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Since my last post I've left the stormy rains of Bulgaria behind and I'm currently baking in the Macedonian heat on the shores of beautiful Lake Ohrid.
My last night in Sofia featured another spectacular thunder storm, with one thunderclap that was loud enough to wake me and half the dogs in the neighbourhood, and set off a series of car alarms. Next day dawned bright and sunny, however, and I dodged some brief showers to climb out of the city and into the foothills of Mount Vitosha, which rises from the suburbs of Sofia. Following the river valleys on the other side of the hills, I cycled up to Rila Monastery, which sits in a narrow, thickly forested river valley in the Rila mountains. The monastery is set in an impressive fortified courtyard lined with 3 stories of monks' cells, and is richly decorated with fine frescoes. Rila Monastery was an important centre for preserving Bulgarian culture during Ottoman rule, and most of the building was actually re-constructed in the 19th century after being destroyed in fires.
I'd decided to spend a day hiking in the mountains around the monastery. The Rila mountains are a popular walking destination, with miles of marked trails and a network of mountain shelters and chalets, making multi-day treks possible. Setting off from the campsite, the path climbed steeply through pine forest, emerging into alpine meadows covered in wild flowers. I decided to take a short cut up the side of the valley, but missed the path, and ended up scrambling up a steep slope of grass and chossy rock. This landed me in an almost impenetrable forest of tangled dwarf conifers. I finally escaped by walking out over the tops of the trees in a somewhat less elegant version of the bamboo forest scene in "Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon".
The route became increasingly rocky as I headed up to the high point at around 2500m. I had underestimated how tough the walking would be, with long steep ascents and descents between the ridges, punctuated by torrential showers as I climbed up into the clouds, which unfortunately obscured what would have been spectaular views. The route crossed several large drifts of winter snow, still lying in sheltered corries. The cloud broke briefly as I reached the last ridge, allowing me a glimpse of Rila Monastery at the end of a long, steep grassy spur which took me around 2 hours to descend. I finally stumbled out of the forest and into the restaurant next to the monastery after 9 hours of walking. I think my legs have only just recovered from that wee jaunt.
The ride out of Bulgaria was a piece of cake by comparison, following the Struma river gorge downhill towards Greece. As I passed Sandanski, the birthplace of Spartacus, I could see dark columns of rain rolling down the mountain spurs in the east and rolling across the river valley to the west bank, where I was riding in bright sunshine. Luckily I dodged the rain, and hung a right to turn into the Strumechnitsa valley towards the Macedonian border. One unusual Bulgarian quirk is shaking the head to indicate "yes", and nodding for "no". I couldn't get used to this at all, which led to a couple of amusing interludes while asking for directions.
Macedonia is quite different from the other countries I have travelled through so far. The weather has turned very hot, and although the hills are still thickly forested with scrubby trees, the countryside is much more arid and Mediterranean feeling. Wide plateaus planted with tall poplar trees and vinyards are bounded by tall mountain ranges giving some of the finest views of the journey so far. My journey westwards has included the Vardar river gorge, and a number of big passes, including a 30km monster to Prilep. From Lake Prespa, a 14km climb through shady forested hairpins finally emerged at a viewpoint above Lake Ohrid, with the mountains of Albania stretching out on the western shore. A precipitous descent took me down to the shore where I was able to cool off with a swim in the lake.
I've spent the last couple of days relaxing around Ohrid. The lake is the oldest and deepest (294m) in the Balkans, with beautiful clear water surrounded on all sides by mountains. I camped for a couple of nights on the shore of the lake, and I'm now staying in Ohrid itself. The old town is a maze of narrow cobbled streets running between neat whitewashed houses with terracotta roof tiles. It's the most beautiful spot I've visited so far, and I've spent a lot of time just sitting on the balcony of my room soaking up the view across the town and the lake below. Ohrid is a popular tourist destination, with the cafes, shops, buskers, street vendors and bars all in full swing after 11pm, even on a school night!
After much deliberation I've worked out my route for the next part of the journey. I had originally planned to head into Kosovo and on to Montenegro, but discovered that if you enter Kosovo from anywhere other than Serbia, the Serbians won't let you out again! Instead I'm heading for Montenegro via Albania. Not sure exactly what to expect in Albania, but by all accounts it should be interesting.

Language
You may be wondering how I have coped with communication on this trip. Essentially I have relied on learning 4 words in each language (Hello, goodbye, please and thankyou) and have also attempted to use the correct words in the correct countries. Lots of mime and occasionally drawing pictures has also proved useful. A few specific pieces of information for the linguistically challenged cycle-tourist:
Belgiumish
No idea what was going on here at all.
German
German is a rich and expressive language of which I know very little. Fortunately, if you ask a German whether they speak English, you typically get an answer along the lines of "I only speak a few words, so forgive me if my grasp of the colloquial idiom is less than perfect..."
Romanian
Romania has been described as a Latin island in a Slavic sea. This just confused matters when I was starting to get to grips with the Slavic languages.
Czech/Polish/Slovakian/Ukrainian/Bulgarian/Macedonian
There are many similarities between the Slavic languages. For example, the words for "Good day" are identical in Czech and Polish, but the Czechs say "Good day" and the Poles say "Day good". It's important to get this right, as you don't want to be mistaken for a tourist speaking shoddy Czech, when in fact you are actually a tourist speaking shoddy Polish. Being able to transliterate cyrillic script is a must if you want to try and cross reference anything in an English language guide or map.
Generally, I have found it's always good to make a token attempt to speak a few words of the local language. This gives the residents the crucial opportunity to have a giggle at your linguistic incompetence, which is always a good ice breaker.

Time to cool off with a swim in Lake Ohrid now.