unearthed. The broken seats in the open theater have been replaced and the surrounding walls that had fallen had been repaired. First to greet us as we entered the gate was a young lady named Biliana who introduced herself as the tour guide for the site. Spiro asked if Kuzman was at the site. For a while I had been asking to meet him. Biliana said at the moment he was not there, he was at another archeological site. I was then surprised to see Spiro calling him on his cell phone. I asked where he had got his number and how he knew Kuzman. He said, “You are forgetting I grew up and still live in Bitola. I know most of the people here.” “Wow,” I said “Kuzman is somewhat of a folk hero to me.” Unfortunately Kuzman would continue to be away for several days and I would not get the chance to meet him. The next to greet us was Anitsa, the local archeologist who of course knew Spiro but asked if I was Risto Stefov. I was surprised by her inquiry and wanted to know how she knew about me? She said, “I promoted your book a month or so ago right here at this site. I thought it was you, I thought I would recognize you from your picture but was not sure.” Another wow for me. Anitsa took us inside the building, offered us a drink and gave us a bit of a history lesson about the site. She then left us in the capable hands of Biliana, who by the way spoke very good English with an English accent. She was very pleasant and courteous and made sure I understood everything by repeating it in English.

Biliana pointed at a group of people working on the site and said they were American archeology students. Later when we returned to the visitor’s building we ran into the students and I asked them in English where they were from. Only two women responded. One was from British Columbia and the other from Quebec. They were only there for a couple of weeks. While we were still on the site, Spiro received a call which I thought was odd. It was from the Bulgarian Consul in Bitola. He had two complementary concert tickets for Spiro. Spiro asked me if I wanted to go but I said I wasn’t really interested. Overhearing the conversation Biliana said the concert was scheduled to be held right here at the Heraclea ancient outdoor theater. In that case I said count me in. When we were finished with the tour we returned to another building where Anitsa and another lady were waiting for us. Anitsa showed me a huge book with beautiful colour photographs of the Heraclea ruins and all the artifacts found there over the years. Unfortunately she had only one copy so I couldn’t get one for myself. I asked Spiro to try and get me one when more are printed. On our way back Spiro suggested we go to the Bulgarian Consulate first and pick up the tickets. I was curious as to why the Bulgarian Consul would give him tickets? Spiro said they were friends. They met at a conference they attended and became friends. He added that the Consul is Macedonian with roots from Kostur Region. When we arrived at the entrance of the consulate Spiro asked me to go with him. “Come and meet him,” he said “he is a nice guy.” Thinking nothing of it I followed Spiro through the yard but the moment we entered the front gate we were stopped by a couple of security guards armed with pistols and mean looking metal handcuffs. One of them asked, “What is your business here?” The other guard recognized Spiro and started talking to him so I figured now that they know who we are they would let us in. But that was not the case. They knew Spiro but did not know me. After a short interrogation the first guard asked me for my passport. “Give it to him,” Spiro said “he will give it back.” The other guard (the one speaking to Spiro) came over with his metal detecting wand and checked me over. He told me to wait while the other guard wrote down all the information from my passport. So far so good I figured. They are only doing routine checks. But then I began to get nervous when the guard holding my passport made a

phone call and repeated my name several times. I couldn’t help but wonder who he was calling and why? Later it came to me. He must have been calling the consul who probably was not expecting me. Spiro must have neglected to tell him. About eight minutes later, and what seemed to me an eternity, the guard handed me my passport and we were off to see the consul upstairs. It was a beautiful building inside, renovated and well decorated with paintings, posters and bookshelves full of books. A good looking young lady with sharp, dark eyes came out to greet us and showed us in. For a moment I felt nervous under the stare of this young woman’s dark eyes. She sat us down in the lounge and told us to wait. Spiro must have sensed my nervousness and said, “Don’t worry about her, she is probably a local (Macedonian from Bitola) just working here, just like the guard I was talking to. But please don’t say anything about your books and activities.” About a minute later we were invited in to see the consul. He introduced himself as Naum Kajchev and gave me his business card. I guess he was expecting me to give him mine and when I didn’t he asked me if I had a business card. I said no I don’t work, I am retired. He asked many personal questions about my work, my life, my village, etc. and seemed to know a lot about the places I mentioned. He asked me where in Toronto I lived. I found the question odd but before I had a chance to ask, he said he had been posted in Toronto for a number of years and was familiar with the city. He seemed to know Toronto much better than I did. He also knew a lot of people from Toronto including the then mayor. He asked me to say hello to our mutual friend Steve in Toronto. The air conditioning in the consul’s office must have been running on full blast because the place was cold in comparison to the burning heat outside. We were treated to a cup of coffee after which we left. The young lady escorted us out to the stairs and we slipped by the guards with just a simple good-by. I was happy to be out but have to admit that what I felt was my own insecurity because no one said or did anything to make me feel any different. As soon as we left the consulate I asked Spiro to forget about visiting the museum in Bitola for now and head on to Ohrid. Slave, John and Tsena would be arriving there from Skopje before noon and we should be there. Spiro agreed and we were off to Ohrid. On the way we passed through Resen, Prespa Region. Spiro pointed out that this

