The Ban Bus

The drive out of Nis was interesting as we were plagued by a new and totally mad GPS. “Turn right, turn left, turn around, drive straight for 4 km”. Ah, no, straight ahead is a T intersection and a big building. Davor begins searching out his “human GPS” and asks everyone we see which way to go. Far better and far more accurate. After many twists and turns and detours we finally turn onto the highway the sign points to Skopje, Macedonia. The southern part of Serbia is familiar to me as I was here last week but also from the days of the war in Kosovo. A little stroll through the hills and I would drop down into the area around Pristina. I could then make it cross country all the way to Albania. Those days are long gone so the highway in the Ban Bus is just fine now.

The miles roll away till the Serbian Macedonian border is ahead. The Serb check point is almost no problem, the border guard stamps our passports and we are about to drive away when the official spots Daniel and the video camera. “That’s a professional camera, you must pay!” Now for the first mess around as Davor does a perfect job in smoothing the waves. Lesson number one, have all gear put away at check points. We drive into no mans land and join the end of the queue of cars waiting to get into Macedonia.

No mans land has a healthy population of dogs who are well conditioned to bludging food off waiting cars. As we pull up a crowd of them gathers by us and they stare at us pleadingly to feed them. No chance from us so after a few minutes they move onto another car. Their tactics pay off as one woman gets out with a big bag of dog food and empties the lot in piles by the road. The dogs are now in fat boy heaven and chow down as fast as a dog can. The woman has a dog of her own or at least that’s what I think that white quaffed powder puff shaped dish rag was. It would have made a tiny snack for these waiting hounds or a fine shoe shine for me.

We edge forward in the queue and become fixated in getting through immigration before the fluffy mutt’s car. That thing has to be called Pooky or something similar. The immigration barriers are arrived at simultaneously as Pooky’s face is pressed hard against the front window of their car.

The Macedonian official takes our passports and looks at us and the papers. “Norway, ok. Two Australian and one Canadian? You must pay!” Apparently we needed insurance. The fact that we all have insurance means nothing and Davor yet again braves the madness of officialdom. He heads off to the window of the office and passes our papers in. How long could a quick payment take? Quite along time actually. A steady stream of smoke emits from the window as I wonder if there is a fire inside. Davor steps back to breath. There is no fire here, just the steady consumption of chain smoked cigarettes as the officials develop their individual lung cancers. The clock ticks on, and on, and on a bit more till finally Davor returns with the passports and our insurance. It cost us a whole 3 euro each except, there was a catch. In fact there is always a catch. The printer was “broken” so they couldn’t print the receipt. There was a solution to this though as our 9 euro fee becomes 3 euro for all and Davor is finally released from the tiny border despots. I’m sure those 3 euro went for another packet of cigarettes to assist in the general health of the border guards.

While waiting, our contact in Macedonia arrives in search of us. Natasha is a small dynamo of a woman who is an ex journalist. She now runs an NGO called ‘Journalists for Women and Children’s Rights and Environmental Protection’. We waiver the pleasantries for the time being and follow her on the 40 minute drive into Skopje. I haven’t been here since the Kosovo war in 1999 and only remember it as grey and dower place. That probably has nothing to do with Skopje and more to do with the work that I was doing at the time.

To get to Kosovo back then I would fly from London to Skopje often via Istanbul then drive the 20 minutes to the border and the road to Pristina. It used to feel like passing from the light into the darkness as Macedonia was left behind and I rolled into Kosovo. Scared, young KFOR soldiers then controlled the country and all was chaos. That was a life time ago but an important part to an origin of this journey. Now it only rates a cursory glance as our path lies south east.

Skopje was nothing as I remembered it. It seemed a very vivacious and sexy young city with women parading the top fashions and city life was la dolce vita. I was ready to be pleasantly surprised by this place.

Natasha is one of the most organised people I have met. Everything ran like calm clockwork. She had us in two hotels, one with safe parking for the Bus and one with high speed internet access. We check in and she gives us the brief for the next day’s activities. She is really packing it in with a public presence in the city square, a press conference and plenty of media exposure. The hook up time is 8 am and we head our different ways for the night.

The Irish are definitely the international invaders as there seems to be not a place on earth without an Irish pub. Natasha had recommended one and we head there to refill on fodder and Guinness.

Natasha was at the hotel at 8 and it was on the road for us. We were to do a day long public presence in the city square but all ‘manifestations’ were cancelled as this was the day that Macedonia was to debate changing its name. There is a huge amount of tension over what Macedonia is, or should be, called. ‘The Former Yugoslav Republic of Macedonia’ or ‘Northern Macedonia’ and other less favourable ones suggested by various nationalist groups. Nothing like a name change to get the heat up. The up shot of this was we still were not clear for our public event in the city square. Natasha has the first call at City Hall and she heads in to sort out the mess.

As we sit in the carpark and wait, Daniel has many helpful suggestions.
“Why not have the new country name as Dave! Then you’d know the door was always open and there would be a full fridge of beer. We could then change all neighbouring countries to Kaz, Shaz and Daz but Kaz and Shaz can’t have a joined border as they have never got on. They will need a new flag, maybe a crossed double thumbs up!!!”

There are reasons why Daniel has never entered the diplomatic service and they are all valid.

Natasha calls and says that it will be sorted out so just go and set up and she will catch up. The Ban Bus looks great all festooned with signage and even a ‘Taxi Light’ on the roof that says ‘Ban Cluster Bombs’. We pull into the square and get many strange looks as we weave our way through the pedestrians. A nice spot is found and the unpacking of photos and petitions happens and we are in business. A few volunteers are there and we start to press the flesh and hook people into sign the petition. Most are really receptive and want to be part of it but I get the odd ex Russian veteran from Afghanistan who says ‘screw you’ then the odd ex Balkan veteran who really wants these things banned. Personally I would rather talk to hostile people who have no idea and have the debate with them than someone who just signs and doesn’t think. Changing hostile ideas is really what we are about and I have no interest in being agreed with by sycophants. Having the fight in the public arena is what this is all about.

The first TV crew arrive and start filming. They are really keen to make this a feature and the journalist will delay the piece till tomorrow to get away from the competition with the country’s name change. They get all they need with film and photos and stock footage from us then its time for a press conference at the Holiday Inn.

The Norwegian Ambassador showed up and was extremely supportive and made a contribution to the coffers of the Ban Bus that so far are only two thirds full.

Money is definitely an issue for us and we are faced with the prospect of cutting back what we can do in order to get the Ban Bus to Oslo. The other option is just to go big and do it well and hope more money comes between now and December. That’s quite a gamble but the one I favour, as there is no point this being a comfortable tour through Eastern Europe. We need to make every contact and country engagement as strong as possible to have the impact we need to have. I’d rather do ten of the twenty countries well and shut the Ban Bus down when we run out of money than cruise with no impact. If fate must be our guide from here on in, so be it.

We packed up at 4 and headed to the hotel for a hard earned rest. One of the most rewarding things about such a journey is the people we meet. It’s a day full of conversation and if you like that then you would fit right into this.