North Macedonia – An Unplanned Adventure

I had just finished a day trip on the island of Kea. There was still a week left until my new flight date. I felt the urge to do something interesting. Maybe ride to another country? But where…

Late at night, I decided to ride to North Macedonia. It’s close, a small country, and a chance to get to know it.

What time is it now? Oh, already past midnight. I’m too tired to plan the route now, I’ll just check where the nearest border crossing is. Okay, Bitola – the crossing is in that area. Alarm set for 5:30 AM. I’ll head out around 6:30, about seven hours of riding, give or take.

7:08 AM – I start the engine. A slight sputter from the cold engine, and within seconds it settles into a steady idle. Riding slowly, I make my way through the northern neighborhoods and connect to the E75 highway, heading toward Thessaloniki. Cold, warm – the weather shifts as I descend into small valleys or climb up hills. The chill of the early hour sharpens my craving for a hot cup of coffee. There’s a Shell gas station – I park the bike, leave my jacket on the tank bag, hang my helmet on the mirror, and order a large Americano, no sugar, no milk.

After Lamia, I head into the mountains. The landscape becomes forested. Signs warning about bears remind me of one more thing to be aware of. Northern Greece – the scenery resembles that of the Balkans. Tall trees, streams, small villages – it puts me in a different rhythm than that of Athens and the seaside.

I’m riding on a narrow road, GPS says 9 km to the border crossing. The last village before the crossing. At the edge of the village – a gas station and a café. Another stop before the border won’t hurt. I order a double espresso, sit on a chair on the restaurant’s porch. A couple speaking English meet the clerk, excitedly hug – probably just arrived from Macedonia, I think to myself. I open the map and feel a surge of excitement for a new adventure.

Bitola, the nearest city in Macedonia. Just 16 km away. I put on my helmet, gloves, start the engine of my trusty BMW, and head toward the border crossing. 2:45 PM – I’m in line behind cars at passport control.

The border crossing is smooth and technical – passport check, then moving on to customs. A sleepy-looking officer waves me through, and just like that, I’m riding the roads of North Macedonia. I ride a narrow road at 60 km/h, scanning the roadsides, trying to understand this new country. I stop to refuel.
“Pay at the counter,” the attendant tells me.
I walk into the convenience store to pay. A few men are chatting inside. They glance at me and say hello. I pay at the counter. On the way back to the bike, I feel a pleasant sense of friendliness and politeness

Bitola

Here’s the city – the “center.” I head toward downtown. A stone-paved promenade lined with old buildings. Lots of people walking along it, cafés, restaurants, and small shops give it an inviting, vibrant feel.
“I’ll check into a hotel and come back out,” I tell myself.

Time to find a place to sleep. I stop at the entrance of a hotel I pass by. Leaving my helmet and gloves on the motorcycle, I walk into the reception area.
“By any chance, do you have a single room available?”
“We’re fully booked,” the receptionist replies.
Alright, on to the next hotel. Wait—what day is it? Oh, it’s Saturday. That might explain why everything’s full. I ride to the next hotel Google suggests—also full.
No worries, I have camping gear with me, but I’ll try a few more places first.

Strange—everything’s full. I keep searching via Google. Wait, what’s this? Vila Diamond – Rooms for Rent.
I leave my helmet and gloves on the bike and climb the stairs. I open the front door and see an empty, unlit reception desk. On the counter, there’s a button with a note next to it: Ringing. I press it—nothing happens, no sound.
Just as I reach for the exit door handle, I hear a noise—a door opening.
An older man walks down the stairs, looks at me silently.
“Hi, do you have a room available for one night?” I ask.
A small smile stretches across his face. He says something that sounds like Da.
Perfect – I’ve got a place to rest for the night. I pay €20 for the room. There’s even secure parking for the bike. The room is just a short walk from the promenade.

I unload my gear from the bike. The excitement of this new city makes me forget the fatigue from the 7-hour ride, and I head out to explore.
Wow, this place is really charming.
I sit at a café on the promenade. The smell of coffee and pastries surrounds me. I stay loyal to the keto diet I started two months ago and order an iced Americano, no milk, no sugar.

 

 

I’m reading about the city –
“One of the oldest and most beautiful cities in North Macedonia. A city with a rich Ottoman past, once an important diplomatic hub. A colorful market and a main street – Shirok Sokak, full of cafés, shops, and historic buildings.”
Wow, interesting. I lift my head – amazing, I’m right on that street. Perfect!

