Aren't I terrible at this?

This is Arjeta and I being hippie tree huggers in the Old City of Ohrid in Macedonia (FYROM).












FRIENDS!!!
I'm back in California. Yes, finally. Or maybe, yes, already. As you may have been able to tell, I totally gave up on my blog. This is a thing I feared might happen. Actually hoped might happen. And thus, it did. You see, I do all of my own journaling, which are my personal reflections on my experiences, and which I find very therapeutic. But no, you can't read those, they're mine. Anyway, I was finding it incredibly draining to write about my experiences not once, but twice, and also tiring to cram tons of information into a carefully thought out blog post when I had about 10 minutes of internet time every two days. But perhaps that was self mandated....because I was in EUROPE! I didn't want to be spending my time in an internet cafe. So I said to myself, "It's fine, Elissa, no one reads blogs anyway."

WELL. I have been astonished to have about five of you say to me in the few days since I've been home that you were actually reading my blog, and that you were disappointed when it just stopped. Well now I feel guilty. You see, I have a highly developed sense of Jewish guilt, especially about things that I start and don't finish. Uch. I had contemplated going online this weekend and saying,

Alright guys, these are the lessons I learned: _________________ and I'm sorry, but the blog is over. I hope you enjoyed the little you read!

But oh you loyal, lovely friends. I can't do that to you! You care about my stories and you want to hear them. (If you don't it's ok to stop reading now). So here's the plan: I'm going to pick up where I left off, do a new post every few days, and when I get to the end, this will be over. So, (insert flashback underscore here),

it's Sept. 20, and Kristen and I have just arrived in Ohrid, Macedonia:

But the backstory first: So back in 2005, when I studied abroad at the British American Drama Academy, I spent my week long break in Italy with my friends Tim and Zoe. We began the week in Positano, Italy, a stunning town on the Amalfi coast. We had decided to go to Positano because Zoe had spent two weeks there in a piano conservatory program when she was 16. It also so happens, that when cute little 16-year-old Zoe had stayed in Positano for two weeks, she had fallen in love and had a torrid affair with an Italian 3 years her elder named Alberto. Our mission, upon our return to Positano, was to find Alberto.

When the three of us arrived after the long trek from Naples, through Sorrento, and on a winding bus ride that finally brought us into town, we deposited our bags at our hostel and quickly made our way down the steep stairs towards the beach (Italians pronounce this word "bitch" and I love that). We stopped into a little cafe to get a bottle of water and got to talking with one of the Italians next to us, who could clearly tell we were tourists. He seemed very friendly and curious about us, so we decided it might be alright to ask this man if he knew of a young man named Alberto who might still live in town.

"Alberto?" He replied. "He's my cousin!"

Yup. He sent us to the police station where Alberto's brother worked, but the little shack that served for a police headquarters was closed- I guess they were out for a smoke. We figured we'd try again later, and headed to the bitch.

At the beach, we plopped down on the pebbles and spun our heads full circle gawking at the view. The crystal blue of the waves, the sun setting on the horizon and reflecting off of the pale yellow stacked houses, the man pulling his small boat into shore. And suddenly Zoe got this crazy look on her face, stood up, and started running toward this man with the boat..

It was Alberto.

I kid you not. And as the two of them reapproached Tim and I, arm in arm, Alberto said "It is destiny. I knew I would see you again." Such an Italian thing to say.

Anyway, we spent the next day with Alberto until we made our way to Rome. But I just thought it was truly magical how a girl could show up in a small Italian town and, by word of mouth and sheer luck, find the man she had made out with in a rocky crevice 5 years ago. I have a picture of Zoe reenacting that too....priceless.

So-

FLASH FORWARD three years to Kristen's and my arrival in Macedonia. (Ok, George, I know it's called FYROM. Federal Yugoslav Republic of Macedonia. Don't argue with a Greek about this. Macedonia is part of Greece, the Macedonians stole the name).

Anyway, 30 years ago Kristen's mother had stayed with a Muslim Albanian family in Ohrid while she was backpacking through Europe. This family was called the Zhutas. Over the years, Kristen's mum had lost touch with them. But she did hear from them once in the early 90's when all of the Yugoslavian unrest began...the family asked her to sponsor them for visas to Canada. Kristen's mum tried to help them, but never heard back. Kinda scary. So, before we arrived in Ohrid, Kristen showed me these papers that she had- a copy of the Zhuta's address from 1978, and photocopies of pictures that they had all taken together. It was really not much to go on, but I was ready for the mission- operation find the Zhutas and hope they were still alive!

We arrived in Ohrid late in the day, and settled into our hostel with a cup of hot apple tea- yum. As we were chatting with the proprietors, we mentioned that we were going to try to find an Albanian family who Kristen's mum had stayed with 30 years before. Our dude took a skeptical look at the papers she had, then pulled out the phonebook and looked up the name Zhuta. There was one entry. So he called, and Ekuran Zhuta, the father of the family, picked up the phone. The dude nodded at us, and then spoke in hurried Macedonian into the receiver. Kristen and I just gaped at each other.

So yeah, within 30 minutes of our arrival, we found the Zhutas. Yup.

And they were wonderful! Ekuran and his son Ilber took us to drinks, Ilber's wife Arjeta showed us around the whole next day and treated us to a lovely meal in her home, and the Zhutas had us over for coffee and snacks. It was freaking amazing. There is nothing like stepping into someone's home and taking off your shoes when you've been traveling for three weeks. They were a dream.

So yes, it's true my friends. The world is a small place. Smaller maybe when you go to a place where the pace of life is calm enough that people get to know one another, and take time to chat over tea and crackers. Good things happen when we believe they can. It was pretty awesome finding the Zhutas.

AND, since I know what's coming, on the next chapter of Elissa's belated European adventures: A hike up the steepest city I've ever seen, and a failed attempt to attend the Madonna concert in Montenegro.

Stay tuned.