Montegreno

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MONTEGRENO 1

We knew we had crossed the border from Croatia.

The first sign that we had crossed the border was that the 40+ minute wait at the border was over.

Then before we drove far at all – it felt like we were back on Italian roads.

Not bad roads , but corrugated and a bit pot holey – not as wide and not as smooth as those of Croatia. Obviously not as much money here.

Then the shops beside the road- looking a bit more like they sell junk. And the houses a little less loved. Not much new structure or infrastructure.

Faces of the people we encounter display a tougher life – perhaps a bit of stress.

From the road the most apparent difference is a devil may care attitude to driving. Montegreno is a mall country. You could drive the whole coastal road in just a few hours. But hoons of all ages are determined to complete a lap in minutes rather than hours. Excessive speed, dangerous overtaking into the face of oncoming traffic, cutting corners, and even driving on the wrong side of the road are practiced just for the sake of it. And who painted that line on the middle of the road anyhow?

The road winds along a similar piece of coastline. Wandering and meandering along a cliff face – deep into the bay formed by one fiord, then out to the point of a headland, around some sharp bends and back along the waterline to the bay of the next fiord, varying from a few hundred feet above the waterline to sea level, and back again. Stunningly steep drop offs from the coastal range to the shoreline – solid rock and big boulders. Similar to what we have woven our way along since Rijeka ( Croatia) – Only difference here in Montegreno is that the road surface is not as smooth and those in Croatia.

We had left a country where a variety of hotels and holiday apartments are advertised in every town block of every town and village. Camp grounds were easy to find.

Now in Monegreno, campgrounds are rare. Locals seem not in tune with travelling or tourism- perhaps a vacation is not something they easily relate to. Tourism infrastructure is not abundant.

It takes a while, but eventually we find a campground south of Budva.

The gatekeeper is non communicative. He gave away his last smile decades ago and has had piles ever since.

Feral cats and chooks roam the campgrounds. There is no hot water. The dunnies are exclusively of the squat type. All the taps leak. There’s along trough, that punters use alternatively for dish washing, clothes washing, shaving and cleaning the body. But that’s nothing - behind the ablution block there’s a row of 6 shower heads. Cold water only. One has a plastic shower curtain flapping in the breeze. E12.50 for a night’s camping was of no value. The only difference between this joint and wild camping was the cost.

This is where Skippy’s modern conveniences come into their own. Instant hot water. Privacy. A shower with real pressure. A proper sit down toilet.

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