On Kotor We’re in Kotor. Brilliant beautiful Kotor, nestled on the Bay of Kotor, a stunning spot with mountains disappearing straight into brilliant blue seas. Step back. We spent two days in Podogorica, the capital of Montenegro, taking a little side-quest out to Ostrog Monastery – a blazing white building built into the side of a cliff. It was constructed back in the 1600s, originally tucked into the cliffs as a protective measure against the Turks, but now it makes it a quiet calm sanctuary in the 38 degree heat. The options for transport to Ostrog are a bus tour at 40 Euros per person, a train and a two hour hike (hitch-hike if you’re lucky), or Neno, a middle-aged taxi driver who spends the entire trip driving one handed and mumbling into his phone. It seems like Neno has some family drama going on, unfortunately he speaks no English, but he stays on the road and cranks the air-conditioning so we’re happy. We arrive at the monastery to a crowd of people – there’s a long line out the front snaking down the hill, starting at the entrance gate where people are asked to dress modestly – I’ve worn full pants for the occasion, the first time in two weeks, but anyone with bare legs is given a giant monk’s smock to wear. Most people wrap them around their waist just to cover their legs, but some people put them on properly, and it feels like some sort of pre-school art convention, ill-fitting smocks for all. Continue reading “On Kotor”
On Montenegro Our bus driver is too angry for seven in the morning. Well, maybe he’s angry because it’s seven in the morning, but when I tell him I don’t have any Euros for the baggage and ask if he can take card, he yells at me and throws our bags on the ground. Grace scurries off to find an atm to get cash out and gets slugged with an 18% transaction fee. I take pity on the other guy who also just had his bag thrown on the ground and we cover his bag fee too. Then we climb aboard for what is meant to be a five hour bus trip (spoiler alert, it wasn’t). The first hour of the trip is glorious, driving along the Croatian coast-line from Dubrovnik to Montenegro. When we get close to the border we run into some hectic traffic and the bus driver puts the bus in park on the middle of the freeway and walks off down the road. We sit there for a bit wondering if we should follow him, or wait, or take the chance to wee while we can, but he comes back and the bus edges along again, taking almost an hour to cover the last kilometre of Croatia. At the border crossing the bus driver mumbles something in Croatian and then gets off. I see him drop his passport in the middle of the road, and someone else on the bus takes that as a cue. We all pile off the bus and stand in the thirty five degree heat. We get ‘stamped out’ of Croatia by a guy in a mirrored box on the side of the road. You can’t see him because the hole is down at waist height and small enough to only allow one hand with a passport in, so I push my passport in and strain my ears for a response. I look at myself in the mirror. I hear the clunk of a stamp and my passport gets pushed back out. I go to find a toilet. Continue reading “On Montenegro”