The rain finally eased into a steady drizzle as I arrived at the Virpazar train station — drenched despite my so-called waterproof gear. I popped my apartment address into Google Maps, only to discover… it was apparently a boat. Not quite what I’d booked.
A quick message to the host, I had new directions and set off — joined by a stray black dog who, bless him, only had three working legs. Together, we trudged (or in his case, hobbled) 1.7 km through puddles and flooded roads until we reached the “Superb Apartment” with its proud 8/10 rating on Booking.com. Let’s just say… the rating may have been based on imagination.
The owner promised the rain would stop by 4 p.m. “It always does,” he said. And to his credit, it slowed to a spit, so my new tripod-legged friend and I set off to the grocery store. Halfway down the highway, we were joined by another three-legged black dog — one missing a different leg configuration. Between the two of them, they had enough limbs for one full dog. Thankfully, all my legs were functioning just fine.
With no footpaths in sight, I opted for the railway tracks, while my companions braved the road, collecting honks from every passing vehicle. We reached the shop in one piece, but when I came out, only my original sidekick was waiting. Back at the apartment, I cooked us a hearty veggie dinner — his portion topped with butter and cheese — and he curled up on the terrace while I performed my nightly bed bug inspection. I slept fully clothed, hood up, in what I call night armour.
Morning brought more rain and a flat tyre. The bike is supposedly filled with “anti-flat” gel — apparently, it didn’t get the memo.
I found a bus company willing to take me and the bike, but after waiting two hours, no bus appeared. Eventually, a taxi driver stopped — 80 euros to Podgorica. Ouch. Managed to bargain him down to 60, though the savings came at a cost: he was the worst driver I’ve encountered to date. The boot wouldn’t close properly, my luggage was perched precariously on top, and he refused to use straps. The angels were definitely working overtime that day.
We made it safely, and soon I was on a bus bound for Ulcinj. I arrived, plugged in my apartment address, and — surprise! — ended up at the wrong location again. The manager came to rescue me, explaining that in Montenegro’s smaller towns, addresses are more of a concept. Everyone simply knows where they live. He normally sends guest a pin, but forget to this time.
Once settled, I was delighted to find the apartment spotless and the locals in Ulcinj genuinely warm. A quick trip to the Old Town revealed smiling faces, cheerful greetings, and friendly “Dobrodans.” When I asked a few where they were from, they said, “Albania.”
I think I might just have found my new Bosnia.