It's only as I sit here after taking a front garden do I recollect all the details that have made today so interesting. It has been a day and a half. At times it has felt like a week.It starts like a normal day. Wake up to blissful silence, only because I sleep with ear plugs in. The rain is hammering down. With my bags packed the night before, all I can do is wait for the rain to subside. I depart with a wet tent and a clouded sense of judgement.
The further south I get, the better the weather. So much so as I leave Croatia the sun is drying me off. I arrogantly wait in line for passport control. I know what I am doing now. I am an expert. One guy opens the door so you can leave the country and 200 metres down the road a guy opens another door so you can enter a new country. Not this time!
I leave Croatia without a care in the world, actually on a bit of a high. The weather has changed for the better, I have a full canister of camping gas and I have my USB lead.
I get to the fancy border crossing allowing people into Montenegro. It has brick walls, a roof and looks like a petrol station ration than a crossing point. I hand my passport over. He then states in a gravelly, barely-audible voice "bike documents". I hand over all I have. He looks over my Green Card, insurance, driving licence. "Registration" is all I get back. He looks quizzical. He fumbles through my documents after I nod and point to the pile of documents. He now looks thoroughly pissed off and barks "Registration! Registration!" I suddenly feel a wave of heat hit me. The realisation that the paper he wants isn't there. I turn from a laid back man into an anxious child that has done something wrong. I search everywhere knowing that there is a sizeable queue forming where there was empty tarmac.
A tour guide, from a bus in the queue, comes down and translates. I explain I have no idea where it has gone. My heart is in my mouth as I wheel the bike to a holding area. A uniformed officer has joined the party. This man, less stern, but seemingly with more authority, takes all my documents into the brick building. My mind is analysing and over-analysing everything. I realise that I have not had to show it before, but that doesn't help me now. I start to think of the what-ifs.
Time seems to be on 'their' side. Each minute feels like 10. A German bloke on a R1200 GS tries to chat. He is in the sin bin for having a copy of his green card. He makes small talk, but I am in no mood to talk. No documents and no foreseeable way to get into Montenegro.
The police officer returns with my documents in hand. He calmly asks where I am heading. "Albania" I blurt without thought. He nods and passes my documents back to me. I am free to go. I make sure I have understood and that I now have all the docs they had. I roll away very inconspicuously thanking my lucky stars that the best scenario unveiled itself!
It took about 20 mins for me to start to think about anything else. I realise that my panniers and luggage bag are sagging. I pull up outside a petrol station. Although the sun is blazing down, it has been raining. I didn't even have to look to find that out. Within a moment of stopping, a wave of water covers me. Water is everywhere; in my eyes, in my mouth. I can taste the grit from the road. I look around to see a double-axled Transit van speeding away. I try to act cool, but I know that anyone who had seen that would be in stitches. I know I would have been. Being in a stubborn mood, I decide to continue. I just turn my back to the oncoming traffic. That shows them who the clever one is!
Lonely Plant states that Montenegro 'lends itself to motoring'. I wholeheartedly agree. At one point I turned a corner and just gulped at the scene in front of me. My destination was going to be Bar, after passing through Kotor.
Kotor is in an inlet, the scenery is up there and potentially surpasses the Rhine Gorge. Around every corner there is a view worth taking a picture. Approaching Kotor, it just looks like a normal city. Nice on the outside, not so pretty in the middle. I then look up! A few hundred metres above, in the hills, is a fortress. The eye traces a line of steps from the fortress down into the 'Old Town', that it once protected. My mind is made. I am going to make that climb and see all I can see from the summit. After all, who knows when I will be back?
The views are worth every bead of sweat running off my fingers, forehead and other areas. I haven't learned my lesson, bike boots and trousers are not good for hiking. This takes people-watching to a new level. The people are smaller than ants. From this position you can watch the whole city function and how each person plays their part. I check to see if Suzi is OK. She is, and I realise it is time to head back to her.
I leave Croatia without a care in the world, actually on a bit of a high. The weather has changed for the better, I have a full canister of camping gas and I have my USB lead.
I get to the fancy border crossing allowing people into Montenegro. It has brick walls, a roof and looks like a petrol station ration than a crossing point. I hand my passport over. He then states in a gravelly, barely-audible voice "bike documents". I hand over all I have. He looks over my Green Card, insurance, driving licence. "Registration" is all I get back. He looks quizzical. He fumbles through my documents after I nod and point to the pile of documents. He now looks thoroughly pissed off and barks "Registration! Registration!" I suddenly feel a wave of heat hit me. The realisation that the paper he wants isn't there. I turn from a laid back man into an anxious child that has done something wrong. I search everywhere knowing that there is a sizeable queue forming where there was empty tarmac.
A tour guide, from a bus in the queue, comes down and translates. I explain I have no idea where it has gone. My heart is in my mouth as I wheel the bike to a holding area. A uniformed officer has joined the party. This man, less stern, but seemingly with more authority, takes all my documents into the brick building. My mind is analysing and over-analysing everything. I realise that I have not had to show it before, but that doesn't help me now. I start to think of the what-ifs.
Time seems to be on 'their' side. Each minute feels like 10. A German bloke on a R1200 GS tries to chat. He is in the sin bin for having a copy of his green card. He makes small talk, but I am in no mood to talk. No documents and no foreseeable way to get into Montenegro.
The police officer returns with my documents in hand. He calmly asks where I am heading. "Albania" I blurt without thought. He nods and passes my documents back to me. I am free to go. I make sure I have understood and that I now have all the docs they had. I roll away very inconspicuously thanking my lucky stars that the best scenario unveiled itself!
It took about 20 mins for me to start to think about anything else. I realise that my panniers and luggage bag are sagging. I pull up outside a petrol station. Although the sun is blazing down, it has been raining. I didn't even have to look to find that out. Within a moment of stopping, a wave of water covers me. Water is everywhere; in my eyes, in my mouth. I can taste the grit from the road. I look around to see a double-axled Transit van speeding away. I try to act cool, but I know that anyone who had seen that would be in stitches. I know I would have been. Being in a stubborn mood, I decide to continue. I just turn my back to the oncoming traffic. That shows them who the clever one is!
Lonely Plant states that Montenegro 'lends itself to motoring'. I wholeheartedly agree. At one point I turned a corner and just gulped at the scene in front of me. My destination was going to be Bar, after passing through Kotor.
Kotor is in an inlet, the scenery is up there and potentially surpasses the Rhine Gorge. Around every corner there is a view worth taking a picture. Approaching Kotor, it just looks like a normal city. Nice on the outside, not so pretty in the middle. I then look up! A few hundred metres above, in the hills, is a fortress. The eye traces a line of steps from the fortress down into the 'Old Town', that it once protected. My mind is made. I am going to make that climb and see all I can see from the summit. After all, who knows when I will be back?
The views are worth every bead of sweat running off my fingers, forehead and other areas. I haven't learned my lesson, bike boots and trousers are not good for hiking. This takes people-watching to a new level. The people are smaller than ants. From this position you can watch the whole city function and how each person plays their part. I check to see if Suzi is OK. She is, and I realise it is time to head back to her.
1 comment:
Wow..Bet that must have made your heart beat a little faster! Sounds amazing experiences - apart from the angry guys in uniform...
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