6 August 2025

Sanja KOSTOVSKA

Lazaropole is more than a village – it’s a sensation that awakens deep within whenever the road takes us toward Bistra. The heart of every traveler begins to beat faster at the sight of Lake Mavrovo unfolding before them – blue and calm, like a breath held before meeting someone dear. The road curves alongside the St. Jovan Bigorski monastery besides a sacred presence that not only watches over but also blesses. Below, like a secret not always revealed, the Radika River whispers its way through rocks and forests.

And there begins the quiet, eager waiting. Just five curves, only five – we used to count them as kids, like counting down to New Year’s midnight. With each turn, your soul lifts, as if sensing what lies ahead. 

And when we pass by Mirevchina, before us – like a scene from a dream – Lazaropole unfolds. Its stone houses gathered like words in an old song. And above it, calm and watchful, Cucul stands – not like a guard, but as a parent watching their child grow with love. 

If I had the time and space, I would tell you about the daffodils that flood the landscape in spring, as if the Sun had taken up a mirror and saw its reflection in the blossoms. I would speak of the elegance of the wild horse herds that appear suddenly, like shadows of freedom, and of the sweetest taste of wild strawberries. Perhaps someone would have found it useful to learn about the magical healing of Gjurepi and Jorska water. I won’t even talk about the food at Kalin Hotel, or the atmosphere at T’ga za jug, where the soul orders the music before you. I won’t speak of the peace that settles when snow blankets the village, quieting everything like a scene from a fairytale. Not a word about the cheese and kashkaval [semi-hard yellow cheese] that, once tasted, make you grow at least two centimeters – if not in height, then certainly in love. I swear, not a word about the breathtaking view from Sokolica. I could even say that here, at 1,350 meters above sea level, the stars are so close that if you reach out your hand, you’ll feel them flickering under your skin. 

But I won't say a word about any of that. Because this story is about something else.

High on Bistra, among clouds, ancient oaks and gray stone houses, lies Lazaropole – a village measured not by its population, but by the love it gathers for Ilinden. From May to October, the village pulses with life, but on August 2, the heart of Mijak area beats loudest right here in the rhythm of zurlas [double-reed woodwind instrument] and drums. 

When the zurla echoes at the gathering on the evening of August 1, blood begins to rush through the veins and shivers run down the spine. Dum, dum, dum, the sound of the drums opens a portal to the past, awakening the DNA of the revolutionaries. The rhythm reminds us of the heroic heart of Gjurchin Kokaleski – Kokale, one of the first Macedonian revivalists and social reformers, born in 1775 in Lazaropole. His autobiography entitled “Nakazanie” written in 1823, is the first Macedonian autobiographical text written in the people’s language and using the Slavic script. Written in the Mijak dialect using Old Church Slavonic script, it is a valuable source for the study of language and ethnography. The text was published in A. Belić’s “The Galichnik Dialect” in Belgrade in 1935, presented in the Macedonian alphabet. Kokale is significant in many respects, but here we focus on his unbreakable bond with Lazaropole and Ilikden (as the locals call Ilinden). 

As recounted to MIA by 94-year-old Petre Kolovski, author of the book “Lazaropole’s Fresco Painters”, the father of Gjurchin Kokale fled to Albania, where the Ottomans were attempting to impose Islam on the population. Later, Gjurchin acquired wealth and, among other things, owned around 30,000 sheep and 600 horses, which his helpers would take to graze in the Thessaloniki region during the winter months. One winter, he went himself to check on the livestock and was accommodated in the house of the local priest. Soon, his host revealed his concern: nearby, there had been a renegade general from the Turkish army, for whom the sultan had issued a bounty. The general had set up tents with his unit and demanded that a girl be brought to him every night. Today is my daughter’s turn, said the priest. Upon hearing that, Kokale stood up, marched to the bandit’s tent and challenged him to a duel. He told him they should not involve the unit and settle the matter between themselves. Kokale was wounded in the fight, but he managed to knock the renegade general off his horse and decapitate him with a saber. He then took the head to the sultan in Istanbul. The sultan kept his word and granted Kokale’s requests, issuing three firmans [royal decrees]: he appointed him as a member of the regional Mejlis [Assembly], forbade the construction of a tower and the stationing of Turkish soldiers in the village (a decision respected only during Kokale’s lifetime), and granted permission to build a church in Lazaropole. The grateful villagers wanted to name the church after Saint Ilija [Elijah; Ilinden meaning St. Elijah’s Day], in honor of Gjurchin’s father, but Kokale insisted that it bear the name of the existing small church – Saint Gjorgjija [George]. However, he told the villagers that if they wished to honor him, they could adopt the feast of Saint Ilija as the village’s patron holiday. And so it was: in 1832, construction of the Church of Saint Gjorgjija began, Kolovski recounts, adding that it was built three steps into the ground, like all other churches of the time, since they were not allowed to be taller than mosques. 

