Day 85 - Tuzi to Podgorica: 15 miles (30,000 steps)


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Uncertain arrival in Montenegro

14th July, 2020

15 Miles (Total: 814.2 miles)  30,000 (Total: 1,561,491 steps)

“Although our intellect always longs for clarity and certainty, our nature often finds uncertainty fascinating.” Karl Von Clausewitz

I crossed into Montenegro confident that I would find accommodation. I walked until it was dark through a beautiful nature reserve, but there were no signs of life. Struggling on in hope, I saw the light of Tuzi in the distance and knew that if I could make it there, then I would find a bed for the night. I arrived in Tuzi, which was alive with the sound of music and a string of cafes’ and bars. I went into three cafes’ that looked reasonable to ask for rooms—they had none. I asked if they knew of any and the reply was “no”—only Podgorica.

A taxi driver stopped and asked me if I needed a lift to Podgorica. I asked how much and he responded 10 euros; he then told me that he knew of accommodation too which was only twenty euros.  I thought that my luck was in. He drove me to the bus station and then introduced me to another man who did not speak English and he said he would take me to the accommodation. I was desperate for rest, but I sensed that all was not as it seemed and so I said that it was okay, I would make my own plans and gave the taxi driver a 20 euro note and held my hand out for the change.  He refused and said the fare was only 10 euros if I took accommodation and it was actually 20 euros.  I said to him that he knew all to well that he had said 10 euros before he even mentioned accommodation, but he just walked off back into the car and he was off. I have to say that I think it is the exception, rather than the rule, that I have not been ripped off when using taxis and the only two rules I can think of to try and minimise the risks are: 1. Insist that the metre is running and 2. Always give the exact fare, don’t expect change.

It was about 9:30pm and I wandered down towards what I thought was the centre of the town and found a cafe that had wi-fi. I ordered a coffee and chocolate ice-cream. In my Inbox I found a contact in Podgorica called Sinisa Nadavdian who worked for an NGO. I called Sinisa who was in a meeting, but called me back and immediately offered to come and collect me and take me to his office where there was a bed and I could rest. I was so grateful for yet another ‘angel’ to come and rescue me at a time of need. As an added bonus, the office was close to a shop where at 10:30pm they started unloading fresh bread from the oven and they also have Coke Zero. It had been a tough day but it ended on a bit of a high.

The next morning, I was contacted by Ivan Vukcevic, an extremely helpful and efficient official in the British Embassy in Montenegro, who had organised a press conference for me the following day.  I explained that I needed to walk to and from Tuzi in order to make up for a deficit that I had incurred between Koplik and the border where I had been unable to find accommodation. Ivan met me on the road up to Tuzi and gave me a very helpful update on current issues and possible questions in the region. This was very much needed as I hadn’t done any swotting up on Montenegro and the only thing I knew, was that they were in England’s qualifying group for the European Championships and had held England to a goalless draw at Wembley last year. The press conference seemed to go well and, as usual, journalists seemed surprised that the Olympic Truce actually existed as an instrument of the UN and that the truce was not only part of the ancient Olympics, it was the point of the ancient Olympics.

That evening Sinisa invited me to go with him to one of the two refugee camps on the outskirts Podgorica in which he worked. Both refugee camps were for refugees from the Kosovan War; one is for Romany Gypsies. We arrived at the camp on foot and it was like a scene from Gaza, with masses of shelters with rusting corrugated iron roofs, and walks built from scraps of wood and hardboard. The camp was teeming with young children at play. It was a visually compelling place and yet I somehow felt that it would be irreverent to take out my camera because the people there actually had incredible dignity and joy. They were so hospitable and welcoming, inviting us in and offering food and drink. I thought of my frustrations, trying to find accommodation and the vulnerability one feels when one is homeless and at the mercy of people who wish to exploit that vulnerability.  My heart went out to them, and for Sinisa, who felt called through his Christian Faith to serve these people.

Over a drink that night in a local bar I talked to Sinisa about his motivation for serving in such a difficult area.  He told me how he, as a Bosnian Serb, was himself was a refugee from the Bosnian War, so he felt he could relate to these people and understand them as they sought to make a living and in a strange land. As I reflected on those first few hours in Montenegro and contrasted the reactions of Sinisa and the taxi driver, I realised that the difference between them is summed up in one word ‘empathy’.

 



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