There's just something about border posts that puts a person on edge... Somehow, you just know you're going to have to cough up some serious dough in one way or another.
Fortunately, I wasn't the only one.
Checking the various government websites now - I'm learning to do this before entering any new territory, that way you learn what they expect of you.
Mostly it's paperwork they want; bureaucracy can't exist without paperwork. Paperwork can be easily bought. But the price is high and the wait long.
It was a late start. This is because it was overcast and it didn't get light until much later in the morning. After having a shower and getting dressed - which was very difficult because the lights in the hotel room didn't work (the joys of living cheap), it was time to check-out. The bank was off-line.
Down the road, the ATM was not accepting the card either.
After some haggling, I parted with 25 British Sterling.
I had just 45 pounds left; my euros depleted (expect a mass of coins - which are worthless, they will only accept Euro notes) and only 10 of whatever currency exists in Bulgaria.
It was still drizzling, my moral was low and the wallet was looking decidedly thin as I climbed into Paulo and gave Lilith the instructions for the day.
Lilith stared at me blankly. Macedonia, where's that? She doesn't have Macedonia in her memory banks. I consulted the atlas and looked for the Bulgarian town that was closest to Macedonia and told her to find it. She did and gladly started pointing me towards it.
En route the weather began to clear and so did the dark cloud that hung over my spirits - that is until some obscure little town where Plod pulled me over. Heart sinking, that was.
He asked for my passport. I handed it over. I then handed my drivers' licence in his direction. He looked me straight in the eye, then glanced down at my passport photo.
He handed the passport back, said, "No problem" and waved me on.
Me relieved? For bloody sure. Popped the gear shift into drive and pushed down on the accelerator - my way of telling Paulo that we had come through the episode unscathed and, more importantly, without it having an affect on the meagre pickings that remained in the wallet.
I'm convinced I should give a name to my wallet - Waldo sounds good (as in where's Waldo because I always seem to be scratching around for him during tense moments) - because it is something I don't want to lose (I regret not giving a name to my Ray-Bans; look where that got me).
Escape from the local gendarmerie made me confident for the border crossing which was less than 10 miles away. Lilith start throwing tantrums when I passed the point I had directed her too, and she, in no uncertain terms, demanded that I make a U-turn as soon as possible. It's a phrase I have become accustomed to - this is a marriage of sorts and sometimes you just have to put up with those irksome phrases that a partner develops. At least that's what I think.
We hit the border and what a joy, we were through the Bulgarian side in no time at all and I breathed a sigh of relief. Until I rounded the little bend in the road that took us round a hill that displayed the Macedonian border post, resplendent with colour flags and everything - including a row of cars and buses.
While I can't speak for Lilith (who was still insisting we turn around and I had to switch her off) or Paulo (who seemed happy to idle around), I was bordering on paranoia.
I had good reason to. I got out of the car and marched up to the kiosk, looking as confident as I could while wiping the sweat from my brow, and handed over my documents (passport, drivers' licence, Paulo's registration papers and - a very significant and - my road tax sticker!).
But he wanted more.
Where was my vehicle insurance?
I rushed back to the car and scrummaged around (Paulo still looks quite nifty on the outside, but resembles Bratislava on the inside) - I was damn sure I had brought along the insurance forms, but, for all the mercy of God, I couldn't find them. It struck me that I should show him the letter I got from the insurance via email on my iPad.
He was having none of it. "No internet, no fax, no nothing," he said "Just green paper".
I resigned myself to yet another hopeless situation and asked "so where to now".
"Masjien, stay here; you, go there," and he pointed vaguely to an oppressively grey looking building.
A decidedly scruffy looking gentlemen, complete with dreadlocks and frizzly beard, standing nearby laughed and said: "They caught me with that one as well".
I felt a bit better - misery loves company.
I arrived at he building to find a bald-headed man smoking and talking on the phone. A whole era passed as he talked on the phone - no doubt some country invaded another in that space of time. I wanted desperately to shake him about the shoulders and scream at him in frustration. I didn't. Instead I made a tremendous effort to look glum, which in the circumstances wasn't that difficult really.
This seemed to work and he ended his call to let me know that this would cost me 50 Euro.
I started counting my change and reached about 25 Euro when he stopped me. No, he wouldn't take coins, only cash.
I had none, they'd all been stolen from me in previous bribes. I asked if he would take British pounds and flashed a few at him.
Sigh, 24 pounds later and it was back to the kiosk, me waving my new little piece of bureaucracy gleefully at the guard.
He accepted it, scanned my passport and directed me to take Paulo to the next kiosk - the one where the searches happen.
I'd been noticing these searches as I was going through the trauma of getting insurance and they look in the boot and everything. I was none too pleased to see this, thinking of the mountain of beers, liqueurs and chocolate (not to mention complete set of crystal-style wine, whiskey and soda glasses) I was carrying.
I drove up to the guard, jumped out and opened the boot for him. He looked inside and saw all the camping equipment, opened up the large Sports Direct bag that carries my dirty laundry, and promptly told me to have a safe journey.
Thank The Lord for small mercies and dirty undies. All that contraband was still safely tucked into a cooler bag behind the drivers' seat.
Macedonia is beautiful, it's poor, but there are none of those large communistic grey blocks for people to live in. It's all quaint villages with red-roofs, although the cottages could do with a bit of paint; even the orange shades that they like so much in Romania and Bulgaria would do nicely.
I had checked up on road tax the night before and learned that this did not exist in Macedonia, but the highways were tolled. I didn't have Lilith to guide me, but the route I had mapped out didn't include any highways so I thought I'd be safe.
I think there must be a higher power watching over me, because my concerns to get cash quick were diminished when I noticed a sign at a filling station which read ATM. I stopped, drew 1000 of whatever the currency is and bought a Coke. It went down so well considering I had not had breakfast.
Back on the road - not a kilometre later, and there was a toll road in front of me. What joy to hand over my newly acquired cash. I said a quick prayer in thanks for finding the ATM when I did.
I swear the sun came through the dark clouds at the same time.
It was a quick 30 minutes at a cool 130kph (80mph) before Skopje came into view, without Lilith to help, I pulled out the iPhone, matched its maps up to the hotel's address and after going wrong numerous times, we found our digs for the night. It was only a little after 1pm, plenty of time still to get in the sights.
And what sights they are.
Blue skies made sure that we could take photos and it was three hours of blissful touring in a city that is going to become great. One suspects it may have been great before, well it is the city of Alexander the Great, but it is obvious that there has been a less-than-happy past. This is all being built over though; there's construction going on everywhere and you feel that by next summer it'll be more than ready to start attracting the tourists.
There's still a disgruntled group, who, like those in Leipzig, are showing there dissatisfaction by spraying graffiti everywhere, but it's a better class of graffiti - it's got colour in it!
There are glimmers of something good in Eastern Europe and one of those is a city with an obscure name like Skopje.
It was the home of Alexander the Great and it was the birthplace of Mother Teresa (the photos are in focus because of the marvels of Nikon technology, not because of my sharp eyes because they welled up with tears as I stood before her monument - she needn't have travelled to Calcutta to do her wonderful deeds, she might just have gone next door to Bulgaria, or Slovakia for that matter, they're just as dingy and poor and in desperate need of help).
It's just a very nice place to be and I'm glad I came here.
Tomorrow I need to figure out how to get out of here though, there's a long journey ahead to Belgrade, and Lilith doesn't know the way.
Heaven help us all.
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