Perhaps Val had been right, intuitive even, to remain in Milan and decline the weekend invitation. It began with panic, backpacks bouncing in a sweaty sprint down Via Vitruvio to catch the train from Stazione Centrale. Naturally, we missed it – a telling omen, it would seem, in retrospect. But I was incorrigible in my plans to visit Cinque Terre before the last of the soft autumn weather gave way to something altogether unfitting for quaint Italian coastal towns.

An invigorating round of cappuccinos, a scenic train ride, another mad uphill dash for the last available hostel rooms, and the afternoon was a dream. It was bathed in the sort of molten sunlight that recast the world in edenic simplicity. All thoughts of the crazed morning vanished as we wandered through the vineyards overlooking Manarola, feeling acutely throughout the stroll that Midas himself was passing somewhere up ahead, just beyond the next dimple in the hillside. The sun-baked pastels of the rustic buildings, stacked unevenly against the incline, clung to each other with laundry lines suspended across narrow alleys, like strung clay beads. Perhaps Val had been wrong to stay home after all.

This judgment needed only dinner to be firmly secured. Gnocchi soaked in a fresh deluge of pesto, and a full serving of focaccia con nutella, the holy grail of baked desserts, brought the euphoric belief that heaven is a place called Riomaggiore. And, had the weekend ended with that realization, perhaps Val would have remained wrong.

Then Sunday happened. Gray and stormy gusts swept north from the ocean into our paradise, colliding with the chilling echoes of abandoned train tracks and whispered currents of a regional ‘sciopero.’ And so it was that nature ruled out travel by boat, and disgruntled operators on strike ruled out travel by train. The weight of our backpacks and the force of the damp winds propelled us down the slippery cobblestones of Manarola as we followed the aroma of coffee towards candid efforts at optimism and a dubious return to urbanity. And to Val, comfortably situated in her dry Milanese apartment.

It was no easy feat, wandering the five towns of Cinque Terre to obtain a taxi while fighting off hordes of stranded tourists in a rainstorm. Several hours and an exorbitant sum of euros later, we somehow – miraculously – arrived at a train station several towns away where national trains were still running.

As we pulled out of the station, I slumped against the window in exhaustion and I allowed myself to bask in a moment of relief. Or was it…accomplishment? Many would count the weekend a decided failure, a tizzy of cancelled train schedules, an endless search for a means of escape. But in my own estimation, we had successfully accomplished more than the average tourist. We had not simply visited Cinque Terre; we had developed a relationship with each of the five towns. Every desolate beach shrouded in fog, every careening taxi that sped past our outreached arms, every information center where no one spoke English – they were small pieces of the spirit of this place. The parts that aren’t for sale, that don’t appear on postcards or in guidebooks.  Embarking on this misguided venture was no mistake. The only mistake would have been not to come at all.

1. Chrissie Morris Liliana suede stingray mesh bootie – $1,295

2. Chrissie Morris Delilah leopard platform– $1,095

3. (B) Brian Atwood Campisa t-strap pump – $400

4. Raphael Young soft makai calf – $995 – $695

How to get here:

–Turn left at Jesus.

(Einstein will lead you astray every time – amen.)

–If you find yourself saying I  Vodno, you’ve gone too far.

Unless, like me, you sincerely love Vodno – in which case, welcome to your ‘hood.

My favorite season has arrived in Macedonia. Somehow every year the crisp air, the waning brilliance of sunshine, the cozy dusk that daily inches closer and closer — each quality of fall that strikes me as both sublime and endearing — manages to cross the time-space continuum. Every fall day that I have ever loved is wrapped up in this one, this windy moment punctuated with leather and burnt orange. Whether perched atop a southern mountain overrun by the wildfire of leafy hues, or navigating the urban collision of woodsmoke and car exhaust — this season represents romance past & present. The classical sense.

Skopje these days emits the aroma of home-made ajvar which wafts from every vikendica and backyard, including mine, where, through an arduous and precise multi-day process, we have just turned 60 kilos of slow-roasted red peppers into bottled delicacy. You could say the scent has the power to transport me back in time — one year, six years — or to launch me into future falls and the prospect of extending this joie du moment présent, this setting, this scenery, this cast. I’m not ready for the season that comes next. I wish I could freeze time in its tracks. But it’s still too early for frost.

autumn calms the flaming face

as summer bows her head

but liquid skies give sleep-drenched eyes

the iron bars of bed.