Time to explore the city. Along the main street – shops, restaurants, cafés. The smell of coffee and pastries fills the air, and it’s making me hungry. I walk into a grill restaurant, take a seat, and order a juicy steak.

I connect to the Wi-Fi and start planning tomorrow’s route. North Macedonia is so small – 1.8 million people. I realize now, while planning, how compact it is. I could probably ride through the whole country in three days.

It’s late. I head back to my “diamond” room – very basic, but clean. I’ll wake up at seven in the morning and hit the road toward the mountains and lakes.

 

The sun wakes me up. I forgot to close the curtain. What time is it? Oh—just 5:45 AM.
Filled with excitement for what lies ahead today, I jump in the shower, put on my riding gear, and head out.

Coffee—I’ll grab one at a café along the way.

I type into the GPS: Lake Prespa.
After that, I’ll continue to Lake Ohrid, and then—I’ll see where the road takes me.

After a good coffee (no pastry!) on a quiet side street, I get back on the bike and ride toward the lake, making sure to take the road that passes through Galicica National Park.

An incredible road. In no time, I find myself riding through a completely different landscape.
I just hope the GPS knows where it’s taking me.
It tells me to turn onto a strange path.
The GPS directs me to the right—onto a road paved with uneven stones.

“This must be a Roman road,” I tell myself.

Tree branches hang low, bending into the center of the path. I lean my body to avoid them.
“This can’t be the right way,” I think—but it’s so beautiful, I decide to keep going.
What’s the worst that could happen? I’ll just turn back if needed.

Fascinating – A Long, Well-Built Roman Road

There’s no doubt this road was built a long time ago.
Stone roads like this were probably made sometime in the Middle Ages.

I’ll read more about this road once I get to the lake.

I continue along the path and reach agricultural areas—orchards of pears, apples, and cherries.
From kilometers away, I can already recognize the apple and pear trees.

I spent years growing apple and pear orchards.
All it takes is a glance at the color and shape of the leaves, and I know exactly what kind of trees they are.

The air is still, with only a light breeze.
The scent of earth and trees brings back something deeply familiar.

Thinning season must be coming soon, I think to myself as I ride into the village.

Suddenly, a stunning house appears before me.
Without thinking, I pull over on the side of the road, facing a house covered in red flowers.

I’ve never seen anything like it.

I stop to photograph this beautiful sight, then continue along the paths lined with cherry and apple orchards.

The road leads me all the way to Lake Prespa.
It continues through a quiet fishing village on the lake’s edge and stretches all the way to the far end of the village.

 

I order grilled chicken breast and a lettuce salad with plenty of olive oil and lemon.

Now it’s time to read about the road I’ve been riding on.

I wasn’t wrong. The road was built 2,200 years ago—its name is Via Egnatia.
Incredible! I really did feel like I was riding on something ancient.

The road was built by a Roman proconsul named Gnaeus Egnatius, and that’s where the name Via Egnatia comes from.
It began on the coast of Dyrrachium (modern-day Durrës, Albania) on the Adriatic Sea, passed through western Macedonia, then Thessaloniki in Greece, and all the way to Istanbul in Turkey.

Now all that’s left is to imagine horse-drawn carriages moving along this ancient road.

I finish eating, check my route again, and get ready to move on.

One more photo of the lake, and I hop back on the bike, heading toward Lake Ohrid.

What an amazing road. I don’t know exactly where I am, but it definitely feels like I’m in a dream.

I missed the boat ride. What I really want is to ride along the Galicica Ridge.
I missed the left turn, and the GPS quickly adjusts, showing me the standard route.

But no—I don’t want the regular road. I want the ridge road.
A winding road that climbs sharply to the summit of Mount Galicica—it looks amazing on the map.

A hairpin turn in 200 meters, and I turn right—onto the road I want.
The road twists and climbs toward the mountain pass.
The elevation gain starts to affect me—I feel pressure in my ears.
The higher I climb, the smaller the lake appears behind me.

Here’s the highest point—Livada Pass.
My altimeter shows 1,599 meters above sea level, and just like that, I begin descending the winding road toward Lake Ohrid.

The landscape changes.
Now it looks like the Balkans I remember.

I’m so enchanted by the scenery that even a convoy of motorcycles riding past doesn’t stir much reaction in me.

Here’s a good spot to photograph the lake.
A quick break—and I continue riding down the road until I reach the lakeshore.

