Blog 2007 05 30 Wednesday 30 May 2007
Bar to Kotor, Montenegro
After arriving late at the port city of Bar, in Montenegro on the Adriatic we still had to find accommodation and beat the encroaching storm which was filling the sky with dramatic bolts of lightening. It was going to rain soon, and rain hard. Being a port city, there were not the huge numbers of people meeting the train touting their hotels for business as the train arrived. Taxi’s were keen to take us to our destination, although we had no destination, and hotels they suggested were all a long, long way out of town.
Seeking refuge in the doorway of a bar, Bob negotiated with a man to drive us to a nearby, basic hotel in his private car. Just as we got out the Volvo, the heavens opened up and we dashed to the entrance of the hotel 1) hoping that it was open; 2) there was a room available; and 3)
In a smoke filled lobby were two people watching television, and one was the receptionist who could give us a room for the night on the fourth floor. Lugging our bags up the stairs, lightening bolts still cracking across the sky I wasn’t able to see the plastic bonsai trees and scraggly looking plastic philodendrons used for decoration on the landings.
The room was basic, but cheap, and once Bob had placed a folded towel underneath his sheet to protect him from a wayward spring we were soon in bed for the night. It was after 11:30 and we needed sleep.
The mosquitoes bothered both of us during the night, but with no repacking to do, we quickly dressed and went to the most basic breakfast. There was only coffee with milk (I never have milk) or tea – which I initially refused, however found from tasting Bob’s that it was not black tea as we know it in Australia, but rather a pink tinged infusion with no taste to my blocked nose and sinuses, but a welcome warm drink of water.
Options were a slightly greasy omelette or nothing. I gave mine to Bob, and nibbled on some reasonable white bread. Without having had any much to eat yesterday on the train, I was hungry and in desperate need of a coffee. A real coffee.
But first we checked out (cash only, in Euros), and sought to get our bearings for the next stage of our adventure, a bus to the medieval walled town of Kotor.
The Bus to Kotor
The rain had suddenly started again, and I waited with the bags on the edge of a café (my pack still on my back) while Bob checked out where the bus stop was for the next bus to Kotor. Although we had nearly 30 minutes until it was due it was far from clear where we had to catch it from. Standing on the edge of the café, rather gallantly not ordering a quick espresso (so desperately needed with my swollen sinus’ and heavy head cold which was moving to my chest), I was once again the only female there – apart from the hotel receptionist, I was the only woman to be seen all day. All those staying in the hotel at breakfast (it was owned by the Bar Port Authority) were men, as were those having their morning espresso and cigarette, as were the phalanx of ‘workmen’ who were adapt at standing and discussing was industry could be undertaken (while having a cigarette) and the painters on the first three levels of the hotel, one in four of whom would be painting or applying stucco, cigarette in hand, while the others watched, no doubt provided advice, and had a compensatory cigarette as well.
The rain had eased by the time Bob reappeared, grabbing his bag (the handle still ripped from the encounter in Budapest making it very difficult to carry), and he spoke incoherently to me as he headed off across the wasteland. The bus was now due in about 6 minutes.
We found the shelter, comfortably attracting others also waiting for a bus. Positive responses to our questioning ¿Kotor? made us more comfortable. A persistent taxi driver kept offering to drive us, gradually reducing the price from €30 to €20. He was annoying me, and it just hardened my resolve to bus it. When it arrived, a smiling easy going guy grabbed our biggest bags to put them in the hold, and we boarded the Mercedes Benz with it’s large panoramic windows and found a pair of seats together. Much better than a taxi! When he came to collect our fare, it was a total of €7 for us both.
Before we had gone a kilometre we were stopped for ages – a good couple of cigarettes worth, as passengers got off in the rain and stood having a quick fag during the break – while waiting for roadworks. With the coast on our left, great windows giving amazing views of the sheer cliffs soaring away to our right and interesting people watching, I was so pleased that we were caught in this traffic jam on the bus rather than with an anxious taxi driver.
Over the 60 odd kilometres of the journey it was apparent how necessary any and all roadworks are to this area. The road was barely wide enough for one bus in any direction, with sheer cliffs to one side and often the sea on the other. This of course provided for spectacular views!
We stopped a couple of time, the bus now filling with men forced to stand. Along the route, a group of four elderly Germans got on near a stand of newish hotels, and further along the same stretch, an English family all lily white and excited with the adventure of catching a local bus.
They, along with the bulk of the passengers departed at the nearby centre of Budvar, while we continued along the route, much faster now, heading across a peninsula to Kotor.
We disembarked at the bus station, a short walk along the main road from the walls of the Old Town (Stari Grad). While Bob got his bearings, all I could think about was sitting down and having a coffee or six in an attempt to bring this headache under control. I reminded Bob of this as he sought to trundle off to find a hotel listed in the Lonely Planet guide.