Tuesday night saw a dramatic shift in the goings-on at U.S. Embassy Skopje, as talk of multilateral diplomacy was replaced by jazz music and catwalk charisma at the first runway show to be hosted in this venue. And I hope that it will not be the last! Collaboration between the American Embassy, Fashion Weekend Skopje (FWSK), and the Macedonian Fashion Formation (MFF) resulted in an exciting display of talent and creativity featuring the jazz-themed pieces of thirteen Macedonian designers.

The line-up consisted of fashion designers Vedrana Paneva, Ivana Cvetkovska, Nikola Eftimov, Iskra Dzokic, Melani Dimitrovska, Nevenka Todorovska, Tresor, Sara Milevska, Robert Ivanovski, Irena Petrovska, Aleksandra Krninova, Victor Cvetanovski, and jewelry designer Elena Popovska, each of whom was selected upon application to an open call.

The theme of the evening was the crucial thread that served as both a unifying factor for the range of designs as well as a broad source of inspiration. While some designers incorporated elements of jazz music into their pieces (think black and white patterning reminiscent of piano keys, or velvet lounge-singer chic), others turned to the Roaring Twenties and the iconic flapper muse straight out of a Jay Gatsby cocktail party. As Ambassador Wohlers noted in his opening remarks, the 1920s in America marked an important turning point for women, for whom fashion was as much a declaration of independence as it was a canvas for self expression. The spirit of the era was well captured by Jazz & Fashion’s tribute at FWSK, as bob-coiffed models strutted swingy tassels, fur accents, and decadent floor-length evening wear.

After months of hard work and careful planning, I am pleased to conclude that the show was a grand success and a true joy to work on. Guests included Macedonian President Ivanov, various ministers, fashion and textile industry members, investors, heads of diplomatic missions, prominent business people, Chambers of Commerce and media personalities. The event was covered by media both local and national, and even highlighted as far away as India, where media featured the show’s opening dress by Aleksandra Krninova. However, the real triumph of the evening, in my opinion, was the visible promotion of Macedonia’s vibrant fashion and jewelry industry and the opportunity for emerging talent to showcase designs alongside pieces by more experienced and established designers.

A hearty congratulations and many thanks to all who participated! I look forward to the continued realizations of these artists’ visions, and I will be the first to applaud as they carry on exceeding the limits of the creatable.

:: A femme fatale neckline and stately sleeves from Aleksandra Krninova ::

:: Springtime hues and feminine detailing from Victor Cvetanovski ::

:: Dramatic face nets and bold metallic statements from Robert Ivanovski ::

:: A shimmering silhouette and center-stage décolletage from Nevenka Todorovska ::

:: Intricate and shapely mermaid flounces from Tresor ::

:: A sequin-sheathed modern twist on Daisy Buchanan from Vedrana Paneva ::

:: Musical asymmetry from Irena Petrovska accented by a double-stranded Elena Popovska choker ::

All photos courtesy Fashion Weekend Skopje

Broken people break other people. I am not a pessimist, but aren’t we all a little bit broken? None of us gets through life unscathed. To me, living in light of that reality requires a few basic priorities.

(Slovenia)

1) Keep the ones you love close. And of course, laugh with them.

(Ljubljana)

2) Envision the future, but hold your dreams with an open hand.

(a past home)

3) Dwell in an environment that reflects what is important to you.

(Philippi)

4) Find beauty in the brokenness — it is there, and grace will help you find it.

I once said that I wished I could be from everywhere all at once.  Others who had spent years moving here and there thought I was crazy; life without roots is confusing. But where you are “from” is so much more than where you’ve been. Is it where you were born? Where you grew up? What your passport says? Place of legal residence? What if each of those are different cities and countries — are you from all of them? From none of them? “From” is such a tiny little word but it has changed my life more than most prepositions. To me, the most significant element of “from” is the community that it permits a person to inherit — the innate acceptance in encountering a stranger who is “from” the same place. And that is what I really want; it’s the only possible reason I could dream of being a global mutt. Let’s do a simple hypothetical exercise. IF I were from everywhere…THEN I would speak every language…THEN I could communicate with everyone…THEN I could hope to understand the mysterious foreign souls I pass every day…THEN those people would be able to relate to me as well.

Of course, it’s unrealistic. Some of us may spend the rest of our lives wondering what it feels like to be a native. More often than not, a person who is from many places is actually from nowhere; community is not a thing to be collected. I can never see to the heart of everyone, and I can never be from everywhere. But I will understand a lot more once I’ve been where they’re from, even if I don’t know where I am from myself. Perhaps “to” can aspire to become an equally influential word.

Places to go // people to meet // languages to learn

(Brussels)

(Sarajevo)

(Skopje)

(Venice)

(the cross on the hill)

(remnants of autumn at Sveti Markov Monastery)

(Љуботен, Шар Планина)