Ohrid, North Macedonia: Where Heritage Is Handcrafted

I sat on the edge of a long wooden pier in Ohrid, North Macedonia. My sandals sat beside me, my feet dangling just above the water. I thought I might be able to reach the lake, but my legs fell a little short (literally). 

By the time we ended up here, watching the light fade over the lake, we had already had a full day exploring, despite only arriving in the late afternoon. We had spent most of the day climbing up and down the cobblestone stairs of the town, moving between churches and small, quiet streets.

Inside the Church of St. Clement: Frescoes and a Caretaker’s Tour

My boyfriend and I arrived in Ohrid after a four-hour drive from Shkodër, Albania, and after dropping our bags at our Airbnb, we made our way almost immediately to the Church of St. Clement. It is one of the eighteen churches still open to visitors in Ohrid, a number that feels large for a town this size, until we learned that according to legend, the city had 365 churches at one point!

After paying a small entrance fee at the gate (cash only!), we stepped onto a gravel courtyard overlooking the lake. An elderly couple walked slowly around the side of the church, and from hidden speakers came a low, steady chant that gave the sunny courtyard a deeper meaning. We were, after all, standing on sacred ground. The tones which surrounded me sounded oddly familiar, reminiscent of the monastic chants I had heard just the previous year in Chiang Mai.

As we walked into the church, the air was cooler and it was immediately quieter than outside. At a small desk near the entrance, the church caretaker sat surrounded by postcards, prayer ropes, and small religious items for sale. We struck up a conversation with him and were surprised when he closed his booth and offered to show us around. 

Although he didn’t speak fluent English, we used Google translate to help us ask questions. With the help of technology, he guided us through the interior, discussing the recent renovations. Much of what we saw had just been finished in 2023, as the original 9th-century frescoes had been destroyed under Ottoman rule and took decades of archaeological work to reconstruct.

Before we left, he gifted us each with a small wooden cross necklace on black string. And although I’m no longer religious, I bought a prayer rope bracelet to remember the visit and the kindness of the generous caretaker.

Beyond the Postcard View of St. John at Kaneo

Just a short walk from the Church of St. Clement sits St. John at Kaneo, the small church perched dramatically above Lake Ohrid that appears in nearly every photograph of North Macedonia. We followed the trend, stopping for a few photos before making our way back down toward the water. 

But as beautiful as these two churches are, buildings are rarely the moments that stay with me. Along the lakeside path, a pair of fishermen were pulling in their nets for the evening, their boats resting at the water’s edge. Lake Ohrid, the oldest lake in Europe, stretched out in front of us, while the wind carried the faint sound of water lapping against the rocks.

As we walked back toward town, something else began to stand out. Here we were on a beautiful May evening in Europe, yet the crowds were nowhere to be found. There were no lines, no jostling for photographs, no tour groups moving from one landmark to the next. Just me, my guy, and a handful of people scattered along the shoreline, watching the sun go down over the water.

Evening Alleys and Sweet Shops: The Old Bazaar After Dark

In the evening, we made our way to Old Bazaar Street, the first place we’d seen any real activity since arriving in Ohrid.

Even then, the energy felt different from what I’ve come to expect in many European tourist centers. The people filling the street that evening appeared to be locals rather than visitors: families out for an evening stroll, friends stopping to chat outside storefronts, music playing from unseen speakers. Groups of teenagers also hung around, clustered together, enjoying the late-May night. I imagined this was where kids would meet up after school was out for the year and the summer evenings stretched long into the night.

The street was lined with shops, but not the parade of souvenir stores selling identical foreign-made items that seem to dominate so many European city centers. Instead, we found bakeries, small local businesses, and several Turkish sweet shops. One welcomed us in with complimentary fruit tea, though we quickly discovered that Turkish delight in Ohrid can be considerably more expensive than even in Türkiye!

The most striking sight, however, stood at the end of the street. The Mosque of Ali Pasha glowed in shades of gold against the dark night sky—its illuminated stonework shining like a beacon at the end of the street. Surrounded by cafés, conversations, and evening walkers, it felt less like a place of worship and more like a natural part of the town’s daily rhythm.

Inside Ohrid’s Handmade Paper Workshop

Every sheet of paper they produce, he explained, is made without chemicals—just water, cotton, and tree fibers. Different trees lend different natural shades: oak, walnut, cherry, and chestnut each producing their own subtle color. He dipped a wooden frame fitted with fine mesh into a shallow vat of the cloudy mixture, rocking it gently back and forth until the fibers settled into an even layer and the water drained away, leaving behind a fresh, fragile sheet.

