#22 Hippies and Hobbits

Science in a Skopje beer glass. Refraction, the bending of light caused by the curvature of the glass and the liquid within, makes this boy’s face look inverted. Also, there is a “C” etched on the bottom of the glass, which this boy noticed was causing bubbles to endlessly rise. Turns out, the rough spots of the etching causes “nucleation points” or “latch points” for the dissolved carbon dioxide, causing constant bubbles. It is supposed to enhance the flavour and improve the beer’s aesthetics. These intentional imperfections in champagne glasses are called “moussierpunkt” – “foaming point” in German. News to me!

Just before we left Australia, my partner and I were in a “parent coaching” session to help support one of our boys, and the therapist brought up the subject of “Third Culture Kids.” Her stated intention, in light of our upcoming long-term travel, was to give us some consideration for how this gap year might affect our children. You know, their sense of identity, their sense of belonging, the challenges they may face. For life. You know, “just food for thought.”

One website (openpsychology.es) explains this concept like this: “A Third Culture Kid (TCK) identity refers to the unique sense of self developed by individuals who have spent a significant part of their formative years living in a culture different from their parents’ home country.” Our therapist said a year or longer was the critical time. The idea is that TCKs develop a hybrid identity based on their heritage culture, the host-country’s culture, and, potentially, the shared experiences of expats from various cultures. Lots of humans have a developmental experience like this in some version of life’s unfolding: immigrants, military families, refugees, diplomats, world-schoolers, and families under the sway of various mobile professions.

Of course, there can be challenges to being a TCK, which was the therapist’s point. There can be a sense of not belonging anywhere, feeling misplaced and misunderstood- well into adulthood. Some research even says that adult TCKs can experience more challenges in relationships, lower career satisfaction, and isolation leading to depression. Even the original home country can feel wrong after having spent certain developmental stages in a culture other than their “passport culture.” The result is feeling that nowhere is “home,” and nowhere provides that sense of belonging among one’s peers.

When I responded to the therapist’s thinly veiled concern for our children with a furrowed brow, she assured us that there were also great benefits. Research shows that these kids often have greater adaptability, enhanced communication skills, and more advanced cultural understandings – all things we wanted our kids to gain on this trip. To peddle back her argument, she offered a comfort: “Barack Obama was a Third Culture Kid.” There was a reassurance in that, actually.

Really though, according to the definition, our children already were TCKs, having been born in America and spent seven, five, and two years there before moving to Australia. They already lived that sense of being an outsider and had retained certain linguistic give-aways of their foreign beginnings that set them apart- an ever-easy target of teasing. Also, I am certain these TCK issues are greatly varied based on the child’s specific situation: the age of cultural transition, the number of cultural transitions, and the degree to which their two main cultures vary from one another. I mean, surely an American-Australian kid would have less trouble than a Chinese-Peruvian, an Icelandic-Saudi, or a Mexican-German kid, no? A year of travel was unlikely, in my opinion, to cause any new rifts in our children’s identity formation. But, I did tuck the idea away in my mind for reflection down the road. I mean, we were hoping for some influence on our children. That was sort of the whole point. This was good food for thought… despite whatever warning this therapist was attempting to convey.

Interestingly, it was my partner who really identified with this definition in the therapist’s office. Having grown up between England and Australia, he has that sense of “neither here nor there” to his identity. And the accent to match. As she explained this phenomenon of identity formation, I could see his jaw-dropping. As her words shed light on his own lack of Australian cultural allegiance, a clear Europhile partiality, there was a dawn of understanding. It was a diagnosis for a long-felt sense of being somehow removed from his culture. This “stranger in a known land” sense is, again, another part of our gap year instigation. There is a seeking for that which one may never find, the seeking of a life-long seeker. It’s a lifestyle of existing ever-so-slightly on the periphery, living with roots seasoned and capable of transplantation, roots ever thirsty for the nutrients of new soils.

