Road trip Part 3 – From Montenegro to Italy

Our next planned stop was Split (the idea being not to drive for more than 5-5 hours per leg) where we had rented a lovely Airbnb apartment next to the port and all the nightlife. Google maps said it would only take us about 5 hours, so we hoped to be in time for a late and romantic Croatian dinner. After a dizzying drive through the Montenegran mountains north of Budva, we finally approached our next border, which I sincerely thought was Croatia. Turns out, we were about to enter Bosnia and Herzegovina, which came as a utter surprise to us and made us frantically re-examine the route Google had provided. Turns out, it was there all the time, if one would pay attention. As a side note, we had been trying to buy an actual roadmap of Europe throughout the trip, but so far had been unsuccessful – are roadmaps even a thing these days??

At the Bosnian border, a gregarious border policeman told us to go buy insurance. When I pointed out that we would literally be driving through his lovely country for about an hour, he pensively told me that it is for the better. Somewhat perturbed, I went to the barrack he was pointing at, to find an elderly grandma napping on a cot, surrounded by cooking pots and pans, a gas grill, and a small desk with what appeared to be a desktop computer. Clearly annoyed that I woke her up, she told me that indeed she is the insurance lady and asked me for 40 euros. I was scandalized at the cost and refused to pay. She shrugged and went back to sleep. With no alternative, I had to concede and handed over my hard-earned money for probably the most expensive insurance I had ever paid.

Once we entered Bosnia and began driving, I understood why it was all necessary and probably so costly. In Eastern Europe, where there has been a fatal road accident, people often put some sort of a memorial – whether it is a commemorative stone with a picture, or a cross, or something else to mark the deadly spot. During our hour or so drive through Bosnia, I counted 9. 9!! 9 road accident monuments. And just as I was beginning to ponder the significance of those, a decrepit old rusted car suddenly sprung from behind us (I was obediently observing the 50 km/h speed limit) and began taking us over just as a big shiny SUV was speeding merrily in the incoming traffic lane. Clearly, it was not possible to take over, so the old car began breaking violently, which helped no one but caused me to scream obscenities for several minutes as I saw in the rear-view mirror that it was sort of lurching around the road and forced the giant SUV off the road, climbing up the steep hill next to the road where it finally stopped, smoke coming from its hood. The wretched old car did not miss a beat or even slow down and rather than stop and go to see if the SUV folks were ok or, perhaps, apologize, it sped up as much as it could, finally took me over, and raced away into the Bosnian lands. I was glad I bought that insurance…

At the Bosnian/Croatian border, both border guards were sitting in the same booth, chatting in a most friendly manner and simply passed our passports to each other for the respective exit and entry stamps. How neighborly!

We made it to Split around 8 pm, and found an amazing parking spot right outside the building. Cleverly, you can pay your parking with an app in Split, which made our stay there for three days a much easier experience, especially given how cheap the parking was. The next day was spent sorting out multiple little administrative details that surround a month-long roadtrip and the purchase of a house in Montenegro, after which the Diplomat and I took to some touristing. The Diocletian's Palace, dating from around fourth century AD, is breathtaking – a fact that was not lost on the producers of Game of Thrones, who upped and filmed a whole bunch of Season 4 there. The Diplomat made me climb the steep bell tour, which caused me no little amount of anxiety given my fear of heights. Also, the stairs are enormously tall and super narrow, which makes for a particularly adrenaline-driven climb.

The following day, in search of romance, we took a ferry to the neighboring island of Hvar. After enduring for an hour the drunken shouting and profanity of a merry group of British youth on the ferry, we spent a blissful hour walking through the quiet streets of the enchanting island and ended up having a seriously overpriced and underwhelming lunch on the main square. With not much else to do until the return ferry would come in a few hours, we decided to take a water taxi to yet another, microscopic island, part of a group disconcertingly called Hell’s Islands (Paklinski otoci). I don’t know about hell, but the island was lovely and had a fabulous beach bar called Carpe Diem, where we spent the next few hours napping and sipping various interesting beverages with things in them. I highly recommend spending a day there, although I can imagine the crazy crowds of inebriated youth during regular summer season.

It was time to move on and our plan was to push-off for the six or so hours until our next stop in the Veneto area in Italy as early as 8 am. Naturally, it did not happen like that at all. I woke up early in the morning with a silly yet pesky affliction, which unfortunately necessitated medical intervention. The nearby pharmacist explained in a mixture of English and Serbian that there was a doctor just up the road, which sadly was not true unless that doctor was very carefully hidden. I found a private clinic on Google maps and we sped off that way only to find out that it was a cosmetic surgery clinic, which maybe I do need at some point in my life, but this was not it. They recommended another such clinic, which should be able to help and we sped off that way next. It turned out to be a radiology, something I decidedly did not need. The front desk lady told me that the healthcare system in Croatia is complicated and that there were no private clinics I could go to, which did not help my mood. In the end, I went to the emergency room, where a very attractive young doctor saw me promptly and took care of things efficiently and quite cheaply, I might say.

We were finally on the way to Vò, Italy. After a brief transit through Slovenia, we arrived at an enchanting centuries-old stone house in the hills of Padua region, where we planned to spend the next three nights. We were greeted by the energetic owner, who turned out to be a Russian émigré married to an Italian. The house was surrounded by rolling hills of vines and trees heavy with ripe cherries, 13 cats and 3 dogs, and 31 hens and one rooster, all of which atop a stunning vista towards the setting sun over endless rows of vines down the impossibly green hills. It was breathtaking! Inside the giant room with vaulted ceilings and wooden beams, we had a basket of fresh eggs, which were promptly consumed over breakfast the next three days. Each morning, the indefatigable host would bake pies, strudels or tiramisu and insist that we eat all of them.

A day trip to Verona resulted in a pair of very expensive and handmade leather boots, on the Diplomat’s insistence who spotted them as we were sipping refreshing cocktails in the city of Romeo and Juliet. A small town, Verona nevertheless packs an impressive offering for the architecture lover, including the kitschy purported house of Juliet. Typical cobblestone medieval streets host the full complement of international luxury brands and local boutiques. Ristorantes, trattorias, osterias, pizzarias, pescerias, enotecas, and tavolas entice the hungry and, frankly, not so hungry pedestrian. Gelato galore. We indulged in it all!

On our final day in Italy, we drove to visit old friends nearby and they took us to yet another gorgeous Italian town, nestled in the foothills of the Alps, called Bassano del Grappa whose covered bridge can easily be mistaken as one of those in Florence. True to its name, the town is well-known for brewing grappa, an old, deadly favorite of mine, and the oldest grappa distillery in Italy is indeed found there. After a sumptuous lunch at the “best” local restaurant, Ottone, filled with grappa, wine, and food so good, I forget the names of any dishes, we bid the beautiful country goodbye and prepared to drive north to France on the following day.