A Perfectly Sensible Plan -- Durmitor National Park, Montenegro

WARNING!

What follows is a catch-up post.

I'm behind.

I detest being behind.

I detest being behind nearly as much as I detest low-fat yogurt or "healthy" cookies (there's no such thing as a healthy cookie. Accept that it's a delicious splurge and eat your damn cookie). 

I'm going to write a massive, convoluted, whirlwind post that will (hopefully) sum up the last five days.

It won't be succinct. Nothing I ever write is succinct. Ask any of my university professors and they'll roll their eyes, shake their heads and remember the days they had to pretend to read my 20 page papers when they'd only asked for 500 words.

If you're still interested in reading this potentially catastrophic blogging miasma, continue at your own risk.

Although I recommend brewing yourself a cup of soothing chamomile tea first. 

Today is Wednesday. I'm starting this post the loudest, most absurd apartment in existence. There are angry gremlins that live in the ladder that descends from the windowless loft. These evil creatures growl and belch and grumble whenever we delicately tip-toe up or charily toe-tip down. The door to the toilet won't close, so we've given up trying. Rather than fight with the nonsensical, impractical piece of Balkan workmanship, we've chosen to listen to each other pee.

Bonding.

The internet here is complete crap (if this post has any pictures, it's because I've spent absolutely ages uploading them and have magically managed to steal internet from everyone else in the building). 

Our host (we can't remember his real name, so we refer to the brusque Balkan as "No One Special") promised that the internet would work well.

"I have everything for you. I make for you special deal. Free breakfast one day. A drink every day. For all of my guests," No One Special puffed out his already large chest.

"For all of your guests?"

"Yes."

"So we're not special?" Giuseppe asked with a laugh.

Awkward silence. 
 
But then No One Special forgot that his network doesn't reach the third floor. But then remembered he has another network. But then forgot that network's password. But then remembered that network's password.

And the internet is still mostly crap.

DAY ONE -- Arrival of Tessa

Friday

Tessa arrived at Camp Full Monte --

-- just as we were finishing an Asian themed dinner (and just as I was starting to worry that she wouldn't make it at all). My friend had emailed Steve and Denise the day before to ask how to get to their campsite, but I wasn't sure she'd received the directions in time.

But she showed up with her hippo (backpack), having walked the three km hill and was the epitome of a sweaty, chill, "I just accidentally somehow spent ten hours on a bus, but it's okay," goddess.

DAY TWO -- Collapse of Giuseppe

Saturday

I woke up at four thirty, drank a coffee and mulled over the prospect of leaving Full Monte. I distracted myself from my panic by making plans. Like I usually do to distract myself from panic.

Plans or peanuts. 

If we leave here at six fifteen, we should be able to get to the bus by six twenty-five. If we get into Herceg Novi by seven o'clock, we can go to a grocery store and buy all the supplies we need for three days of hiking. We'll start up the mountain by eight and hopefully reach destination #1 by noon. Then we can get more water and decide where to go after. If we have energy and motivation, we can hike up to destination #10 and spend the night at #12 (where there's plenty of water). The next day we can -- 

Giuseppe and Tessa do not like mornings. Disgruntled and disheveled, they ate their breakfasts and hugged Steve and Denise goodbye.

Six twenty. I looked at my phone and bit my lip. We'll make the bus in time. Don't panic. If we don't make the bus, we have our feet. I'm counting on those guys to get me over mountains, so they should be able to get me down a hill. 

We made the bus. We made it to Herceg Novi. We found our supermarket.

Everything is going perfectly, peachily according to plan. 

And then Giuseppe collapsed.

"I'm taking Giuseppe to find a cafe," I told Tessa as she plopped bags of peanuts into her basket.

"Do you want me to come too?" the peanuts hovered above the wire.

"No, I'll drop him off and them come tell you where we are."

"Can I use your toilet?" a pale-faced Giuseppe asked the waitress at a nearby cafe.

"Downstairs."

I waited outside with our backpacks, head in my hands.

What do we do? 

This was a new situation for me. I'm a solo traveler. I take care of myself. When I get sick, I drink my peppermint tea, pop a pain pill and carry on (American style). When other people get sick?

How can I help? Where can we go? What can I offer this person? I have nothing. I know nothing. I --

Giuseppe emerged from the cafe five minutes later, looking like he'd run a marathon while being chased by a murder of dementors.

I met Tessa as she was scanning her crackers, sausage, candy cherries and peanuts.

You know. Mountain food.

"We'll be waiting on the steps by the cafe around the corner."

Helpless. Afraid. PEANUTS. 

A sympathetic grandma approached us as we sat forlornly on the steps, Giuseppe with his head between his knees, me with my hand on Giuseppe's back and Tessa holding on to her mountain food, concern creeping its way into her carefree face.

"MontenegrinMontenegrinMontenegrin," grandma chattered at us.

"Do you speak English?"

"No. German? Italian?"