Somehow, despite our very different upbringings, we seem to share this seeker spirit, my partner and I. This subject got me thinking about my own cultural identification, or lack thereof. I love my people in America dearly, and I am definitely of their stock. I have great fondness for a few American cities, and I adore the cultural diversity there, but despite having little overseas exposure as a child, I don’t feel “at home” in America. In fact, I feel very much that it is not “home,” which has been a source of family ache and inconvenience for years. I think I’ve always felt a bit alien. Even as a kid, and especially as a young adult. And Australia doesn’t exactly feel like home either. (I mean, have you noticed my sloppy hodgepodge spelling and vernacular? Total hybrid. Traitor to both sides. Allegiance to none.) I don’t know if I have ever belonged anywhere.

It’s nice to have a partner in this. Crucial to happiness, probably. My partner and I have lived in three different countries together, but I think we’ve found that there is something in the culture of “us” that is “home.” I mean, how many people would really credit the country of their birth as the core of who they are, anyway? How many people find themselves associating their sense of self with the values and customs of a nation? It’s the culture of one’s family of origin, the culture of one’s chosen family, and the sub-cultures you are drawn to within a greater culture that provide most of the structural fibres of one’s identity, I would have thought. Granted, the greater culture is embedded within all those realms, but I’d think things like spirituality, recreation, and profession would matter more than your homeland, per se. But, what do I know about it? Just reflections. Identity is complex. That’s for sure.

And, that’s why I’m bringing this up now, actually. I’ve been thinking about identity. National identity, in particular, and from what it is constructed. We just spent the last week in a very intriguing capital city. Skopje is in the fairly unknown land of North Macedonia, and, from what I’ve gathered, there seems to be a cultural identity crisis here, a TCK syndrome of some kind going on. It’s a captivating place. I’ll fill you in… if you don’t already know. I’m guessing you don’t …

This little land-locked nation, about the size of Vermont, has had a lot of influences. It is north of Greece, south of Serbia & Kosovo, west of Bulgaria, and east of Albania. Like everywhere else around here, the ancient Greeks, the Romans, the Byzantines, and the Ottomans have all had their cultural influences that live on today. After WWII, these lands were absorbed as part of The Socialist Republic of Yugoslavia- a clustering of “Slavic” identities, though much diversity was among them. When this republic violently broke up in the early 90s, “Macedonia” became its own sovereign nation. However, after almost 20 years of nationhood, accused by the Greeks of cultural appropriation, the country was forced to change its name… and its flag… and the name of its airport…and even the name of its most prominent statue. You can almost literally observe the White-Out and strike-throughs of this nation’s cultural identification. It’s really extraordinary.

And if all that isn’t enough, there is also the recent controversial “Skopje 2014 Project.” In a stated attempt to enhance national pride and bring the city to a more metropolitan status, a so-called neo-classic “beautification” project was undertaken. And, 10 years later, it is a sight to see. Never have I observed such grand evidence of corruption and neglect. The bloat of power and stupidity is staggering. The photos don’t lie. You’ll see. No one would want to be represented in this way. It’s an embarrassment to the identity of the inhabitants who had no say in what this coffer-robbing project did to the face of their city. Actually, Macedonians are fleeing in droves, no doubt due to the lack of funds for a prosperous society. Of the nearly 2 million North Macedonians, almost half live overseas. Lots of TCKs in the making there. One can see why.

To consider a little more cultural context, North Macedonia is part of The Balkans, and I just learned the interesting origin of this word that encompasses 11 nations of this region: Albania, Bosnia and Herzegovina, Bulgaria, Croatia, Kosovo, Montenegro, North Macedonia, Romania, Serbia, and Slovenia. “Balkan” is derived from the Turkish words “bal” and “kan.” “Bal” meaning “honey,” a word I saw daily on the red honey jar lid from the market in Amasra. And “kan” meaning “blood.” The Balkans means “The land of blood and honey” (or rather “honey and blood” if the expression kept to word order). The internet offers many origins of this name, but the one I have chosen to adopt is the most general: There is great sweetness and abundance in this region but also conflict and a tendency towards bloodshed.

