Cover photo by Dimosthenis Seitaridis
Article by Nikos Kakagias
Tetovo
We felt the need to complete a long-expressed desire to know our northern neighbour as deeply as possible which led us into some of its almost forgotten and, until recently, rather difficult corners.
Always ethnically different and a constant thorn in the side of the this new republic, the region defined by an arc beginning in the northwestern corner and reaching southwest to Struga separates from the Slavs a population of Albanians with a vivid sense of national identity. The capital of this region is Tetovo, a city with an uncertain etymological root to its name and a visible Ottoman influence that has left its religious marks and customs of the local people.
Today, the city numbers around 53,000 inhabitants, about one third of whom are Slavs. According to current estimates, it is a rapidly developing area and has two universities with more than 20,000 students. Yet its history, and our own limited general knowledge of it, are barely enough to explain its present situation. The images we formed and recorded were biased toward a rather disappointing impression. Perhaps the leaden sky was also to blame, with grey as the dominant colour, and an urban aesthetic that strongly recalls Soviet-inspired influences.
The group’s efforts to find shooting angles and fragments of daily life filled with colour and feeling were in vain. The only exception was the colourful Šarena, or Alaca, Mosque, which offered us some beautiful photographic moments. Beside the old hammam, the Pena River rushes down forcefully from the Šar Mountains, and the small riverside park beside it might have been interesting had it not been flooded with every kind of rubbish.
The contrast to all this was found in the smiles and friendliness of the residents we met along our not very long walk down the central avenue. The old Bektashi tekke of Baba Arabati, on the outskirts of the city, with its green spaces and prayer buildings arranged around the perimeter, reminded us of familiar images from places of worship closer to home. The light rain that had set in meanwhile hastened our departure toward the mountains. Our destination was Popova Šapka, at 1,780 metres.
Popova Sapka
The road twisted and turned, as mountain roads should, and the village — or, to be honest, the ski settlement — welcomed us with closed doors, since the ski resort had shut on March 30. The sky seemed low it seemed to brush the roofs. The cold pierced our startled ears, and a snowflake drifted mockingly before us, just enough to leave us speechless. Our lodging, a two-storey stone building with a spacious living room and loft, welcomed us with the crackling of the fireplace, scattering our momentary worries.
It was in that living room that epic moments of “war” between cushions and sofas were written. Photography was the final defeated party, and one attempt by two brave souls remained unfinished, since, as they told us, it was snowing outside and the temperature was flirting with zero.
The following day was white, and we set about to shoot everything we had failed to capture the day before. Meanwhile the snow kept rising, and we quickly departed with the fear of being cut off looming ahead of us. Tetovo was more beautiful from above than it had been from below, and soon we took the road toward Skopje.
“One more stop,” Dimos said, and indeed we stopped once, on the western outskirts of the capital, before the most impressive and well-preserved aqueduct — Roman according to some, Byzantine according to others. Stretching at great length along an east-west axis, it left us speechless before the architectural achievements of earlier civilisations.
We were also left speechless by the fragments of present-day civilisation scattered haphazardly in every corner of the site, declaring in the most contemptuous way the dominant attitude we have toward the environment. The photographs required particular skill in order to capture the ancient remnant without the sacrilege of modern rubbish.
With mixed feelings, we crossed the valley until the borders appeared, and soon we returned to our side of the “same ways”. In the end, the gaping wound is present everywhere, and no matter how many poultices we place upon it, it remains just as infected. The consequences of our behaviour are fast approaching.
