Our first days in North Macedonia were spent walking through its central valley. The ground was relatively lush and mountain ranges watched over us from the distance.

Progress was much slower travelling with the grandfather. His wheelchair was constantly getting stuck on roots and stones.

The hills were the worst though. Although he wasn’t much more than bones and clothing, Grandpa’s weight seemed to double every time a slope appeared.

One hill in particular took us nearly two hours to get over, and that was with me and the old man’s two sons taking turns to push.

At one point I was nearing the top. My breathing was ragged and I could feel my legs starting to ache.

‘I think last night’s apple potatoes have gone to your hips Grandpa,’ I wheezed.

‘Well, they must’ve gone to yours too boy. Look how slow you’re moving.’

I gave an out of breath chuckle and then heard a chugging from behind me. I turned back and watched as a train steamed by. The breeze it stirred up was wonderfully cooling and it gave me a good excuse to pause and catch my breath.

‘Damn I wish we were on that train,’ I said.

‘Damn I wish I had legs,’ the grandad croaked, ‘But that ain’t happening any time soon.’

I stared at the train… at the wagons of logs moving past us… and then it was gone.

When we crested the hill, I spotted a small train station in the valley below us. The train we’d seen had stopped there, and that gave me an idea.