After two lovely days in Sofia, we set off for our next
destination – Montenegro. You see, the Diplomat and I have reached a mid-life
crisis point and have become obsessed with the idea to buy a vacation home in
the tiny Adriatic country. Nope, we have never been there before. And no, we do
not know anyone there. But we had heard stories AND seen pictures of stunning
mountains and sea vistas. What more can one need to commit to buying a whole
house, right?? So, with this insane idea in mind, we had contacted a (very
patient) real estate broker in Budva and asked her to arrange several days of
viewings of houses for us. We were convinced that would be enough to acquire
our dream vacation home.
We left Sofia after dropping off Son for a three-day
cultural trip with his new school in Sofia. We dutifully attempted to engage
with some of his new teachers, and peek in the gym to see the classmates, but
the eye-rolling youth summarily shooed us away, appropriately embarrassed by
our deep interest in his private, 13-year-old affairs. So, with nothing else to
do, we took off on the next stretch of our roadtrip, only to get a frantic call
from Grandma 30 mins later telling us that we had forgotten to leave the Silly
Cats’ passports (yup, cats also get passports to travel internationally) with
her. She graciously agreed to come pick them up as we waited for her in a dusty
parking lot on the outskirts of the city. Two hours later than originally
planned, we were finally on the road, facing around 650 km to Budva.
Traveling by car internationally can be a lot of fun. You get a lot of puzzled looks by border police when you cross into Serbia from Bulgaria, for example, carrying American passports and driving a car with a diplomatic registration from Ukraine. Also, stuffed with 37 suitcases of various sizes and a case of wine. At least, there were no cats this time. In essence, at each border we had to explain our origins, our jobs, our purpose of travel, discuss the situation in Ukraine, and listen to various border police thoughts on the war as I brightly would inevitably conclude – “But it will be OK because Ukraine will win!” While Kosovars were deeply sympathetic based on their own history, the large Serbian customs officer rolled his eyes and lost all interest in checking our luggage.
Another fun game is what stuff you will be asked at each
border and whether there would be a border at all! For example, crossing into
Kosovo (where we would spend a total of 2 hours on the highway before going to Albania),
we had to buy a one-day car liability insurance for 10 euros, which I suppose
made terrific sense. While I went to pay, the Diplomat spent his time chatting
with the agreeable border guard, pretending to understand his nonexistent
English. Typically, when you get to a border crossing you first exit one
country (and get the exit stamp in your passport), crossing through a sort of a
“no-man’s land” and then line up to enter the other country (and get an
exciting entry stamp). Exiting Kosovo at the next border crossing, however, we
discovered that there was no exit booth at all; rather, we were already at Albania’s
doorstep! The Albanian police were extraordinarily polite, wished Ukraine good
luck, and did not even ask us to buy insurance.
Serbia’s highways were superb, Kosovo’s towns and
architecture were all new and modern, and Albanian nature - breathtaking. Several
Red Bulls and hundreds of kilometers later, we decided to spend the night on
the Albanian coast, at an enchanting beach resort town called Shengjin (no,
that is not in China). Given that it was mid-May, it was still rather out of
season and we were the only guests in the shiny modern hotel (I think that they
had to turn on the water and electricity especially for us because other things
like towels and TP were definitely missing). The night was topped with probably
the best meal of the entire roadtrip, in a romantic beachfront restaurant
called Detari.
In a mixture of gesticulating,
rudimentary English, and Google translate app, we managed to order a bunch of
seafood and astonishingly good Albanian wine for a concerningly cheap price. Two
hours later, stuffed with various sea critters, wine, and undeniable romance,
we were told that no one takes credit cards, but not to worry, there is an ATM
around the corner. I sent the reluctant Diplomat to fetch money while I tried
to teach myself various Albanian words from the menu and finish the wine. When
20 minutes passed, it struck me that he wasn’t back yet but I did manage to
learn how to say shrimp (“karkaleca”) so I remained in high spirits.
Eventually, he came back and confirmed my suspicions that the ATM was not
around the corner at all, rather around a kilometer away. I tried to impress
him with my newly acquired Albanian knowledge but I could tell it didn’t have
the desired effect on him. We slept very well that night.
The next day, we drove on a dazzling highway through the
steep, green mountains connecting Albania and Montenegro, and finally made it across
the border. Two more stamps in the passports, a little more chit-chat on the
Ukrainian situation and we were on our merry way through the coveted Montenegran
hills towards Budva. There were no more glistening highways. Instead, we dove
into the hills and their hairpin turns, trying not to faint every time a local
car would suddenly careen toward us from the opposite direction from behind a
sharp turn at 80 km/h! And then we finally saw the sea below us and it was all
worth it! The view of the turquoise water, surrounded by the lush green of the
trees, and topped by the cloudless, impeccably blue sky was something I thought
reserved for tropical islands. The steep mountain backdrop would make even
Hawaii jealous.
After an hour, we made it to our aparthotel and were ready
to buy houses left and right.
Montenegro developed as a vacation spot a mere few years ago
and is still deeply into the developmental stage, judging by the million
construction projects around. Most of the hotel space is actually serviced
apartments in modern new buildings with swimming pools and gyms and kids’ rooms
(of course), ideally within a walking distance from the beach, although that is
a bit of a stretch concept depending on how much and how steep you are willing
to walk. In addition, the lush hills above the towns are home to many old and
new houses, some with incredible views of the sea below. Which is what we
wanted.
Three days of seeing house in various stage of building or
disrepair and we had chosen THE house. Perfectly perched on a steep hill,
engulfed in fruit trees, rose bushes and high grass, it opened a breath-taking
vista of the Adriatic from its many terraces. The price was more than right and
we were ready to buy. Naturally, it was too good to be true. This is
Montenegro, a young country with even younger laws and a mess of urban
planning, and it soon became clear that a small corner of the house was
illegally built on what could one day be an international highway according to
the city plan! Not willing to gamble on future infrastructure madness, we went
on looking and found house number 2. Since we only had a couple of days left
there, we spent a warm Friday afternoon in the stunning city of Kotor signing a
lengthy power of attorney for our broker to compete the transaction on our
behalf, hopefully soon. With all this work done, we were ready to relax a bit
with our great friends who happened to arrive that evening from Germany to join
us for a weekend Montenegro fun.
The next two days were spent eating, drinking, and exploring
the old cities and beaches of Montenegro, with an amusing incident on our last
night. As we settled in a lovely beach-side restaurant in the picturesque town
of Petrovac, I perused the wine list and asked for recommendations. The condescending
waiter pointed to the most expensive wine on the list (65 euros, which is
beyond crazy there), which I politely declined and asked for a 22 euro local
wine. With clear deprecation in his face, he went away and brough the wine. An
hour later, I noticed it was NOT the wine I ordered but the much more expensive
version of the same, which was around 40 euros or so. When finally the bill
came, I pointed this little difference to the waiter, who (correctly) pointed
out in turn that we did drink the expensive wine after all. I gave him one of
my most murderous stares, and we eventually settled on a price somewhere in
between. Apart from this silly moment, our impression from Montenegro is that
it has some of the nicest, kindest, fun people ever! Crossing fingers for that
house now.
By the end of the weekend, it was time to go and we packed our million suitcases and left for Croatia.
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