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.

The plan was to walk. I had slept in my dank bunk, but not well. Endlessly zooming in and out of google maps had allowed me to determine something that looked like a workable route. The ‘Old Town’ seemed like a good place to aim for. It was not what I expected. It was clearly a place people lived and not a place a city had preserved for pavement pounders carrying their passport and a camera, looking to learn. By this point it was 35 degrees and I was quite done with being almost run over every 45 seconds by people off to undertake their weekend toilet roll run. Surrounded by houses, cars and infrastructure that had seen better days, I was struck by the image of a brand new mosque, built by the Turkish Government. But it was too hot to draw conclusions.

Podgorica has excellent bridges and strong river paddling game. Earlier in the day I’d nonchalantly convinced the Hilton to put my bag in the luggage room and so my trunks were out of sight. Normally I’d be open to some skinny dipping, but there were a surprising number of drones buzzing around (the hobbyist type, not an MQ-9 Reaper). Despite the overall atmosphere of the city being ‘very quiet’, there was joy and amusement on display at the small number of cafes on the river.

The end of my walk took me past the brand new US Embassy under construction and into a quieter part of town, where I found this solitary candle. It had been a hectic time and my body was starting to express the regrets associated with sleeping in a hot train compartment. My mind couldn’t help but marvel at the duty and solemnity of this image. I was sorry not to come across the person who fulfils this act each day. I would have liked to thank them. Pressed for time, I made my way with haste to the ‘bus station’. Once inside, I found a queue for tickets and a dog that I think had died. I successfully managed to negotiate my way on to the bus, despite feeling resentful at the need to pay a surcharge for a seat. I fell asleep almost immediately, free from hysterical Russian laughter.