Podgorica

Beer cans rolled with the motion of the train, as we cut through the Montenegrin mountains. Two hours earlier, border officials had considered me an acceptable visitor to their country, despite only wearing pants (underwear to my American readers). I’d like never again to have my credentials checked whilst in a horizontal position. I was desperately thirsty, but I knew the half drunk beer tucked into my bedding wasn’t the answer, or was it? The compartment was silent except for the air passing through the window, the melodic thump-thump of train on track and a periodic whimper from the Russian above me. He’d received a more brusque interrogation. Perhaps it was because he’d chosen to wear clothes?

In the corridor, the window of the train revealed a breathtaking landscape. For two hours, I rotated between my bed and the corridor, finding myself endlessly surprised and delighted by what my eyes fell upon. It was beautiful and then it was behind us. The few people I know who have been to Montenegro have done so to hike and to camp and I could see why. It was of course entirely predicable that I didn’t plan to do any of that on my own adventure.

My time on the train concluded in Podgorica, the capital of Montenegro. My fellow travellers would continue onwards to the coast, where most of the Serbians would enjoy a beach holiday in the sweltering heat. The station itself was like a tired row of terraced housing. There were many doors and fewer signs. I followed the one to tourist information and found myself in a car park. If it was a test, I had certainly failed. I had no plan, but decided I might try and conceive of one in the city’s Hilton. Just before, I had something close to breakfast, in the only cafe open before 07:00. The waitress was very interested in taking my phone “to charge it for me” and much less interested when I offered up my iPad. I don’t mind people trying to steal/hack/fiddle my phone, but I expect they be considerably more professional about their deceit.