Racked and stacked! Piles of 'em.

Another touristis day out. The usual way of living up to such a day begins three days in advance with the 'planning'. As many of the original plans are still awaiting realization, so went the plan for today. Wednesday I figured it was about time to set eyes on neighboring countries. Bulgaria it would have been, with Sofia as base camp. By mid-Thursday it was Bosnian Sarajevo that kept crawling through my mind as Plan B. Sofia as this weekend's occupation was already a departed idea. Getting to Sarajevo involves some major tracking through Kosovo: some inquiry about the latests over there seemed quite appropriate. And, as it appeared that I would be on my own, I didn't bother to go through all the hassle of approximate 9 hours driving and ... well... to arrive there and find out that in 3 hours time I need to get back already. So, Sarajevo is postponed to another date. Krushevo was mentioned by colleagues. Macodonians keep raving on about this little village high up in the mountains of Central Macedonia. Seems worthy enough to pay a visit. Plan C was born. Sashka, my partner in crime for this ride, had to cancel for today which got Krushevo postponed by one day. And with that, I was not yet having any clue where to head for. Time for Plan D. It wasn't up until 9:55 am that I had a reasonable idea of where to go. At 10:00 am I got in the car and drove in the direction: East of Kumanov - the same route as last Sunday. So far for the touristic re-planning surprises. As the day progressed the plans were moulded and re-shaped. I couldn't find the right turns. Roads weren't on the map or roads on the map appeared to have disappeared in the real world. And three hours of driving on mountainous dirt-tracks in a non 4WD is a lot when you are able to find a village called Konjuh, where there is supposed to be a rock formation where in ancient times people would have lived. It is a context is which you become quite competent in what I call a "Plan-B situation". After Staro Nagorichane and Taticev Kamen it was Zebrnjak that I visited last today. It was a strange climax. High on a hill a monument is raised to memorate some battle I forgot. This monument is more or less a miniature 5 store high version of Minas Tirith - you circle around upwards. With in the centre a pink and white santuary of some sort. On the roof, the views are spectacular and peaceful, though standing up appeared a tricky business because of the firm winds that knocks you off your feet if you're not carefull (and it's a long fall down from 5 stores). Inside the atmosphere is strange at the least. The two pink rooms, one with a fresco of Sveti Wossname, were not the interiors that I imagined to see in there from looking at the monument from the outside. The three or four white rooms looked more in place. Then I found a stair down. Unlit. The camera's flashlight helped me to get down the stairs. The wind outside kept slamming the iron door shut repeatedly. As the hinges were ruined, the door re-opened again always. The constant loud noise added a delicate sound effect to the whole scene. Walking down the stairs I started to realize what the whole monument was there for. It held something. It kept items in store. In a small circular room with a diameter not more than 3 meter. Nicely packed in racks, 4 or 5 shelves high. It was impossible to make out at first. I had to take photos with the flashlight to make sure what it was that was held there. The iron door upstairs was still slamming fiercely. The first photos showed something blurred. I adjusted the camera and made some more photos. To find out that... Well, look for yourself.

Today's photos

	A close up of Zebrnjak, what looks from at a further distance like a ruined castle. The closest place that most people would see this from is the E871, which curls around the hill about 3 km north of it.
	The pink entry hall.
	Sveti Wossname as seen from one of the 4 white inner rooms.
	Someone forgot something.
	Racked bones.

It's much later now. got the 'hyldeblomstsyrop' in the brewing process. A fine smell of fermenting flowers comes from the kitchen. I'm glad there are no bones involved in the making.