"Giuseppe?"

Giuseppe and the woman spoke for five minutes. Then she threw her hands up and walked away.

"What did she say?"

"She says she has an apartment to rent."

"Do we want an apartment?"

"I don't know."

"Let's find a park and take a nap and make our next plan."

We spread out Judy and took a nap. Tessa read for awhile (the girl is a reading machine) and then went off to explore Herceg Novi.

Giuseppe didn't seem to be getting better. Plans would have to change.

As plans always do. 

"Since I have already taken one of your days, maybe I rent an apartment for us here tonight? Then we can decide what we do tomorrow," my Italian friend rubbed his head. "I need to rest more."

We found an apartment, but in true Balkan fashion, no one answered when we knocked on the door or called, "hello??" up the stairs. Giuseppe and I sat on the steps and Tessa went off in search of an owner. Someone.

The unmanned apartment turned out to be the apartment of the Italian speaking grandma. Again, she threw up her hands (in true Italian fashion), but offered us a room for thirty-seven euros.

Tessa and I went on a walk and Giuseppe slept.

I splurged and bought a pair of floral flipflops. I've recently discovered that my barefoot shoes smell like death just vomited all over them (or worse), so I decided that it was in everyone's interest that I invest in a pair of stench-free shoes.

We bought cheap wine with a bear on the label. Giuseppe and Tessa bought cevapici and chips (French fries, to my American readers).

Oh yes. And we made ourselves feel better with a prodigious amount ice cream.

Confession: I can't open wine bottles. This is sad proof of a) drinking box wine and b) other people always opening my wine.

Then it started to rain.

And rain.

And rain.

Surely it'll stop soon. 

It didn't.

I'm glad we're not up on a mountain somewhere. I don't think Judy could handle a storm like this. 

Storm. Destroyer of picnics.

We fell asleep completely, utterly unsure as to what the next day had in store.

This. This is hard for me. 

Tessa looked maddeningly relaxed as she speedily flipped through the Bill Bryson book I'd exchanged at Camp Full Monte.

And this. This girl was born with adrenal glands that pump "meh. It'll all be okay," instead of all that fight or flight crap. 
 
DAY THREE -- Collapse of the Firmament #2

Sunday

We were ejected from the apartment by the Italian speaking grandma (who wasn't as sympathetic as she first appeared) at ten thirty on the dot. 

So we walked up stairs.


It's at times like this when I realize what an empath I am (or perhaps how vulnerable/open/sensitive I am). Stairs are easy for me. Climbing isn't a problem at all. Mountains are the absolute, unequivocal best.

But seeing Giuseppe struggle up the stairs made each step hurt. So, so much.

How is it that I feel the pain of others this deeply? I think I feel it more than they do, sometimes. I absorb and magnify all the emotions in which I come in contact. Which probably isn't healthy.

We walked up stairs.

ouch. Ouch. OUCH. 

And made it to the bus stop.

Finally. 
 
We ordered coffee and tried to figure out what to do next. Giuseppe had suggested renting an apartment in Kolasin for a few nights, so I opened my laptop to continue an apartment hunt.

For that night.

SPONTANEITY IS HARD. 

The internet wasn't working. The proprietor of the bus stop cafe hadn't paid his bill.

"It's not working," I told the waitress who'd served me a cappuccino that tasted like dirty water with plastic foam.

"Can we make a call from your phone?" Giuseppe asked wearily. The previous night, I'd found two apartments in Kolasin and had written down the numbers in my Wonders of the World notebook.

"Sure, not a problem. You can use my phone. What do I say?" the woman looked at the numbers.

"We want an apartment. A room. Few nights."

"In Kolasin?" our waitress looked flabbergasted."Why Kolasin? There is nothing in Kolasin. You don't want to go to Kolasin."

"Where would you go?" Tessa asked while politely sipping her plastic coffee.

"To Zabljak," was the prompt response. "I am Serbian, but I know Montenegro like the back of my hand. There is nothing in Kolasin," she repeated. "Go to Zabljak. You have everything there. Nature. Mountains. Beautiful. Zabljak is perfect."

"Okay, we'll think about it. Thanks!"

The waitress wandered away, had a brief conversation with a beer-bellied, round-nosed Montenegrin sitting on a stool, and then meandered back.

"He can give you a ride to Zabljak for fourteen euros each. The bus from here is fifteen euros, but he is going to Niksic anyway, so he will take you for fourteen."

"Umm... okay."

Guess we're going to Zabljak. 

We went to Zabljak. The taxi driver overcharged us by three euros (I don't think I've ever received the proper change in my two plus months of traveling the Balkans. Sneaky buggers always round up and expect you not to notice) and dropped us off in front of the tourist information office.

Where we were directed to No One Special and took up residency in this absurd apartment.

People give "welcome to my apartment" drinks in the Balkans. This is one gesture that I really appreciate. As soon as you settle into your room, they bring you wine, soda or tea. No One Special served us tea and his father's apple liqueur in his restaurant (which is hardly ever open) next door.

