This place conjures feelings of romance. Cappuccino and a view of the lake, the bright red and yellow of the Macedonian flag fluttering in the faint breeze. Obscure alternative music with indecipherable lyrics drones on in the background, as the gray sky parts just enough for a bit of sunlight to seep through and kiss the cobblestone roads. Between sips, I watch as well-dressed attractive couples, hunched over old men, and cyclists pass by. From statues to altars, odes to Christian faith are everywhere, nearly as commonplace as is the graffiti on nearly every surface. There is a beautiful serenity to this place. It produces a deep longing within me. I want to be old and retired here, going for long walks along the shoreline with my wife, cane in one hand, her hand in my other. I want to sip my coffee as I watch a lone boat float in the middle of the lake, the vessel dwarfed by the snow-capped mountain in the backdrop. I want the aching of my joints to be numbed by the lapping of the waves against the concrete docks. This place doesn't quite feel like home yet, but without question, it makes me yearn for a time when it would.