used to be Tsar Samoil’s kingdom and is now famous for its beautiful big apples. We arrived in Ohrid before noon and made our way to a private parking lot near the harbour. All the café’s, shops and picnic areas near the lakeshore were packed with people. The sun was beaming but there was a cool breeze blowing from the lake which kept us cool. Ohrid was beautiful and I could see myself spending a lot of time here but it would have to be in the future. As soon as we made our way around the harbour and visited a few places and took some pictures, we got a call from Slave letting us know that they had arrived. It took us a while to find them but when we did we decided to have lunch. We found a nice outdoor café and the five of us sat down at an unsheltered table. The café was packed with customers and the waiter took some time to get to us but as soon as he got there it started raining. It was a quick shower but it made a mess on the table. As soon as we moved to a table under a shelter the rain stopped. Moments later we were joined by the producer of the television show that wanted to interview us. He introduced himself as Boshko Rajchovski from Ljuboino, Prespa Region who now lives in Detroit. I did not recognize Boshko’s name but I certainly recognized his voice which I had heard on the radio before. He confirmed that yes it was him that I had heard on the radio. Since we had already ordered our lunch, we asked Boshko to join us. Given the mix of people we had at the table I announced that this lunch would be my treat. No one objected. As usual Spiro ordered for me and again it was a big meal consisting of three pieces of pork prepared three different ways, Shopska salad, cheese, olives, bread, Skopski (for some, pop for the non drinkers) and some “yellows” (whisky) for me, Slave and Boshko. I have to admit that for the first time I couldn’t finish the entire meal. Neither could Spiro so we asked the waiter to put our leftovers in a “doggy bag” (as we call it here in Canada) so that we could take them with us. For those interested, I was able to treat six people, including myself to a king’s meal for just over 5,000 denars which works out to about $ 125 Canadian. Where else in the world can a poor tourist from Canada, eat like a king? We took our time eating while waiting for Boshko to make the call for us to get going. But after making phone call after phone call he finally said that his film crew and reporter were not there and it would take some time before they arrived. In the meantime we took a walk in the promenade above the shoreline under the shade of the trees and

arrived near the statue of Kiril & Metodi where we were met by the film crew, accompanied by an American woman and her daughter. The woman, of German roots, was married to a Macedonian from Ljuboino and at the time was vacationing in Ohrid. I talked to her while waiting for the reporter to arrive. It was 4 pm when the reporter finally arrived and we found a nice café near the lake to do the filming. Some of the customers were asked to move from their tables and make room for us to which they obliged. The music too was turned down and the scene with the lake in the background was set. The interview took about twenty minutes. When we finished it was past 5 pm. Spiro handed me a couple of DVD’s. They were from a singer, entertainer named Tomislav Manich. “These are a gift for you,” he said “from that man over there. They are recordings of his performances.” I said I did not know the man but Spiro said, “It doesn’t matter; he knows of you and wants you to have them.” I thanked the man for his generosity and for giving gifts to a perfect stranger. As soon as we walked outside the café people were saying it’s going to rain, a storm was coming. I looked up and all I could see was blue sky with a few clouds. It took us about ten minutes to gather everyone together and another ten minutes to get to our cars. Slave was leaving for Skopje and John and Tsena were coming with us (Spiro and I) to Bitola. No sooner had we transferred John and Tsena’s luggage from Slave’s car than it began raining. By the time we were out of the parking lot the rain had turned into a torrent. As we were leaving Ohrid we saw downed trees and branches all over the road. It continued to rain all the way to Bitola where we dropped off John and Tsena at their hotel. “I guess the concert is going to be cancelled on account of the rain,” I said to Spiro. But he was quick to remind me that he heard on the radio that the concert was still on. It had been moved to an indoor theater. It was scheduled for 9 pm and we could still make it. I told him I didn’t really want to go and that he should be going with his wife Lenche. By the time we arrived at Spiro’s house we were both tired and Lenche did not want to go so we all spent the afternoon and part of the evening at Spiro’s house. Spiro made us all sorts of snacks and Lenche served us coffee and other drinks while we watched DVD’s from Spiro’s collection of

speeches he had made during his days in the Macedonian parliament and flipped through photographs from his political campaign. Spiro took me back to his mom’s house late that night. The rain had stopped and the night was cool, just right for sleeping.