It rained the rest of the day. It bucketed. It cats an dogs, stair-rodded down. I expected to see tigers and elephants floating by like they do in Jumanji, but we just encountered a lot of sad, waterlogged puppies. The few moments we worked up the courage to venture outside, that is.

It's so weird to drive all the way to a National Park and then spend the majority of our time cooped up inside. Oh well. Can't control the weather. Or anything else, really. 

We went to the supermarket to buy groceries for the week. Giuseppe grabbed the cart and tossed in an outrageous, intimidating amount of food.

Is he planning on cooking for eight people? 

I thought back to my time in Italy and how I was stuffed to bursting by the Italian mamas and grandmas.

I'm so afraid. 

DAY FOUR -- Rain. More rain. Thunder. Lightning. Deluge. Et cetera.

Monday  (of course)

Yes. Sums it up. Nothing happened on this day.

A couple of nice pictures, but that's about it.

 

Oh yes, and we were traumatized by the gremlins living in the ladder and  No One Special wasn't there to give us our promised free drinks or help us with the internet or supply new toilet paper or --

Service in the Balkans. My goodness. Madonna. 

Giuseppe made dinner. It was large. Italian. Scrumptious.

Italians don't understand the concept of, "I'm not hungry." How do I communicate "NO MORE SPACE" to an Italian? 

This will be my next life lesson.

DAY FIVE -- What's that strange color in the sky? Is that... blue? when have I seen that before? It looks vaguely familiar, but I just can't... place it... umm?

Tuesday

The clouds parted.

If only for a moment.

We sneaked/brazenly walked into Durmitor National Park without paying the three euro per person fee.

My park ranger friends would hate me so much right now...
 
"You're charging us to see nature?" Tessa was bewildered. They don't charge for nature in New Zealand. Perhaps because the whole country is like a national park.

"Three euros person," the chubby Balkan with the bulbous nose repeated.

"What if we just want to walk up the road?"

"No."

"Just go to the town?"

"Three euros person."

We turned around to walk back to Zabljek. Then up the road towards a town in Durmitor Park.  Where people live.

The Balkan bang, banged the window.

"NO!" he shouted.

We paused.

"NO!" he shouted.

We looked at each other.

"NO!" bang, bang, bang.

What is it with these people and "no"? 

My intestines were in knots and nearly squeezed the life out of my conscience.

I don't do this. I don't just don't defy authority and saunter into places I'm not supposed to be and -- 

But I did. We did.

I think we had all reached our limit. Tessa and I have been consistently ripped off (little by little) since entering the Balkans and have had it up to our vagabond eyebrows with hidden fees (the Balkans are worse than RyanAir for that).

Tessa hopped over a fence and rolled down a hill in someone's field of flowers --

-- but then hopped back over when a man with a scythe angrily yelled, "NO!" So much "no!"

Giuseppe had to sit down and eat crackers in the shade every so often.

Watching tadpoles.

See 'em?

Giuseppe nearly collapsed again on the two hour walk back to the apartment. 

But he still managed to make us a fantastic (too large) Italian meal that evening and no amount of "basta!" could save me from having seconds spooned into my bowl.

"You make me sad," Giuseppe said as my hands futilely gestured the loaded spoon away.

Damn Italians.

DAY SIX -- Half-way clear

Wednesday

Giuseppe stayed in the gremlin infested apartment and rested.

Tessa and I found our way to the Black Lake via secret entrance sans angry man.

By "found our way," I mean that Tessa said, "let's take this road," and I said, "sure thing."

I've learned that wherever Tessa goes ends up being nearly as fantastic as Giuseppe's cooking. I don't know how she does it. When I get lost, I end up wandering around the only ugly part of Venice for two hours. When Tessa gets "lost", she ends up in places like this.

So I usually follow her and do my best to not be like a puppy.

Although we did manage to pick up a friend for the quick jaunt around the lake.

Tessa fed him two pieces of her potato burek (after he'd run into a pole in his eagerness for Balkan pastry) and then he followed us through the woods for two and a half hours. We named him Spike.

And somehow managed to bypass angry Montenegrins yelling "NO!"

DAY SEVEN -- A Perfectly Sensible Plan

Thursday

Our new plan.

It's three thirty in the morning. Giuseppe and Tessa sleep.

I write. 

I wonder where I'll sleep tonight.

Probably somewhere around lake Shkoder. 

In a cave or an open field or the backgarden of a hospitable Albanian.

Hell if I know where we'll actually end up.

But since I'm traveling with Tessa, it'll probably be overrun with happy puppies, yachts, curry and beautiful lakes. 

We'll see. We board the bus for Niksic at 11:25. Then we'll hitchhike in the general direction of Lake Shkoder and Albania.

I'm surprisingly, happily unfazed/enthused.

Perhaps my adrenal glands are learning to pump, "meh... it'll all be okay."