Beside the workstation stood a rare working replica of a Gutenberg printing press. Holding up a tiny metal letter, the artisan explained how books were originally assembled one character at a time; “typing” a single page could take well over an hour! He rolled black ink across one of the blocks, laid a freshly made sheet over top, and swiveled the arm. With one firm pull of the lever, the image transferred. When he lifted the sheet, a crisp illustration of a traditional Ohrid building appeared before us. 

Watching this material I’ve used almost every day of my life get created from scratch was fascinating. It made me realize how much we take processes for granted, especially those which began by hand but are now produced with machines. There is a real beauty in seeing the origins of such an essential invention.  

In a city where centuries-old churches often receive the most attention, this small workshop quietly preserved a different kind of history: one that wasn’t locked behind glass, but could still be watched, touched, and practiced by hand.

Before leaving, we looked through the adjoining shop, where shelves were filled with handmade paper, leather-bound journals, among other beautiful items for sale.

Ohrid Pearls: A Tradition You Can Wear

Stepping out of the workshop and back onto the cobblestones street, we walked just a few doors down and found ourselves inside Ohrid Pearl Filevi.

Ohrid pearls are easily the city’s most recognizable tradition, but they are not what you might expect. At first glance, they look like ordinary pearls harvested from the sea. But unlike traditional organic pearls, these are actually made by hand. Each “pearl” begins as a piece of finely ground oyster shell, meticulously shaped into a smooth, solid ball. It’s then painted with multiple layers of a special emulsion made from the scales of the Plashica fish (a species found only in the depths of Lake Ohrid).

Beyond that, the details get murky. The exact recipe for the emulsion is a closely guarded secret, passed down through generations within a small handful of competing workshops, most famously the Filevi and Talevi families. 

Whether or not the mystery contributes to their appeal, I ended up spending far longer in the shop than expected. Though, to be fair, that may have been due to my own indecisiveness rather than the mystique of the process. Eventually, I left with two pairs of Filevi pearl earrings. They were small purchases, but they felt connected to the place in a way that mass-produced souvenirs rarely do.

A Winery Built on Family History

A short drive outside Ohrid brought us to S&S Winery (Stoyan and Sons), a small family-run operation tucked away from the lake and the city’s historic center.

When we arrived for our tasting, one of the owners welcomed us and led us from the covered patio into the production space itself. It wasn’t a tour given by a seasonal staff member delivering a memorized script; instead, it was one of the sons (of “Stoyan and Sons”) showing the place he actually works in. 

The production space wasn’t glamorous. It felt less like a polished winery and more like stepping behind the scenes of someone’s winemaking side hustle. Stainless steel fermentation tanks lined the space, thick hoses ran across the floor, and equipment was stacked wherever there was room. On top of several tanks sat glass bottles filled with liquids being infused from green walnuts and wild herbs.

These weren’t part of the wine itself, but homemade rakia (the traditional Balkan brandy) being prepared alongside everything else. He explained that their approach was “one hundred percent pure.” The philosophy was straightforward: keep it natural, keep it small-scale, and let the grapes do the work without interference.

As we moved through the space, he told us how the winery began. Their father, Stoyan, had spent years making wine purely for the joy of sharing it with family and friends. After he passed away, the brothers decided to honor their dad’s memory by turning his passion project into an official business, opening the winery to the public in 2022. 

After our mini-tour, we were seated at a table overlooking the vineyards and served two glasses of white wine and a tray of fresh fruit. We watched the sun go down over the rural landscape before moving inside to split a full bottle (red, this time) alongside a charcuterie board of local Macedonian cheeses and cured meats.

The food felt just as farm-to-table as the wine. From what I can remember (again, the wine was flowing and the rakia shots were shooting), the brothers treated their food offerings with the same hyper-local pride and purity as their wine. 

Eating those rich flavors while sipping wine born of a father’s hobby felt like an extension of the family’s own kitchen table. For an experience that felt so incredibly high-quality and intimate, there were only a few other guests scattered around the room. Sitting there by a large window overlooking the vines, it felt like we had snuck into someone’s living room (with a great view!). It was the perfect ending to a journey defined by things done slowly, honestly, and entirely by hand.

The Handmade Heart of Ohrid

By the end of our few days in Ohrid, what stayed with me wasn’t the weight of the beautiful historical landmarks (there’s even an ancient Roman amphitheater I didn’t even mention!), but the sense of something quietly enduring.

Just as the papermaker continued a centuries-old craft in a room that smelled of wet wood and ink, and the pearl makers guarded a formula passed down through generations, the brothers at Stoyan and Sons were carrying forward a hobby their father had begun years earlier. None of it felt staged for visitors. It would exist whether I was there to witness it or not.