The cook at the Monastery was up early - and served the three guests (including me) a good breakfast of cheese omlette and coffee.
I set off in the drizzle - which gradually worsened. Frogs or toads in the occasional roadside stream in fine voice.
The narrow road weaved through rocky hills - every now & then near the road would be giant earthworks or sturdy concrete columns to support a future bridge or tunnelling in progress. An EU-funded road upgrade.
After about 16km - I turned into a narrower and steeper path that led to the 14thC church - the only part of the Psacha Monastery still remaining. I seemed to have the place to myself - and gazed long & quietly at the frescoes, also painted in the 14thC but touched up in the 19thC - all of figures rather than scenes, some quite martially-dressed. The iconostasis doors carefully carved and gilded. The floor of stone slabs trodden by monks and congregants for centuries. With no-one about, I slipped round the side of the iconostasis to view the altar - with a pair of painted figures in cross-decorated robes standing behind at each side. As I left the church - an ancient caretaker appeared out of one of the nearby buildings. I tried to communicate my appreciation for the church in signs & smiles - but he gave no sign of understanding, proceeding to wipe the icons minutely (perhaps in case this curious lycra-clad sodden incomprensible foreign visitor had left some heathen dust behind).
Onwards. I had planned to visit the Stone Dolls - a formation of rock pillars - but it would have been 12km off-road in the cold and now pouring rain - so I gave the turning a miss.
So another short ride today (am I losing fitness I ask myself). The village, once a town, of Kratovo sits on the valley sides leading up from a narrow river. Occupied from Neolithic times - and wealthy during the Ottoman era at least from mining gold, silver & lead in the nearby mountains - Kratovo boasts several fine stone towers some dating from 14thC and stone bridges. I have booked into the Etno House Sanchevo, its exterior painted a confident yellow. Valentina takes some time to answer the door bell as she walks with a frame. There are carefully-collected memorabilia - old tunics, musical instruments, a bakelite telephone, dusty prints adorning every wall, nook & cranny. Valentina motions me up the wooden stairs to a landing off which is my little bedroom. It all looks archaic - but the bathroom shower works well and hot water brings back some circulation to my numb extremities. I explored the narrow cobbled streets in the drizzle somewhat unenthusiastically. There are several cafés, some shut down. The first one I try does not serve coffee. I find a little mobile phone shop (selling perhaps half a dozen models) and negotiate a Macedonian SIM card from Simona - who then helpfully walks me to a self-styled 'pub' that does serve coffee. Walking further, I pass what looks like another shop. The man in the door says - you must be Gavin. It is Jjokim, the son of Valentina - an archeologist perhaps in his 30s or early 40s who works for Kratovo Museum, has his own private museum (the room I took to be a shop), and guides tourists round the village. He offers to show me round. The three cats in the room at once begin miaowing pitifully round his ankles. They know that, to get them out of his room, he feeds them pieces of sausage in the street outside. Jjokim speaks functional English and knows everything there is to know about Kratovo. He takes me up the tallest tower - which he tells me were not built for prestige but for defence of the mined gold & silver stored within them. Of the cohort of c.120 students who graduated from Kratovo Secondary School with him - fewer than 20 have stayed in Kratovo. A substantial two-storey building in the centre of town was a crystal glass factory when Macedonia was part of Yugoslavia - but closed shortly after Yugoslavia broke up. Jjokim invites me for coffee in a café with music too loud to allow normal conversation - but shouting at each other, I gather that Jjokim and many of his countrymen would like North Macedonia to join the EU - but Bulgaria is vetoing this.
And, having now rather got the taste for it - I slipped back two glasses of Rakija (Macedonian Grappa) with my pizza supper.