Home can wait

The lady at the reception desk was extremely polite but adamant, I couldn't check in for another 3 hours. It didn't matter that the hostel was half empty, those were the rules. It was 4am, I was tired from the trip and didn't have it in me for any kind of prolonged discussion. Most of all I was so hungry. We both just shrugged, I left my stuff behind her desk (it wasn't a problem) and stepped outside into the city of Ohrid.
It was like crashing in on a party that was already in full swing. You could hear music from across the street and people, young and old, were sliding in and out of clubs and bars. I just wanted food so I followed the smell of hot pastry and fresh burgers (it wasn't hard). It didn't take long to come across a food stand.
The saying goes on the Balkans: the more south you go, the local burek (börek) gets better. I confirmed this again and again. It was only after I finished my second serving that I realized that I stumbled upon a genuine post-night out gathering spot. The small square was full of people; young students nursing their impending hangovers, locals persuading foreigners to try their brandy, guys trying (and failing) to get girls phone numbers. It seemed like everyone there somehow shared the same rhythm.
A gipsy band walked over, tired from playing all night in restaurants and taverns. Someone gave them some money and they, without missing a beat, just started playing. It seemed like this was a normal occurrence. The square erupted. Everyone started dancing and singing and I simply could not take my dumb smile off my face. The Sun had already lit up a big chunk of the sky and, although it was mid July, it was a bit chilly. But nobody seemed to care.
After a while I went back to the hostel and gave the receptionist some of that tasty burek. She thanked me, but I still had a few hours untill I could go to my room. It was ok, I wasn't that tired anyway.