(Absurd drama, act 2, scene one. At the Macedonian-Serbian border, five hundred meters from the border, next to a forest.)

Everything went so fine. After a short stopover in Komanovo the driver dropped me just outside of Tabanovce at a deserted roundabout next to main motorway. The border was not further than five hundred meters. A driver left me there in a hurry and I still tried to figure out where to go exactly when and other two cars came to unload seven well dressed young Syrians. Four men and ther women. We started to walk across the forest together. A few minutes later we reached a clearing, that was the monet the Macedonian police, two officers in a Land Rover overtook us on the dirt road. They stopped and unmistakably showed us to the right direction. I tried to be as unremarkable as possible. Did not work.

- Paper! - said the officer in front of me.

SInce I had no paper at all, only my plastic Hungarian ID, I gave it to him.

- But you are legal

- Yes - I did not share with him the details on my arrival to Macedonia.

- Then you have to to the official border crossing - it was clear that there is no room for further argument. Though I had a weak try, but I have already started to calculate the extra miles I have to cover on foot. According to the GPS preshevo was 8miles away. That's the place I had to reach. The main entry point for the arriving refugees to Serbia. Truly a great experience, instead of walking a few clicks next a river then meeting the Serbian police on the other and having a bus ride, provided to the "illegals", I walked along the main highway shit scared that a truck driver falls asleep. After a few kilometers on the other side another group was sitting in the ditch. When they saw me, they started to move across the lanes of the motorway, climbed the railings. I thought if none of them dies here, then it's a miracle similar to the second coming. They did not speak English. The only word they repeated franticly was: "asyl, asyl". I told them I go to Preshevo. I doubt that they understood, never mind they followed me. This is how I have arrived to the twon which became one of the centers of the crisis, followed by nine Afghans.

Presevo, this Southern Serbian town, at the beginning of the 21st century, right after the de facto independence of Kosovo, was the capital of Albanian separatism in Serbia. But those years have passed long time ago. Arms were put down, and at this time of the year the most important thing is the visit of the relatives living in Switzerland or Germany. But this year there is an added excitement.  The refugee crisis. The Serbian authorities set a so called "One stop center" for the refugees arriving illegally to Serbia. It would be pointless to argue with this name, anyhow here everybody call "kamp". This is at the eastern edge of the town, right next to main road in front of the railway station. This the place which a) gives shelter for a day to the refugees b) the authorities hand out the so called 72 hours asylum document here. Hence the crowd at the gate is huge. The people are stuffed into a cordoned area. The paper works, by handwriting goes slow here too. The waiting seems pretty hopeless. The motivation here is that those who wants to to the north by the refugee train, up to Subotica, has to have the officially issued document. here the police is more firm on this. They only let those to board the trin who have this "asyl" paper.

The train leaves around 6pm every day. But many just catch a taxi or take a bus. It is just a money issue, say a police officer at the platform while we waited for the train to arrive.  

On the way back, while I passed the main gate of the "kamp" Mahmoud, the young husband from Homs was waving at me.

- Sir, sir hello

Mahmoud and his wife were in the same group with me when we came illegal walking across the border from Greece to Macedonia.

- Can you help? We are here for hours?

I did not want say now, but Mahmoud saw the resignation on my face. He understood it.

Meanwhile on the other side of the street, a few meters form the gate, a local roma started to play on a dented accordion. AN other one gave the rhythm on a drum. The Balkan music was everywhere. five Syrian bloke in a circle started to dance. It was just their music. That was the moment when the Ottoman heritage worlds away came together. But only for a few minutes. A police officer came and started to shout at the roma. Then the roma said something. It went for this for a while, but the party was over.

But, interestingly, the people of Preshevo have no problem with the "kamp" and its tenants. While in Skopje I have heard a couple for questions which were hinted the big bearded mujahedins as possible outcome of this crisis, here in I only met stoic calmness. "How they came thatˋs how they will go". This was the general attitude. But the "kamp", in the town is unavoidable, it became part of Preshevo.

Who understands this?