cultural experiences
A Hike with Stojan,
Or Everything is Tea
and I’m a Woman
L
ast spring, I missed the van home from one of my schools. When I arrived, sweaty and sunburnt, I explained
to my host parents that I’d had to walk.
“What?” said Stojan, startled out of his customary reserve. “You walked from Rakitetz in an hour?”
I confirmed that I had.
“But that’s over seven kilometers.”
I allowed that it might be.
“But you’re a
woman.”
I acknowledged that this was the case.
“I don’t believe it.”
I assured him that not only had I walked from Rakitetz, I was also most definitely a woman.
Ever since, he nursed a fascination with my extraordinary powers of ambulation, and a desire to see them in action. One of the mountains overlooking our village is topped with a group of radio and weather towers (“bandieri”
in Macedonian. Since they weren’t visible the first time I heard about them, I spent about a month thinking that the
mountains were frequented by bandits).
Stojan often picked herbs that grew lower on the mountain. He proposed that we hike to the top.
“We’ll see,” he said. “It’s a tough hike. We’ll see if you can do it. As a woman.”
We didn’t get around to our hike for more than a year. Stojan started to imply that this was by design. I protested
that it just never seemed like the right time.
“We’ll see,” he muttered darkly.
Finally, two weeks ago, I set my alarm for 9:30 am(on a Saturday--BLASPHEMY), packed a water bottle and sunscreen, and presented myself for hiking.
“It’s two hours to the top, but we’ll go as far as you can,” Stojan said. I resolved to make it to the top or die.
We set out from the village. Stojan proved to be a very restful hiking companion. All he identified were the various
types of tea.
“That’s tea,” he said, pointing to small white flowers.
“What kind?” I asked.
“Chamomile.” Their lovely scent surrounded us. I yawned.
Later in the foothills, tiny purple flowers: “That’s tea.” “What kind?” “Мајчина душица [thyme].”
“Hey, doesn’t that mean ‘mother’s soul’? Why is that?”
“How should I know?”
Later: “That’s tea.”
“What kind?”
“I don’t know. It doesn’t have a name. Tea.”
10 – Pauza Magazine