I turn right and ride along its edge.

The City of Ohrid – and an Amazing Couple

I follow the road into the city of Ohrid.

I’ll find a place to sleep, go out in the evening to explore the old city, and head out in the morning.

I ride into the center of the old town, looking for a place to have a coffee and find a room to rest for the night.

The white buildings with red-tiled roofs, the narrow streets, the cafés so close to the turquoise water of the lake—they all fill me with a sense of joy and happiness.

I pull over to the side of the road to see if there’s somewhere to park the bike.

Just before I let go of the clutch to move on, a man with a long beard walks toward me.
“Can I help you?” he asks.
“I just want to have a coffee,” I reply.

“Come, park your motorcycle on the sidewalk,” he says, motioning with his hand.
I’m a bit hesitant, but within seconds I realize—by his body language and tone—that I’m in good hands.

“Great, can I get a double espresso, please?” I sit down at a high table on the sidewalk.

Wait a second… this is actually a pizzeria, I think to myself.

“I’m Philip,” he introduces himself.
“I’m Harel,” I reply.
Philip sits down with me at the table, and we talk about travel, about North Macedonia, and interesting places in the area.

Philip tells me he also has a Yamaha Tenere 700.
“This is Ivona, my partner,” he says. She shakes my hand and joins us.

Before I know it, it’s already 5 PM.
I ask Philip if he knows a place where I can stay for the night.
After a few phone calls, he finds a room at Vila Magdalena, owned by some relatives of his.

We agree to meet later again for coffee.
I walk to the counter to pay.
“It’s on me, you’re my guest,” he says.
“Thank you so much,” I reply.

I hop on the motorcycle and ride to Vila Magdalena.

Perfect room for €20—just what I need, and close to the old city.

I return to the pizzeria.
Philip and Ivona are genuinely happy to see me—and they say so.

Philip makes us both an espresso, and we sit down at a table outside the pizzeria.
Ivona joins us, and the conversation flows easily.

At 11:00 PM, Philip suggests I join them at their usual spot where they go for a drink after work.
They close the pizzeria, and we walk together to a café on the old town promenade.

Philip orders a beer, Ivona gets a whiskey on the rocks, and I order an Americano.
Philip asks if coffee doesn’t keep me up at night.
“I can drink coffee at any hour—it doesn’t wake me or put me to sleep,” I reply. He laughs.

“Good night,” I say. “I’ll come by at nine in the morning when you open—we’ll have a coffee together before I hit the road.”

 

 

I take a shower and go to bed.

9:30 AM – a gentle press on the starter button and the motorcycle engine settles into a steady idle.
Meanwhile, I start loading my gear into the bike’s panniers.
Three minutes of riding, and I park the bike on the sidewalk—just like yesterday.
Oh no—where’s my phone?

I suddenly remember: I left it on the pannier.
I told myself to remember it—but I forgot. That’s really not good.
I go over to Ivona and tell her I left the phone on the motorcycle.
“I’ll be right back,” I say.

I ride quickly toward Vila Magdalena.
Now I’m impatient with the slow cars in front of me.
A sinking feeling creeps in—I’m not going to find that phone.

I exit the roundabout and go to shift gears—what?! Where’s the gear lever?
It fell off.
Damn. Where did that come from now?

I try feeling for it with my foot—nothing. No gear lever.
The bike is stuck in first gear.
I give it high revs to move faster—the engine is screaming at high RPMs, and the bike moves slowly.

The stress about the phone completely overshadows the gear problem.
I’m not even thinking about the mechanical issue.

A few meters before the parking spot, I see there’s no phone on the ground.
I walk another hundred meters—maybe it held on to the pannier and fell further down.
Nothing. No phone.
I search—still nothing.

I start preparing myself for a new reality—life without a phone.
So much important information is on it.
Thoughts race through my mind—buying a new one, setting everything up again…
It’s really frustrating and depressing.

Wait—a bit of hope.

I open my laptop and search for Find My Phone.
I rush back up to the room to connect to Wi-Fi.
There it is—I see its location on the screen.

I run down the stairs and back to the motorcycle.
I explain to the woman at the hardware store under the building that I lost my phone.
She puts both hands on her cheeks and makes a face like something terrible just happened.

I show her the screen with the phone’s location—but I can’t read the address, it’s in Macedonian.
I notice the phone is still moving—another 50 meters.

The shopkeeper and I, with the map open, walk in the direction the screen is pointing to.
“Here,” I say. “It’s right here.”

