Winter is already here. The trees have lost their leaves, slowly, in constant but irreversible change of browning shades, until they totally fell and vanished. Nested between two gardens: one its siamese brother and the other its luscious free spirited neighbor; our garden is a clear square of grass surrounded by tall trees. In front, disseminated houses and gardens, along a straight street below, frame our view.

One of these houses is fascinating. I call it the solitary spaceship. At night, its blemish windows, two squares of neon lights seem floating in the damp air of the cold evening. I am very fond of our garden; its placidity is its great charm: this square lawn witnesses all the seasonal changes while remaining intact in its shape.

The construction of the house and the garden was achieved in 2012. Our house is one part of what consists of a twin house building. Two houses, identical, on each side of a separating wall were intended to lodge two brothers side by side. But life has decided otherwise. One of the houses is occupied by our family, and the other is sporadically occupied by different visitors. They leave sonorous souvenirs and most of the times remain unseen. This is the most changing aspect of our street; the rest of the neighbors are longtime residents and bless the street with every day’s normality: familiar faces and the same children playing with a ball or bike. The house is four stories, has narrow floors, and the space is distributed vertically. It reminds me of the Yemenis tower houses; only that in this house, some services are duplicated for more convenience. I think it is due to the narrowness of the plot, the existing slope and the need to make a garden, leaving lesser surface for the floors. The house projects itself towards the city from his promontory; all the floors have a wide vista at the skyline surrounded by the mountains. Apart from the vista, a neighbor’s old and bold sherry tree keeps us company along the 4 stories. It is our quietest and most beautiful companion.

Fruit trees abound in our street, like in the rest of the neighborhood: apple, pears and plum trees, also sherry and quince, and of course vines…The other day, our neighbor, a woman of a certain age, always dressed in mourning black, offered me persimmons from her own tree. It was a big bag and I left them to ripe. When they became extremely soft and sweet I made a “gâteau aux kakis” from one of my favorite food blogs, David Lebovitz. I just put some dried apricots with the raisins and Spanish moscatel instead of rum or whisky, which gave it an extra sweet twist. A winter cake, I offered my neighbor in exchange for her superb persimmons.

There is an easy going relation between the neighbors, especially the one’s of a certain age that still conserve the old ways of greeting and exchanging some nice words; especially if they see you with a small child. In Crniče, our neighborhood, you don’t seem to be living in a capital which is Skopje. The city spreads on the foothill of mount Vodno where our neighborhood lies; with its curvy maze of narrow streets, adjusting to the hilly topography. Our street is no exception, narrow and irregular, the space is constantly negotiated between children playing, passersby, car drivers, truck drivers and wandering cats. Its name, Hristo Chernopeev, gives already an avant-goût of the layers of history lying in this city and country, some of which we will reveal along the posts during our stay here.