This “conflict” is a commonly associated characteristic of this region though today it is more undercurrent than outright clashing. As a child, I remember hearing about the “Yugoslav Wars” in the early 90’s. That was probably the first time I heard about “ethnic cleansing” or “genocide” in current events, but I had no geography or real-life experience on which to build any meaningful understanding as a school kid. Now, it is much easier to piece some things together, but I still find it untouchably complex. These wars 30-some years ago were a series of conflicts that took place after The Socialist Federation of Yugoslavia broke up and the various republics declared their independence, North Macedonia being one of them. Certainly, this history is one of the factors that makes this nation so complex. The recency of these conflicts makes it feel more relevant and ongoing than many of the histories we’ve been learning about so far this year.

Our straight-talking Skopje City Tour guide said the Macedonian people are, amid all this blood and honey, “the hippies and hobbits of the region.” They are peace-loving and keep to themselves. Even this quirky reference reveals a fragmentation or, perhaps, a diversification of the identity of this country. I mean, “hippies” and “hobbits” live in totally separate regions of my brain, yet I can see their relation. There is diversity everywhere in the world, especially with today’s globalisation. We see Pringles in every shop we patron, but the integration of various influences here in Skopje seems less an international incorporation into an already established identity and more of a patch-work identity at its core. It’s like they are reaching for and trying on anything that might suit the young country’s common spirit. I’ll offer some photos of this. I actually found it quite cool… if a bit forlorn, at times. Again, humble and subjective reflections are all that are offered here on this blog.

The images you are about to see might set you against ever spending your precious vacation days in this city, but I wouldn’t want to leave you with that impression. Like most cities, what really resonates is the people. And the people of North Macedonia are as cool as they come. Candid, bright, and switched-on, these are a people of resilient spirit, keen human connection, and easy warmth. The general vibe I got speaking to most people- from the one-woman-show at the handmade pasta shop to the barbers who cut the kids’ hair- was the air of an early-twenty-something. They have that sort of cool-with-what-I’m-doing-but-I haven’t-arrived-yet sort of feel. It’s chill. It says, “There’s time. We’re still becoming. Come back later, and you’ll see.” There is confidence without pride. There is an acceptance of short-comings without surrender. There is set-back without defeat. At least, that’s what I saw.

You will sense the battered spirit and this grappling for identity in the photos, I think. It’s the amalgamation of a national identity yet to be set. It’s very special, very cool. It’s the kind of cool you hope brushes off on you as you walk down the graffitied streets. But it won’t. It’s the sort of cool that’s earned. Like Third Culture Kids earn theirs. That’s part of what is so cool. Experience can’t be bought or feigned. It must be lived. I admire what the people here are living through and the manner with which they wear it.

Alexander, our guide, was a character. He unabashedly criticised his country’s politicians and detailed the corruption of this nation’s short history. Unfortunately, a lot of what he spoke about was hard for the kids (and sometimes me) to understand. And it was cold and rainy, too. Luckily, we had two dogs accompanying us on the tour. They were a nice distraction.

The view from our Skopje apartment. We loved it, actually. Something truthful there. On top of the mountain there is The Milennium Cross, which you can visit via cable car. We didn’t manage it. We enjoyed it from home, though.

This guy didn’t believe me when I told him this meant he couldn’t walk into the lot across the street. “Where’s the red line?” he demanded. I thought the red circle and slash were universal too.

This is the “undercurrent” of conflict. Our guide was not shy to tell us that the immigrant Albanian population is the source of a lot of their society’s current challenges. Muslim Albanian youths broke the tail off of this bull, apparently. Later, we had a boat tour guide, who had seemed quite sane, tell us that the Albanian people are genetically behind by about 2,000 years. These are the “undercurrents” here. Such beliefs, shared so openly as obvious truth, are the seeds of humankind’s most massive crimes. It seems disturbingly odd that people can’t see this, even with such recent history of nearby atrocities.

