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”