Balkan breakfast

Rakia with strangers at Lake Ohrid

I had been caught trying to surreptitiously take photos of people swimming at Lake Ohrid. I wasn’t being a voyeur (honest!) but I wanted to capture the joy of a group of men at 930am on Saturday morning, standing in their swimming clothes, throwing back a strong drink! It was a moment I wanted to remember of my time here.

But I had been spotted pretending to take a selfie, but actually snapping this vignette. Their reaction to being photographed by a stranger was to invite me to join them. And so I did.

“Where are you from?” they asked. I decided to answer with Australia, where I was born but had not lived for more than 30 years but I explained I now live in Greece. Everyone has a cousin or a distant relative in Australia and so the country gets a warm welcome. Whereas Greece’s relationship with Macedonia, as the Facebook generation would describe, “it’s complicated”.

Greece historically has had a major dispute with North Macedonia over the country using the name “Macedonia” as they claim that refers to a region in Greece. The Greeks also claim the Vergina Sun (a historical royal symbol of ancient Macedonia) and the inspiration for the cheery yellow symbol on the giant flag flying not far from us on the Lake’s edge was also a symbol of its own ancient kingdom.

It was such a spat that Greece blocked North Macedonia from joining NATO and the EU over this, and while an agreement signed in 2018 makes the situation more cordial, there is still tension over the issue, amongst citizens and politicians. One of our Greek friends got upset when our social media status tagged us in “Macedonia” and a newspaper at the time carried an article that the roads on the Greek side still pointed to “FYROM”...

However there was no such political discussion with this group. They all tried their English with various degrees of fluency and were quick to hand me home made rakia - a strong, grape-based brandy with a high alcohol content. Wikipedia says it’s to be sipped slowly from small glasses, but we found the drinking speed can vary with the situation. As it’s usually homemade it’s often poured from innocent looking water bottles. If you’re a kid in the Balkans, you’ve not grown up until you come inside from a long day playing, grab yourself a swig of what you think is water only to choke on the fumes of dad’s rakia.

Rakia is often accompanied by cheese and vegetables and this lakeside serving was no exception. Slices of delicious local cheese sweated quietly in the fierce September sun - a bit like the walnut skinned men I was keeping company with. Homegrown tomatoes (everyone has something growing in their gardens) were cut into wedges and salted and I was encouraged to eat between sips as the fierce liquid muscled into my body.

We swapped stories about swimming, a pastime I also love. They mostly swam every weekend and some of them tried to swim every day. They explained the lake’s wonderful micro climate. “It never freezes!” they told me. While it’s one of Europe’s deepest (and oldest) lakes and the surrounding land will receive snowfall, the water temp doesn’t fall too much below six degrees, they assured me.

The men called out to people they knew who passed by and everyone was invited for a drink. Ohrid is the kind of community where everyone knows each other. As people stopped to shake hands I was introduced too as “Rowena from Australia.” One of the men, let’s call him Stojan, was more confident in his English, and took on the role of translating. He is also the most lively of our group.

“This is my old teacher,” Stojan explains, and she nods to affirm this and offers me a polite but somewhat nervous greeting. Stojan expands. “I always had a crush on her,” She nods as if she has heard this story before. “And still do,” he says with a laugh and she looks more surprised and finishes the last of the clear liquid in her glass.

Stojan calls out to a few tourists walking along the lake’s wide footpath, but they all look uncomfortable and walk on - missing the chance of real Balkan hospitality. Later Stojan’s son joins, with a toddler in a pushchair. “Stay and drink,” Stojan implores. Without the need for translation, I can tell the son is explaining that he can’t possibly drink while on New Dad duty. But it doesn’t take much till he has one of the tiny glasses in one hand, and a tomato in the other. When dad joked it is time to literally wet the baby’s head with rakia, Stojan Jnr makes his excuses and presses on, wheeling the pushchair away as starbursts of sunlight dance on the lake’s surface.

My husband joins the party while grandson is quickly wheeled away!

Men on the way back from the market pass us, declining at first but succumbing to take a drink as their shopping bags are peered at by the swimming men, and inspected. The late summer peppers are still available for anyone who has not grown their own but wants to start smoking them to make ajvar, a delicious roasted red pepper and eggplant relish, which we loved from our first North Macedonian meal. We’ve come here from Bulgaria and were equally taken by their lutenitsa, a similar relish made with the addition of tomatoes. Rakia consumed, the shopping men press on, conscious that wives at home know exactly how long an errand should take.

Peppers at the market; Samuel's Fortress, best enjoyed without rakia; the mesmerising lake

My husband, Jon, messages to ask if I am at Samuel’s Fortress, the castle that overlooks the lakeside town and a couple of kilometres away from where we are staying for our month by the lake. I had told my husband I was determined to walk up to the fortress this morning and he said he would meet me after his morning run. I message him back with a photo of the men in their swimming trunks raising a glass. “This happened.”

"This happened"

Jon drops down to the lakeside on his bicycle and is quickly given a rakia glass which he happily takes. “How did you find yourself here?” he asks. Stojan jumps in. “She was trying to photograph us” he roars with laughter and I blush and start to defend myself but my husband agrees with Stojan: “That sounds like something she would do,” and they laugh more and slap each other’s backs as the fiery liquid forges a connection.

Jon is also offered tomatoes - agreeing with me that the tomatoes are out of this world. “It’s the rich volcanic soil,” I tell him, now an expert on such things thanks to Stojan. “And the microclimate.” I add. Jon tells me I sound tipsy.

Eventually, with stories told and head swimming, we make our excuses to leave. We didn’t make it up to any fortress that morning, suffice to say, but this was better than any official attraction. Jon leads me up towards Krusevska Republika Square, the main square of the town, and I complain about the uphill walk, my legs sleepy with rakia. He sits me on the impossible tiny chairs of my favourite cafe where I can have Ottoman coffee made in hot sand, to take the edge of the rakia.

Coffee just across from the Chinar tree

The following morning, we bump into Stojan again. He’s alone this time but we still brace ourselves to be plied with drinks and stories. But a more subdued man greets us today, perhaps a little more shy and definitely hungover. “Dobro utro“ he offers, as a morning greeting with a smile, then slips quietly into the lake’s warm waters for a morning swim, reviving but not cold - it’s the microclimate after all.