For a moment I am back in the present and I see the houses decorated with Macedonian flags, old and young dancing an oro, and of course, the unavoidable onlookers on the side. The villagers of Lazaropole are renowned for their folk-dance skills (think of “Tanec” and Dojchin Matevski). The zurla tears the sky with sorrow and warns us not to forget 1943 and the terror of Xhem the Ballist. 

“Yes, that was the event that had the greatest impact on the life of the village. During the war, Lazaropole was under Italian military and Albanian civilian rule. The Carabinieri were very pleasant people. But after Italy’s capitulation, they left. At the beginning of the war, they brought an Albanian teacher to our school who was supposed to teach us the Albanian language. Before that, we had been taught in Serbian. After a week or two, almost no child remained in the classroom, so the teacher, seeing this, left for Albania. Then, one Thursday, Xhem the Ballist (Xhemail Hasani) from the Gostivar village of Simnica, came and gathered all the men in the center of the village and told them to leave within a week or be burned alive. Almost all of us left. We had a horse, and on each side of it a basket, with a child in each one. Only a few elderly people remained in the village who testified that after a week Xhem returned and his group set up a fire to burn those who stayed behind. But at the last moment, he was informed that partisans were attacking his home village, so he had to go defend it. And that’s how the villagers were saved,” recounts grandpa Petre, who has a degree in pedagogy and spent his entire working life in the classroom. 

He recounts that better days followed for the village after the war. A Mijak textile cooperative was established, which later evolved into the village collective “Kocho Racin”. But some things changed. Before the war, says Kolovski, no one in the village celebrated birthdays, everyone celebrated only name days. Everyone contributed equally to the table, bringing rakija, chickpeas and raisins. However, in the years after the war, with the rise of communism, people were afraid and stopped celebrating their name days. He says that some of his close relatives ended up on Goli Otok for having a church wedding, among other reasons. At one point the communists wanted to turn the Church of Saint Gjorgjija into a livestock barn, but the church council – of which Kolovski’s father was also a member – along with the villagers, gathered in front of the church and prevented it from happening. 

And what is Lazaropole without the Church of Saint Gjorgjija and without Ilikden? The church bells are loudest on the morning of August 2, calling the villagers to the morning liturgy. 

In a festive atmosphere, everyone dressed in new clothes (in the past), and even to this day, the clothes may not be new, but everyone is all pretty and dressed up. The locals, holding candles in their hands, pay tribute to those before us and pray for good days for those yet to come. 

Then follows a family feast. Everyone who has roots in Lazaropole tries to be there at least for the day of Ilinden. When we were children, there used to be a dozen or more people gathered in one house, but now the same houses only gather three or four people (whatever happened in the meantime). 

And just when it's time to slice the watermelon, you can hear the successors of Majo and Iso - the descendants of one of the brothers who are masters at playing the zurla, and the descendants of the other who are masters at playing the drum, whose music still carries the story of the Majovci family, Egyptians, and highly-skilled blacksmiths. 

It is precisely their grandchildren and great-grandchildren who put some spark in Lazaropole. To this day, as soon as the first sounds of "Teshkoto" [“The Hard One” traditional folk dance] fill the air, everyone falls silent, watching the oldest men in the village perform this dance, which only those from the Mijak region truly feel in their bones. 

The Mijaks have always engaged in witty banter, some boasting about the Tresonche River, others about the Gari River. Of course, those from Selce, Rosoki, Sushica, Osoj and Mogorche [villages] also had their say. But the biggest rivalry of the locals has always been with Galichnik.

“Galichnik was known for its wealth (and stinginess), Tresonche for its intellectuals, and Lazaropole for its culture, art and bohemians,” says Kolovski. “And so, they started organizing the Galichnik Wedding, although it is actually a Mijak Wedding. At the time, we gathered from all the Mijak villages and suggested that it be held every year in a different village, but Galichnik, well, they did not accept that,” Kolovski adds.

But what makes him happy is seeing that this year we celebrated Ilinden better than ever. “The village is full of young people,” he says, adding that although it is more of a tourist retreat than a village, because it is not frequented all year round, what gives hope is that everyone, from the youngest to the oldest, cherishes a huge love for this community. Even foreigners leave with admiration and a promise that they will revisit at least once again in their lives.    

The drums are packed and take off, and the locals continue to celebrate Ilinden with delight in their homes, never forgetting to tell the children about the customs in the past, the songs that were sung, the tradition, the perseverance, the hardship and success of their ancestors, and they have just one heartfelt appeal: tell your children about the village, teach them how to love Lazaropole.   

Photo: MIA