Bar to Kotor, Montenegro
After arriving late at the port city of Bar, in Montenegro on the Adriatic we still had to find accommodation and beat the encroaching storm which was filling the sky with dramatic bolts of lightening. It was going to rain soon, and rain hard. Being a port city, there were not the huge numbers of people meeting the train touting their hotels for business as the train arrived. Taxi’s were keen to take us to our destination, although we had no destination, and hotels they suggested were all a long, long way out of town.
Seeking refuge in the doorway of a bar, Bob negotiated with a man to drive us to a nearby, basic hotel in his private car. Just as we got out the Volvo, the heavens opened up and we dashed to the entrance of the hotel 1) hoping that it was open; 2) there was a room available; and 3)
In a smoke filled lobby were two people watching television, and one was the receptionist who could give us a room for the night on the fourth floor. Lugging our bags up the stairs, lightening bolts still cracking across the sky I wasn’t able to see the plastic bonsai trees and scraggly looking plastic philodendrons used for decoration on the landings.
The room was basic, but cheap, and once Bob had placed a folded towel underneath his sheet to protect him from a wayward spring we were soon in bed for the night. It was after 11:30 and we needed sleep.
The mosquitoes bothered both of us during the night, but with no repacking to do, we quickly dressed and went to the most basic breakfast. There was only coffee with milk (I never have milk) or tea – which I initially refused, however found from tasting Bob’s that it was not black tea as we know it in Australia, but rather a pink tinged infusion with no taste to my blocked nose and sinuses, but a welcome warm drink of water.
Options were a slightly greasy omelette or nothing. I gave mine to Bob, and nibbled on some reasonable white bread. Without having had any much to eat yesterday on the train, I was hungry and in desperate need of a coffee. A real coffee.
But first we checked out (cash only, in Euros), and sought to get our bearings for the next stage of our adventure, a bus to the medieval walled town of Kotor.
The Bus to Kotor
The rain had suddenly started again, and I waited with the bags on the edge of a café (my pack still on my back) while Bob checked out where the bus stop was for the next bus to Kotor. Although we had nearly 30 minutes until it was due it was far from clear where we had to catch it from. Standing on the edge of the café, rather gallantly not ordering a quick espresso (so desperately needed with my swollen sinus’ and heavy head cold which was moving to my chest), I was once again the only female there – apart from the hotel receptionist, I was the only woman to be seen all day. All those staying in the hotel at breakfast (it was owned by the Bar Port Authority) were men, as were those having their morning espresso and cigarette, as were the phalanx of ‘workmen’ who were adapt at standing and discussing was industry could be undertaken (while having a cigarette) and the painters on the first three levels of the hotel, one in four of whom would be painting or applying stucco, cigarette in hand, while the others watched, no doubt provided advice, and had a compensatory cigarette as well.
The rain had eased by the time Bob reappeared, grabbing his bag (the handle still ripped from the encounter in Budapest making it very difficult to carry), and he spoke incoherently to me as he headed off across the wasteland. The bus was now due in about 6 minutes.
We found the shelter, comfortably attracting others also waiting for a bus. Positive responses to our questioning ¿Kotor? made us more comfortable. A persistent taxi driver kept offering to drive us, gradually reducing the price from €30 to €20. He was annoying me, and it just hardened my resolve to bus it. When it arrived, a smiling easy going guy grabbed our biggest bags to put them in the hold, and we boarded the Mercedes Benz with it’s large panoramic windows and found a pair of seats together. Much better than a taxi! When he came to collect our fare, it was a total of €7 for us both.
Before we had gone a kilometre we were stopped for ages – a good couple of cigarettes worth, as passengers got off in the rain and stood having a quick fag during the break – while waiting for roadworks. With the coast on our left, great windows giving amazing views of the sheer cliffs soaring away to our right and interesting people watching, I was so pleased that we were caught in this traffic jam on the bus rather than with an anxious taxi driver.
Over the 60 odd kilometres of the journey it was apparent how necessary any and all roadworks are to this area. The road was barely wide enough for one bus in any direction, with sheer cliffs to one side and often the sea on the other. This of course provided for spectacular views!
We stopped a couple of time, the bus now filling with men forced to stand. Along the route, a group of four elderly Germans got on near a stand of newish hotels, and further along the same stretch, an English family all lily white and excited with the adventure of catching a local bus.
They, along with the bulk of the passengers departed at the nearby centre of Budvar, while we continued along the route, much faster now, heading across a peninsula to Kotor.
We disembarked at the bus station, a short walk along the main road from the walls of the Old Town (Stari Grad). While Bob got his bearings, all I could think about was sitting down and having a coffee or six in an attempt to bring this headache under control. I reminded Bob of this as he sought to trundle off to find a hotel listed in the Lonely Planet guide.
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