On our tour, we visited many of the “beautification” sites of Skopje 2014. For some reason, they thought that this landlocked nation with no seafaring history should have three ships placed in their river. Not surprisingly, floodwaters wrecked two of them, which now sit derelict at the city centre. The third is still a restaurant.

Sitting in the middle of Macedonia Square is a giant statue of Alexander the Great. This has been a hot, hot topic for the Greeks and North Macedonians. When North Macedonia became a country in 1991, they named themselves what their land had long been called- Macedonia. However, there is also a region in northern Greece called Macedonia, and Alexander the Great is from Pella, located in this Greek land. The Greeks proudly claim him as part of their history, and the Balkan Macedonians were trying to claim him too. The North Macedonian argument is that the old Kingdom of Macedon was much larger and that pieces of this land have been absorbed by various nations. Current borders should not mean they cannot claim Alexander as the Macedonian he was. In the end, the Greeks won and an agreement was struck: The Prespa Agreement. In this agreement, Macedonia became North Macedonia, their airport was changed from Alexander the Great Airport to Skopje Airport, and this statue is now called “Warrior on a Horse.”

This bridge over the Vardar River is called Stonebridge, and it’s one of the few not recently contrived pieces of Skopje’s history. Built in the 1450s by an Ottoman Sultan using Roman foundations, the bridge is pedestrianised and connects Macedonia Square to Old Town.

We really liked how the apartment buildings in our neighbourhood had shops below them- record shops, hand-made pasta shops, barber shops, fruit shops, flower shops, and even this nearby sex shop. Our littlest said on our second day, “Hey, we’re almost home. I recognise the Sex Shop.” A moment of tainted pride.

Warm donuts on Macedonia Square. Warrior on a head.

This statue, “Homeless,” sits outside a jewellery shop. Juxtaposition intentional, I hope.

One example of the piecemeal vibe near our flat. From the American frontier man at the end of the row to the nighttime map of Europe to Scrooge McDuck counting coin to this man screaming, “Now is the time for big decisions!” What?!?!

There are a few London phone boxes around and this doorway, too. The buses are red double-deckers like London, as well.

Bon Tacos. Do I even need to explain the weirdness of this?

This reminds me of how the American state universities work, like Southeast Missouri State University. I don’t think Europe works like that though… not sure what they are trying to do here…

The less subtle rip-off in Woman Warrior Park is a Brandenburg Gate replica (German). In front of it is Prometheus (Greek). Apparently, he was naked to begin with, and all the people were so angry at the exposure of his masculine parts that they protested and spit on him with regularity. So, they put a diaper on him. You can’t see in this photo, but there is a Venetian mask as the diaper clasp on his left hip (Italian). Classy.

Skopje feels a bit like this sign at a tourist agency- making off with a bit of everything.

Behind the Brandenburg Gate is an eternal flame. It was long ago allowed to go out. You’re catching the vibe, right?

They built a number of bridges across the Vardar River as part of Skopje 2014- many blocking the view of the original Stonebridge. This one is called The Bridge of Art. Our guide called it “The Bridge of Misogyny” because there isn’t a single woman on it. Also, notice the very non-native palm trees they lined the river with. You can see in the background all these grand buildings that were part of the make-over. They are completely falling apart. Some are sinking, some have mould making them uninhabitable, and others are just crumbling. These were built just about a decade ago. I have never seen corruption staring me in the face like this. Greed and pride in a disgusting display.

I don’t know anything about construction, but this looks pretty shoddy. There is styrofoam in there. All the big columned buildings are crumbling like this. I hate to think what it’ll all look like in another ten years. Injuries will happen, no doubt.

Another bridge is called “The Bridge of Civilisations,” but all the plaques have been removed by vandals, so it’s hard to learn much about it. I would love to have been able to read about the progression of civilisation in this region. Humph.

Playing without strings. It strikes a chord.

