Why I Fell in Love with Makedonski Brod

Walking early this morning with overcast skies, threatening to rain, but just holding off, I felt a sense of balance with my surroundings.  Why is it that I fell in love with this isolated small city nestled along the river gorge? I love the solitude that comes from the forested mountains, enveloping the harsh sounds of people at work, absorbing the foul odors of motor vehicles and the occasional shrill voices of birds that fly across my path.

My mind flew back almost 50 years to that summer traveling through Periyar Wildlife Sanctuary in Kerala. I must have been 6 or 7 years old, but that lake, the government guesthouse with the wide verandah and large square flagstone remains imbedded in my memory. Each time I recall those memories I cannot remember family or friends, only the sound of the wind whistling in the trees, the sight of a lone fox startled by the sweep of the car headlamps, the elephants washing themselves by the side of the lake. I recall leaning out of the side of the boat looking to spot the magical fish that fly through the air!

Thoughts are magical as they allow me to cross the time barrier indiscriminately and suddenly I am on a bike riding the steep, oh so steep hills surrounding my home at the military base outside the city of Poona, now called Pune as a wave of nationalist fervor consumes the Indians hell bent on reclaiming the names of their ancient cities, polluted by anglicized names. I remember a winding road going up and up and stopping at the bridge to look down on the river (?), road (?)  or was it just a cow path at the base of the hills and feeling that I am in a place of earthly paradise! This time I remember my friend Sutapa and I spent countless hours exploring the countryside in tune with the butterflies and birds in the hot sun and not a worry in the world.

Digging a hole in the ground and lighting charcoal briquettes till they were white hot and covering them with a layer of dirt.  Placing marinated chicken pieces wrapped in foil and burying it with more dirt! What joy to camp by the side of the river in some farmer's meadow outside Corvallis, Oregon in the coastal range of mountain. Digging up the meal after a trek to find the chicken cooked, moist, dripping with spiced juices! Learned how to wrap a white flour dough around a stick and slowly bake (?) roast (?) it till it became our bread to mop up the juices from the succulent chicken.

Now where was I? Oh, I was walking along the side of the road hugging the River Treska in the narrow gorge west of Makedonski Brod. Look where I ended up – my childhood memories swirling around my head, at peace with myself. The hills are swathed with muted brown leaves of the local dab (oak) and beech trees, more reminiscent of the colors of Japanese paintings and less of the bright golden, red, brown maples of North America. It is with this sense of stillness that comes with emptying the mind that I can walk away my fears and the nagging sense of my inadequate language skills, unable to express the beauty of my surroundings to my native friends.