Marvellous Matka – Matka Canyon & Skopje Revisited, North Macedonia

Mark and I fled from Skopje first thing.

The previous evening, we had been caught up in protests in the North Macedonian capital. The vote on the Bulgaria compromise for the country’s EU accession talks was scheduled for later that day. In case this provoked further violence, we relocated to Matka Canyon, just a few miles west. 

Matka is a very special place. Twenty per cent of the plant life is endemic, and found nowhere else. Matka’s number is 77. It boasts 77 butterfly species. Plus, the New7Wonders of Nature Project lists Vrelo cave on the Treska River’s right bank as one of the top 77 natural sites in the world. The cave contains two lakes and is famous for its stalactites. Since its depth is unknown, there is obvious speculation that it is the deepest cave in Europe: possibly the world.

Matka means ‘womb’ in Macedonian. Certainly, the steep walls protect and envelop many medieval hermitages, monasteries, and churches. In the 1930s, they dammed the river to generate hydroelectric, and form the country’s oldest man-made lake.

The only suitable park up was almost in the river bed. All the other Park4Night locations in Matka were way too small for our Beast’s 10 metre majesty. We enlisted a couple of convenient boulders as levelling blocks. One split under our weight.

Sadly, all its history and natural beauty didn’t save Matka from the Balkan scourge – garbage. As a thank you, we always pick up trash in our free park ups. Mark collected sixteen black bags from around our immediate area. I’ve always thought that leaving a place neat and waste-free discourages visitors from leaving rubbish. Sadly, this psychology did not work at Matka. Despite the large refuse bins a short walk away on the road, a spate of family picnics over the weekend deposited a further six huge bags of waste for Mark to clear.

Matka is a great place to hike. The canyon was beautiful and dramatic, yet more commercial than we thought. I suppose being near the capital and having a paved road to the dam has its price. Once, Matka was remote and inaccessible, hence the monasteries.

A narrow walking path runs quite high above the lake in places, a bit like The Gobbins Cliff Path in Northern Ireland. 

We started our stroll at the 14th century St. Andrew’s church. Legend claims King Marko founded it on the spot where Turks killed his brother Andrew. Inside, a sign states that Andrew, son of King Volkashin and Queen Elena, founded the church. I’m not sure whether these Andrews are are the same person, or which story is true.

Right at the start of the walk, a pretty wooden restaurant next to the church teemed with geraniums. A little further on, we treated ourselves to delicious ice creams from a cart. They cost about 80 pence each, and the young lad threw in four extra wafer cones – one for each dog.

We walked miles into the gorge, although not to the end of the path, which continues for around 10 km (6 miles). The hike would have been less intimidating had I not had a funny turn. I got tunnel vision, and started seeing stars. Once we turned back, I was blind on the sheer drop side. In most places, hand rails helped me balance – except where rockfalls had taken them out.

Apparently, I have a degenerate neck, which got worse when I did a Derby speed dismount from a horse some years ago. I get the disturbed vision now and again when a nerve traps: a frisson I could have done without on a precipice. It slowed me down considerably, so of course, Mark was nowhere to be seen!

Who knew a neck problem could add such suspense to a nature walk?

Thankfully, it wore off, and when we got back, we had a lovely surprise. A large orange truck had joined us on the riverbank. ‘Olive’ belongs to Fiona and Mark, otherwise known as Those Trucking Celts.

We had been in contact over the internet after the Orkney Overlanders introduced us online, since we were in the same part of the world. A few days previously, we discovered we were in the same country. Finally, we met up.

The following day, the Celts opted to walk into Matka with their rescue dog, Urla, whom they’d adopted in Turkey. We said we’d go on a boat trip. The previous day, the boat kiosk had been very friendly and helpful. The chap in charge told us dogs were no problem. When we returned, a different man was less co-operative.

“I will have to charge you for four people to take the dogs, because I can’t take anyone else in the boat with dogs. I don’t go to the cave, and I only go 4 km up the canyon for half an hour.”

We’d already walked further than that, and surely the cave was one of the main reasons to do a boat trip. Add in his miserable attitude, and we decided not to bother.

We met the Celts at one of the local restaurants for lunch.

“No menus,” the waiter told us. “We’re just getting them re-done.”

“They probably mean they don’t have menus displaying tourist prices…” Fiona whispered as he wandered off.

With heavy rain forecast, we all decided it might be prudent to remove ourselves from the river bed. Since unrest had cut short both of our visits to Skopje, we resolved to try again.

We had evacuated the city to Matka because of riots. Now, we were evacuating back because we thought we might get flash flooded out of the canyon!

From our park up at Park City Stadium, we walked into Skopje with the Celts. The heavens opened, and we arrived at the Kollektiv Craft Beer place like drowned rats. Fi had an umbrella, but for Mark and I, after months of scorching heat, our rain jackets were so buried we couldn’t hope to find them.

We had a few pints and some food, optimistic that the rain might stop. It didn’t. As we ran home in flip flops, at least the puddles we splashed through were warm.

Despite getting drenched, we had a fabulous evening with Fi and Mark. Unsurprisingly, considering our matching life choices, we have rather a lot in common. My craft-beer-hazed memories recall that we had both been on the road for more than half a decade and shared similar tastes in music.

