Last minute journeys, and exit...stage left
My apologies to everyone for the deafening silence here, but June has been a little crazy.
Primarily because I got a job offer in May that I can't refuse. More details on this in a future blog post, once I determine what my new employer requires with regard to my pattern of Internet rantings. For the time being, it means that I'm on the slow-motion wave goodbye to Podgorica. I'm out of here this Friday. Assuming, of course, that my current plans to have my stuff moved work out as expected.
Not surprisingly, leaving at the end of June has meant tying up loose ends at work and personal goals. I had a second workshop to finish in Germany, and I had to act on my primary desire to see Dubrovnik and a bit of Montenegro on the two weekends I had left to do these things.
Going to Dubrovnik was a blast, and I'll put pictures up later after I finish sorting them. My former graduate adviser came down and we rented a car. Mind, I had bailed earlier on going to Dubrovnik by myself because, well, I can barely drive a manual shift vehicle. Yes, I know the principle; yes, I've had a bit of practice in a friend's car in downtown Prague, but that was seven years ago and many of us in the States deal exclusively with automatic transmissions. So after an hour of stalling all over adjacent streets to a hotel parking lot, I decided that my constant stalling in first gear with a roughly-shifting stick was probably not advisable in the complete lawlessness that is Podgorica traffic, or on mountain roads.
Well, my former adviser forgot to bring his license down from Belgrade, so that rather forced the issue. Nothing like learning by the doing. Rather than deal with the traffic on the road to/through Budva, we took the Nikšić highway on the bet that it would be much more open. (It was.)
Just past Danilovgrad, I got pulled over, allegedly for speeding but quite possibly also for driving a shiny Toyota Yaris instead of the usual VW Golf (foreigner alert! foreigner alert!). Not that speed limit zones are frequently or well posted.
I played Ye Dumb American with a smattering of Serbian/Montenegrin/[insert today's PC name for the language here], and apologized profusely.
We bantered for an enjoyable five minutes about how the fine was 13 euros and I'd have to go back to Danilovgrad, locate a bank or post office, get a receipt, come back, and show the receipt to get the cops' receipt. Yes, that's the way it works here.
Noting that it was a Saturday, and I had no idea where banks were in Danilovgrad, I asked if I could just pay them now. A couple minutes later of more discussion about receipts, the answer was "Yes."
I pulled out a 20 euro bill. They pocketed it.
I stood there for a few seconds thinking, "Hey, I need 7 euros change--" before my brain intervened: "No. No, you don't."
So I went back to the rental car where my former adviser was sitting.
Remember my problem with first gear? Yes, I peeled out in front of the cops.
Not to mention in front of a few border guards in Bosnia and Croatia. In my defense, it's mountainous on them there borders, and you really don't want to roll back into the people behind you.
But, we had the best possible trip to Dubrovnik by way of Republika Srpska, aside from one instance of driving the wrong way on a one-way street in the city center. Details... And, we noted that no less than the state police have figured out how to price their ticket penalties for people lacking change in a country where no one ever has enough small change in euros. See, the market economy's taking hold.
Hope you enjoyed your night's bottle of top-shelf loza at my expense, guys.
The next weekend, I was by myself in another rental car, seeking what is allegedly the second biggest canyon in the world named "Tara" and sporting a beautiful river not named Tara. I found it and it is indeed pretty. Again, photos will have to come later. However, you should beware the communist Neanderthals running the nearest dam. Apparently it is zabranjen (forbidden) to take photos of the Piva river canyon from said dam, much as it is also forbidden to park in the only available parking lot on the other side of the adjacent tunnel. Not that any of this is communicated to you by a single sign, which I duly pointed out. But I escaped with my camera and photos, without a fine, and with yet another anecdote of post-communist transitions waiting to happen, seventeen years later.
On the way back, I got pulled over on the very same stretch of road just northwest of Danilovgrad. This time they even showed me the little ticker tape from their radar apparatus: 84 kph in a 60 kph zone. Mind, this is one of the straighter stretches of mostly undeveloped road in a beautiful but mountainous country. I guess doing around 50 mph on a major highway is reckless, even if you're getting blown away by passing cars.
I quickly adopted my role as Ye Even Dumber American who didn't speak a word of their language. (I daresay Stanislavsky would have been proud.) I understood most of what they were saying, but didn't let on at all. Blank looks and stupid grins are my friends.
The one who spoke zero English (as opposed to the few words his partner knew) mimed by crossing his hands that they were going to cuff me and take me in.
I just put on my best clueless expression. "Sorry? I don't understand." Wash, rinse, repeat.
Five more minutes ensued in the form of broken instructions about banks and receipts in Danilovgrad. The cop who could muster a few words in English said they would hold my license and rental car papers while I went to the bank.
I couldn't resist. "But..it's Sunday evening. Is the bank open? And isn't it illegal for me to drive anywhere without my license and rental car papers?"
Perplexed looks. Followed by their waving me on in disgust to get out of there. No fine.
And, I'll have you know, this time I had a much better handle on first gear and managed not to peel out.
