After finally recovering from our Balkan maffia hangovers we set off for the mountains to cross into Macedonia. I say we, as Vinko had not changed his mind when he sobered up and was still keen to try and walk to Skopje with me, plus he had bet 2 beers he'd make it by Thursday so the deal was done! I was a little apprenhensive as it had been 8 months since I had a walking companion and with a tough few days ahead I was thinking back to the early stages of my walk when my feet and body suffered so much getting used it.

The first day was a steady climb along the valley out of Prizren, before a punishing final s-bend haul up to the village of Prevalle. A kind passer-by helped us on our way, buying us coffee at a petrol station and when we made it to the village we were invited to camp in the covered storage area of a restaurant. Which was very welcome as that night the weather trurned cold and wet. Torrential rain at our height but snow just a couple of hundred metres above on the mountainside. In the morning it was cloudy, grey and sleeting - yesterday was warm, sunny and uphill, today would be cold, wet and downhill. I was in my full weather gear but all we had for Vinko were some bin-bags and a disposable plastic poncho, however, the picture on it was a superhero and he lived upto it. The rain didn't stop all day, we sheltered in a petrol station to make running repairs to Vinko's blistered feet, warmed by the wood burner and some rakija from the employee ( not sure that fire, potent homebrew and petrol are a good mix!) And another petrol station sheltered us for lunch where, after talking to the attendant I learnt it was the same place that Andrew (the american I met walking to China when we were back in Italy) had stopped to sleep fo a night 2 months previously. More vehicles stopped on the road offering us lifts and chocolate bars before we found another kind benefactor who put us up in a muslim meeting room for the night.

It was clear that Vinko was getting a pretty rough introduction to the walking though, mountains and horrible weather + plus 25km each day is a tall order. Watching him wobble around on his painfully blistered feet and aching leg muscles reminded me so much of the agonies of my first 5 or 6 weeks. To the untrained eye it just looks like you are really drunk, but in reality it is a desperate dance to try and find wome way of standing and moving without pain. But each time I asked if he was ok he replied 'super' and one way or another we made it to Skopje. Arriving in a relatively big, developed city was a little bit of a culture shock after the past 3 months in the countryside and poor areas of the balkans. Even more of a shock was the sight of a red double-decker bus passing me on the road (they are actually korean built fakes). It was my longest day at nearly 50km and I was desperate to find the hostel, almost succumbing to tears as mis-guided directions led me on a wild goose chase around hillside neighbourhoods. But eventually I found it and collapsed into a bean bag in front of a wood fire before my next shock - there is a prohibition on alcohol in shops after 7pm. How is this possible in a balkan country? Luckily there was beer in the hostel fridge or the tears may have been back. It felt so much like home I stayed (often in the bean bag by the fire watching football on tv) for the whole weekend.

Skopje is a strange place, largely flattened by a huge earthquake in 1963, the turkish old town remains as testament to the Ottoman occupation, but elsewhere there is huge redevelopment. A kind of disneyland attempt to try and 'build history' with huge government buildings being contsructed and made to look old, whilst there are random sculptures and statues everywhere. Many of the locals have no idea who the statues are of and are a bit annoyed that so much money is being spent on these things when it is still desperatly needed elsewhere in schools and rural areas.

After a good rest, a bit of route planning and the end of a long search to find new socks (technical fabric walking socks are pretty scarce in the balkans and the women in the shop looked a bit perplexed as to why someone should be so happy about socks, especially as 2 pairs cost the same as the weekend at the hostel!) it was time to say goodbye to my temporary home and to Vinko. He had been a legend and hopefully we'll catch each other a bit later on when he makes a road trip to Istanbul before flying to India.

I made my way across the Macedonian plains towards the Bulgarian border, sleeping one night in a petrol station where they kindly put a heater in the out building for me. Talking to the guys working the night shift one of them tells me he is driving to Istanbul in the morning - it will take him 8 hours (in a good car) and I am struck by how close that makes it sound. Just 8 hours by car! I meet a couch surfer who hosted an Italian guy walking to Istanbul who passed through Stip a month or so ago, and later on a very brave host wrings out my hand washed socks (new and old) to dry on the stove. For the first time in another village no one will let me camp on their land, but eventually 2 younger guys convince the little old lady minding the unused monastary to let me sleep there. She potters around in the one room she lives in, shoving wood in the burner, making coffee, feeding me anything she can find and talking at me relentlessly. Other than explaining my journey, my macedonian is pretty limited but she sits infront of me talking away, I try to apologise for not understanding. Only the next day did some of it start to make sense as I passed signs for churches along the road that matched the names she had been saying to me. I laughed at her persistance even though I had been completely lost in the language! And the eggy fried bread in the morning had been amazing.

A couple of days later I crossed my tenth border into Bulgaria, getting into trouble by taking photos to mark the occassion and having to pick my way through miles of roadworks on the road to Blagoevgrad. As i passed some of the road workers a couple of hours further down the road they clapped and cheered 'bravo' at me, putting an embarrassed smile on my face. In crossing the border I was also into a new timezone and had lost an hour in a few footsteps, so I arrived in the evening lights of the city, ready for a rest and needing to make some decisions on the rest of my route. I had a little feeling of melancholy at this prospect, it was slowly dawning on me that Istanbul was getting very near. A mix of excitement and achievement were fighting with an early mourning for the end of this walk and what the hell to do when i get there. But in the mean time . . . . . . left right left right left right left!