It was time to set off again, heading towards the little village of Lazaropole, where I had booked a night in a traditional Ottoman guesthouse. It would be the first place in almost one week where I would have hot water and a private bathroom, so I was really looking forward to it. (I guess hot water was the motivation that pushed me -despite all my reasonable hesitations- forward along the tortuous and arduous mountain road leading to the village of Lazaropole).
Lazaropole is a picturesque, fairy-talish mountain village well-known for the freshness of its air, which locals claim to be the heathiest in the Balkans.
It is a popular mountain destination but, when I was there, there was just me and the hotel owner and, later that evening, a friend of the owner who stopped by the hotel to celebrate his birthday and who was so kind as to invite me to join their table for a glass of red Macedonian wine.
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