My claim to fame is that my first ever concert was AC/DC with the iconic 1978 line-up, including frontman Bon Scott, who died two years later. This led to the suggestion of meeting up at Bonfest one year. Although AC/DC is a celebrated Australian rock group, Bon Scott and the Young brothers, Angus, and Malcolm who founded the band, were born in Scotland. Scott’s Scottish hometown of Kirriemuir holds Bonfest annually in his honour.

Later, we learned from a Reuters news report that apparently, buses had blockaded the city. During our rain-drenched run home, we had splashed past the government building, but saw no signs of unrest.

Now, I’m going to tell you a Macedonian joke.  

Q: How many statues are in Skopje?

A: I don’t know, but there are more statues than people!

Not for nothing is the North Macedonian capital known as a miniature Las Vegas.

In 1963, an earthquake levelled 80% of the city.

You’d think that might be a golden ticket for the town planners, but those were communist times. The renovated metropolis came out rather grey, modern, and soulless.

Yet, with patience, fall of communism, a nationalist government, and the row about national identity we discussed in the last post, every town planner can still have his day.

In 2008, at the height of the financial crisis in an already poor country, the governing VMRO-DPMNE party announced their solution: the Skopje 2014 project. To attract tourist dollars, show off their ancient cultural heritage, and assert Macedonian identity on the world stage, they gave the city a remarkable facelift.

They went full-on, no-holds-barred, theme-park neoclassical in bronze, gold, and cement.

Between 2010 and 2014, they erected 136 structures at an estimated cost of €500 million. Bridges, pavilions, pillared edifices, the Porta Macedonia triumphal arch, buildings in the shape of ancient galleons ‘moored’ in the Vardar River, 200 double-decker buses like London, as well as the extravagant horde of statues.

Some speculate it was to divert attention from the bigger issues, such as the debacle with Greece, which was hindering North Macedonia’s accession to NATO and the EU. Yet ironically, precisely because of Greece, this program to establish national identity couldn’t. The colossal monuments that everyone knows represent Alexander the Great and his dad, Philip of Macedon are officially called ‘The Great Warrior’ and ‘The Warrior’.  

The sculpted army certainly attracted tourists, but for all the wrong reasons. Statue spotting in Skopje is a major tourist pastime: how many can you see in 24 hours? You could probably get into double figures in the central square alone.  

Some commentators described Skopje’s monumental ancient Greek and Roman makeover as ‘nationalist kitsch’, and one former prime minister labelled it ‘an idiotic project’.

Of course, the anonymous statues fooled no one. Greece was still offended, and whichever way you look at it, Skopje 2014 was a very costly identity crisis.

In 2018, the North Macedonian government saw the light. They halted Skopje 2014 and even removed some of the more controversial sculptures. One of the first was that of Andon ‘Kyoseto’ Yanev. Kyoseto was an ethnic Macedonian who identified as Bulgarian, but was seen as a terrorist and mass murderer. Although curiously, in April 2023, Skopje’s mayor announced his intention to reinstate Kyoseto!

On Sunday morning, the sun came back, so we had a walk around the city. Just over a decade since the building began, we noticed how the monuments and ostentatious facades were all fur coat and no knickers. Already, the cheaply-built concrete structures were crumbling.

We wandered through the Old Bazaar and found a statue of the Albanian national hero, Skanderbeg, who we’d first met in Krujë. I mentioned before that ethnic Albanians are North Macedonia’s largest minority.

We had dinner at Senigallia, one of the galleon-shaped ‘Boatels’ on the river. Like the rest of Skopje, it was very opulent. The waiter was very helpful and brought us delicious Macedonian wines and raki to try. He recommended Era, My Way, and A’Gjopka, and the indigenous grape variety Vranec from the award-winning Bovin winery.

The following morning, we said a fond farewell to our new friends, who had been such lovely company. Since we were near the border, we decided to head for Kosovo.

There was much fandangling at the Macedonian border.

We filled our boots with cheap Macedonian fuel and joined the long queue. It was Sunday evening, after all.

A minibus driver tried to cut in front of us. Then got he got out and started hammering on the side of The Beast. A large and belligerent looking customs officer whistled at us several times. He windmilled his arms in a variety of frustrated hand gestures, but made no effort to approach or explain.

“I don’t think they allow trucks at this crossing,” I said to Mark. “But there are no signs. If they want us to cooperate, they can come and give us proper direction. I’m certainly not taking instructions from a minibus driver!”

An official waved us through to unblock the border crossing, then pulled us over to one side.

“Over here. No. Not there. Over here. Here. Here, sir. No trucks allowed.”

“It’s not a truck, it’s a campervan,” Mark said.

“Not allowed.”

We sounded like North Macedonia telling Greece that Alexander’s statue was just ‘a warrior on a horse’.

“It’s a campervan” Mark insisted. “I will open it up and you can have a look.”

“It’s a campervan?” the guard asked.

“Yes.”

He grasped the simple route to salvation.

“Okay. Off you go!”

Sometimes, it pays to be too much trouble – especially when you’re a campervan in disguise.

Join us next time as we’re welcomed to Kosovo.

The ‘Newborn’ monument in Pristina, Kosovo, painted with the flags of all the countries who recognise Kosovo. If you thought North Macedonia had a crisis if identity, think of poor Kosovo.