T-shirts in November

Trip Start Aug 31, 2007

Trip End Apr 19, 2008

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Flag of Serbia and Montenegro Kotor, Serbia and Montenegro
Tuesday, November 27, 2007

I came to Kotor, the most beautiful spot in Montenegro, in a storm. The sky was dark, rain pelted the bus windows with loud thwacks, and the seas were choppy. In my apartment, the lights flickered on and off all day, and I sat with my duvet bunched around me, reading my book, waiting for the tempest to pass. It didn't and at night when the power went out for good, I read by candlelight. In the morning, the sea remained rough and the wind was so strong, I feared I'd be thrown into the water, but I didn't have the luxury of sitting in bed all day again. If I wanted to see Kotor, this was the day I had to do it.

Arriving in Kotor the morning before, I had no accommodation plans. The cheapest places to stay in this quickly becoming upmarket town are rooms in someone's house, but they are difficult to arrange in advance, especially when you're not quite sure when you'll be arriving

A Door. I like doors.

. The tourist office can help, but they are closed on Sunday, so I took it on faith that someone would take me home with them Arriving at the bus station at 8 am, I lingered around, doing my best to look a lost, homeless backpacker. Most houses have signs out advertising rooms for rent, but I didn't want to go knocking on stranger's doors before 8:30, I decided. Perhaps I was just putting off the inevitable. Fortunately, just as I was preparing my backpack to head out, a man approached, asking if I wanted a room. He wanted 15 Euros. I tried to ascertain if the room had a heater, but his English was not so good. Nonetheless, I let him take me where he would,which wound up being Prcanj, a village 4 km along the water from Kotor. His daughter spoke very good English, his wife made me excellent tea, and for my 15 Euros, I got an entire guesthouse with four beds and a kitchen. Most importantly, it came with a heater.

In it's 18th century heyday, Kotor was a Mediterranean power, sitting at the end of the deepest fjord in southern Europe and sending out 400 ships. Arriving under dark skies, the beautifully preserved old town reminded me of the fort from "Pirates of the Caribbean," all clean white stone and palms, somehow with a different feel from Albania's white towns. However, on entering the town, I was swept back to Gibraltar. A massive mountain rises above and behind, while old town streets are lined with expensive cafes and boutiques. The shock is not unlike arriving on Gibraltar and shuddering to find everything suddenly priced in Pounds, though Kotor is lacking in English pubs.

The old town is quite small, and for a few minutes, I ever wonder if I'm missing something. It must be packed with tourists in the summer, but during my visit, I see no one

Back to Churches!

. It's becoming a theme. I wander the streets and squares for a while, but with no one to talk to, it gets boring more quickly than I would have liked. These last few months, I have met many people espousing the glories of traveling alone, but I think many of the things they say are true only if you're near enough the beaten path. So long as there are hostels and an ever-changing parade of people to see the sights with, have dinner with, and talk late into the night with, I am happy being alone. I have learned to love the freedom of choosing where I will go and what I will do each day, but I am on day twelve of having no traveling companions now, and it would be a lie to say it doesn't get lonely. So you finish an awkward dinner at a table alone by 7 (you rarely eat later because you've given up on proper lunches to save money) what do you do until bed four hours later? I generally read, write in my journal, and think excessively.

Anyway, my wandering prematurely halted by my own boredom, I decide it's time to visit the fortress, which crawls all across the rock face like a miniature Great Wall of China. It's a solid climb to the top, taking near an hour, though I stop many times to enjoy the view and catch my breath. I am in no rush. Signs at the bottom had warned of a 2 Euro entrance fee, but I think no one bothered to climb to these heights today to collect it. I see no one else and try not to think how long it would take someone to find me, should I slip on one of the more treacherously crumbled steps. Several times, I have to tell myself to stop singing (I always sing) and focus on what I'm doing. Those who know me, know situational awareness is not my strong sit, and I am as likely to walk into a wall as through a door. Nonetheless, I complete my explorations and make it down without spraining an ankle or worse, and go in search of a bus to take me home. The bus comes every hour, and I have been told to stand on the road heading out of town to catch it. Unfortunately, these appear to be the first "un-flag-able" buses of my trip and it turns out I am standing two blocks from the unmarked stop (I looked everywhere for signs, there were none). As the bus goes by, I flag it twice. The driver stares at me and keeps going. I mutter not-nice things about him under my breath and go sit on a stone wall in he proper location for the next hour until the bus comes again. On the upside, it's 16 degrees and humid, so I am far from cold. So long as I move, I'm even comfortable in a T-shirt. On November 27, who would have thought it?