Bye Bye Balkans

Laughter travels further in Macedonia, and if you listen carefully, sometimes you can catch it lingering on the breeze. There is a softness to the land, and a silky, diaphanous kindness blankets the pastures and hillsides like a morning mist that never burns off. The people are gentle, and the dogs are mellow - unlike those of the other Balkan nations. I believe that dogs reflect the heart of a populace, and where they are ill-tempered, it behooves one to be more careful around humans as well. It is by no means a perfect measure, but I suppose I am not obliged to praise the people of every country, if I acknowledge the limitations of my vantage. Overall, I didn’t find Balkan people to be particularly warm, and I certainly met some wankers - particularly one man in Zagreb.

Macedonian drivers - dodging potholes in Yugos spewing noxious fumes like Josip Tito’s posthumous farts - were actually quite tame. Though any traffic would seem docile coming from Albania, where the drivers are psychotic, and the guardrails are festooned with a disturbing number of bouquets and memorials.

If it were up to me I'd have spent more time in Macedonia, basking on the sylvan shores of Lake Ohrid, eating cherries for 40 denar (80¢) a pound. Well, technically it was up to me, but future Jake was obstinate - as usual - muttering something about Central Asia, the specter of winter, and the inexorable heat death of the universe.

And so I headed to Bulgaria, to hang out with Misho for a few days. You wouldn’t believe how slowly Bulgarians drive, it’s the strangest thing. I found myself impatiently flying past traffic flowing like molasses, so I asked Misho if there were speed traps. He replied “Yes, there are, but one rule: don’t stop!!!". Apparently, cops are not allowed to pursue you.

I slowed down to ride blissfully through the Valley of Roses, where 95% of the world's rose oil is produced. I arrived right in the middle of the fleeting harvest season, and as I meandered through the valley I was hit with ethereal wafts of sublime, delicate fragrance, which I would describe as fucking incredible.

Then there was only one thing left to do: head for Istanbul, the gateway to Asia.