From Smilevo to Krushevo

As soon as I got to my Aunt Sofia’s place late that night, I went to bed immediately so as not to disturb her sleep when I realized I had forgotten something. In the hustle and bustle between the interview and the rain in Ohrid, I forgot to go and visit my cousin Goche’s daughter Dafina. Dafina is my only relative living in Ohrid and had been my primary contact with my cousins in Skopje prior to my arrival in Macedonia. She was definitely expecting me to go and see her especially since her mother had told her I would be in Ohrid that day. I felt terrible for not seeing her and the only way to make it up to her I figured would be to call her the next day first thing in the morning and apologize to her. So I did and she was a good sport and accepted my apology with grace and forgiveness. Speaking of apologies, I forgot to mention in an earlier part that Kole Mangov had given me a book he wrote himself entitled “Za Makedonskite Chovechki Prava” (“About Macedonian Human Rights”) published in Skopje in 1995 by MRT-Makedonsko Radio. My father just finished reading it and would like to compliment Kole for his excellent work. Thank you Gospodin Kole Mangov. Even though it was a cool night and I went to sleep late, I still woke up early the next morning on Wednesday July 23rd. My aunt had an assortment of foods for me to eat for breakfast but I only asked for coffee. She knows how to make good Turkish coffee the old fashioned way and made it for me the way I like it, with no sugar. She loves to put a lot of sugar in her coffee but because she is diabetic now she has to drink it with practically no sugar. That morning I also met Mende, my cousin Neda’s son, who is into body building and speaks pretty good English. Of all my cousins’ children he was the most curious and inquisitive about my books and activities. Spiro had an errand to run that morning so he arrived a bit later than expected and we were off sightseeing more of Macedonia. Just as we were putting my luggage into the trunk of his car, an old friend of his arrived at the doorstep and stopped to talk to us. He wanted to know who I was. Spiro told him I was a cousin from Canada but the old man wanted to know my name. “Ah Risto Stefov,” he said as if he knew me. “Of course I know you,” he said “I am Aleksandar Popovski, President of the Detsa Begaltsi Association of the Bitola Chapter. All the Begaltsi

here in Bitola know you.” Spiro later told me that he (Spiro) belongs to the Bitola Association and when his father was alive they used to tell the Begaltsi about the various articles I wrote over the years, especially the ones about them. On our way out of Bitola we stopped to see Spiro’s son Vasko and Vasko’s wife and child. It had been raining on and off during that night in Bitola but it was clear when we took the side road to Smilevo. Smilevo is a small village perched on a cliff much like any other typical village up on a mountain except this village is famous for producing a lot of Macedonian revolutionaries including Damian Gruev, the legendary commander and chief of the 1903 Ilinden Macedonian National Uprising. We parked the car in the center square and watched people coming out of their houses to investigate what was going on. It reminded me of how we were back in Oshchima where everyone knew everyone and looked at strangers with curiosity and in our case with suspicion. We entered the variety store where Spiro bought us chocolate bars and some juice. Spiro asked the clerk where the museum was and which one was Damian Gruev’s house. The lady gave us directions and we were off. Gruev’s house was on the other side of the hill and we assumed it would be private property so we photographed it from the distance and left for the museum. We were lucky the curator was there and was able to give us a tour. When I wrote my history book I mentioned Damian Gruev as the sole leader of the 1903 rebellion but when Aleksandar Donski reviewed my book he mentioned that I had omitted two other names that should have been mentioned side by side with Gruev’s so I was wondering if the Museum too would have neglected those names. I was happy to see all three names displayed at the museum side by side. The three men who lead the 1903 uprising were Anastas Lozanchev, Damian Gruev and Boris Sarafov. The building was renovated inside and kept very clean and organized. It had a rich collection of photographs, mostly reproductions, of the personalities that organized, supported and lead the 1903 Macedonian National Uprising. One thing they lacked was a pamphlet or booklet to give away to visitors. Again it boils down to lack of funds from the government which does not have resources to support all the projects that are currently ongoing in Macedonia. The