A construction worker approaches us, phone in hand.
“It was on the road,” he says.

A wave of relief washes over me.
What luck, I think to myself.

The woman points at the laptop and says,
“This is good, this is good,” with a satisfied smile on her face.

Alright—now I need to see what happened with the gear shifter on the motorcycle.
I lie down next to the bike and see that a bolt—a nut—had come loose and fallen off.

The shop owner, who still looks concerned about the situation, watches me.
“Do you happen to have a bolt like this?” I ask, pointing to the spot where it’s missing.

She goes into the shop and comes back with a bolt that fits perfectly.
I screw it in, tighten it—and everything works fine now.

I can only imagine what would’ve happened if this had occurred somewhere far off in the mountains, in the middle of nowhere, with no way to get a replacement bolt.

Pushing the thought aside, I say to myself:
“Things don’t happen by accident—even when they seem serious or bad. Everything has a reason.”

Lucky that I lost my phone—
What a coincidence that it happened right next to a shop with the exact bolt I needed.

So many coincidences in such a short time.
The ways of the universe are mysterious, I think to myself.

 

Twelve noon. I arrive at the pizzeria.
Philip and Ivona are happy about the good ending.

“Maybe don’t leave today?” they suggest.
I think about it—it’s already a bit late to hit the road.

“I’ll stay one more night,” I say.
They’re happy with the decision—and so am I.

Waterfalls Along the Path

Toward evening, I return to the pizzeria.

Philip offers to make a keto pizza.

On a small tray, he adds mushrooms, mozzarella cheese, olives, and tops it with fresh arugula leaves.
I drizzle more olive oil on top—it adds fat, exactly what I need for my ketogenic diet.

“Tasty,” I say, and Philip heads to the kitchen to make a keto pizza for himself as well.

11:00 PM – we close the pizzeria and go out for a drink after a day’s work.
Ivona says she has the day off tomorrow.

Midnight – just before we part ways, Philip suggests we ride together tomorrow to a beautiful monastery by the lake, about a 40-minute ride.

We agree to meet at 9:00 AM.
We’ll ride to the monastery, and then I’ll continue on my way.

Keto PizzaI return to my room, set the alarm for 7:00 AM, and start packing the motorcycle.
I double-check to make sure I haven’t forgotten anything—especially my phone—and head out to meet the wonderful couple.

We ride along the lake toward Saint Naum Monastery, which turns out to be an incredible place.

We stop for coffee and take some photos.
As we walk through the monastery courtyard, Philip offers to treat me to lunch.
I say, “Sure, but this time, I’m treating you.”
He refuses—and insists on inviting me to a good restaurant in a nearby village.

 

We ride into a mountain village and enter a restaurant overlooking Lake Ohrid.

Ivona’s phone rings. She laughs and says the guesthouse owner called—apparently, I forgot my glasses.
“Maybe it’s a sign you should stay one more day,” she says.

We head back to the city and share another cup of coffee before I leave.

Philip’s uncle shows up and suggests a short boat ride around the city on a friend’s yacht.
I glance at the time—it’s already after 2:00 PM.

“Okay,” I say. “I’m on a trip—why not?”
We board Tashe’s boat and head out on a beautiful ride.
The view from the water completes the picture of Ohrid.

“Philip, I think I’ll stay one more night,” I say during the cruise.
“We were sad you were leaving—now we’re happy again,” they say.

We sail around the city.
Tashe tells me he often takes tourists on boat rides.
I’m glad I got the chance to meet him.

“I’ll go rest in the room and come back for pizza later,” I say.

Night falls, and the city lights illuminate the sidewalks.
The weather is pleasant, even in a short-sleeve shirt.
It truly feels like spring.

I arrive at the pizzeria—it already feels familiar.
Philip prepares keto pizzas for both of us and says,
“Now we’re both on the keto diet.”

An older American couple stands at the counter, ordering pizza.
I notice they don’t have a place to sit.

“You can sit next to me, it’s fine—I won’t bite,” I say with a smile.

The woman introduces herself—“I’m Barbara”—and introduces her partner.
They tell me they live in Florida, but spend most of their time living on a yacht currently docked near Greece.

The lovely couple is busy chatting with customers, and I find myself in a deep conversation with them about traveling the world.
We exchange phone numbers, and I show them my blog website.

Just before midnight, the American couple says goodbye—not before we exchange numbers once more.

I came for one night.
I stayed for three.