The steps up to one of the flooded river ships. The deeper brokenness is so explicit.

I made the mistake of calling this a mural and was called out by the middle one. We had a good conversation about the difference between graffiti and murals. He is totally right. This is on the famous Stonebridge. It’s vandalism, but I love artful graffiti and even just graffiti messages. This dirty artform makes you think. Graffiti is often the voice of a muted population, and there is a lot to be said in Skopje. The graffiti screams and simmers at every turn.

Anarchy, indeed. Such a display of neglect.

Under the bridge of dirty politicians, the art of the people finds a clean palate.

The Holocaust Memorial Centre for the Jews of Macedonia was very well done. We each took one of the older boys through it at a slow pace. They really absorbed a lot of the details we haven’t had time to explain about this period of history. Very good conversations were had. Lots of big questions asked.

Skopje Fortress is a must-visit in Skopje. And these boys proved, yet again, that they have certainly spent lifetimes on the battlefield. Walls have been scaled, I’m sure of it.

You can see that funds from Skopje 2014 didn’t make it up to this lofty site of true Macedonian history.

No information signs exist to tell these tales.

Always some struggles un-photographed. Our own little undercurrent is still quite the force.

Gorgeous views and fantastic skies though.

And all this neglect produced wildflowers we much appreciated.

And they had the biggest dandelions we’ve ever seen!

And if things weren’t random enough, in this very Orthodox country, Mother Teresa is seen all over the city. She is from Skopje, and we went to her memorial house to peek at all the memorabilia and learn what we could about her life. On the walk there, I was able to chat with the boys about Catholicism and the beliefs and customs that set it apart from and unite it with other forms of Christian worship. (I’d read ahead recently to get my own brain fully awake to its unique features. “Stay one page ahead of the class” was advice I got in my early teaching days.). They had lots of questions and various pop culture references on which to expand their understanding.

Funnily, the statue of Mother Teresa outside her Memorial House looks like she is praying to the kebab shop.

The statue was very realistic up close, and we talked about imperfections- even in saints. We discussed some of the more controversial elements of this saint’s work in Calcutta, considering the Catholic stance on birth control verses birth control as a means of combatting poverty and elevating society. It was a good conversation about how tending to the suffering of the world may not be as good as striking at the root causes. We talked also about sainthood and how faith and power interplay in all religious organisations, about how humans always error, and how, for all her good deeds, Mother Teresa had some fairly questionable patrons whom she supported- a Haitian dictator and corrupt businessmen, in particular. The boys got a sense of the complexity of these things. It was good to see them so interested.

Meanwhile, back at the apartment, we continue to toil under the reign of three loveable little dictators.

And we regularly escape to the balcony to share a 1.5L bottle of beer.

Sometimes we even venture a block or two away.

Life goes on in all the normal ways, of course. Hair needs to be cut.

Bellies need to be fed. Luckily, it is a lot cheaper than Turkey to eat well here. Delicious treats are often at the ready.

Despite appearances, I did sense fresh ideas in the minds of the people. Undercurrents of all sorts are flowing here. That is evident. Skopje is an interesting place if ever there was one.

2 responses to “#22 Hippies and Hobbits”

Nelly

June 9, 2025 at 10:16 am

This is pretty cool. I love your blog! (This is Nelly) •ᴗ•

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Sue Mc

June 9, 2025 at 8:36 pm

“Struth” says Bill, “WOW” says me.

We’ve been watching a lot of documentaries lately about these ancient civilisations and what’s gone on over the years, but yours is the best documentary of all, just amazing. Your raw truth and personal unpolished opinions and experiences are precious not only to you, but precious to us all!!! And your explanation of TCK really helped us to understand the diversity and complexity that so many people go through. Life is certainly complex, isn’t it! We are all the unique jigsaw puzzle, with so many different pieces making up our complex picture. Thankyou so much for taking so much time to share all of this with us. Bill and I will be forever in your debt, you’re taking us on an unbelievable journey! 🩷 Xoxox

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