Friday, 24 February 2017 to Thursday, 2 March 2017
For breakfast Adri bought us one of those rolled up mushy turd-looking beef bureks which was great notwithstanding its appearance. The supposed chocolate pastry was not great; it was more like a bread roll with a tiny sliver of chocolate playing hide and seek amongst its innards. Not very appetizing, next time we’ll leave this model to finish its process of decay in the bakery’s display cabinet.

The never-ending admin continued for most of the day. We planned to go out for dinner tonight but there was rain forecast so we opted to rather eat in. It was mid afternoon when Adri started to prepare a wonderful vegetable soup with the ingredients we so painstakingly selected at the veggie shop yesterday, and it was a winner.

Now that our internet had been sorted out we could once again watch Netflix. So after supper, and it being Friday evening and all, we started watching a new series called Peaky Blinders. Somehow we just did not bond with this one even though we tried really hard. To this end we even started watching the second episode against our will in order to give it a fair chance. A quarter way through the second miserable episode we switched off, this series could more appropriately be called Petty Blunders.

It rained all night and Saturday morning it was doing more of the same. The rain would continue most of the day but that did not bother me at all as I planned to stay indoors in any case. You see, today was the start of the Super Rugby season and I was hungry for rugby.

After a late breakfast of scrambled eggs and all sorts of leftovers as well as a few leftover biltong-like slivers of smoked beef, the first game of the day was about to start.

Adri agreed that I could have one beer with my rugby today so I settled on a 1.5 litre plastic bottle of Jellen, no problem; Adri also did not seem to have an issue with it. That and a few other snackies made it into our shopping cart at the Franca Supermarket downstairs and we made it back just in time to see the start of the match between the Lions and Cheetahs.

It was around 13:00 when that first game started and I settled in on the couch for the day, man, this was great! I never moved too far away from there, the only trips I did were to the fridge which of course resulted in trips to the bathroom as well.

The Lions, the team I am supposed to support, and do (if they win of course), thankfully persevered against the Cheetahs with a score of 28-25 but victory was nearly snatched away from them at the death knell due to an appalling incorrect decision by the referee.

It was great to watch some of the old ads during the breaks; I still love the one below by Redefine Properties.

Then the Southern Kings – a team that morphed from the Southern Spears – and the Jaguares from Argentina were up. The Southern Kings are not one of my favourites, probably due to the association of that team with that controversial and divisive fellow Luke Watson. Anyway, they did end up losing 26-39; no tears were shed in Montenegro.

In any case, at halftime of that game I switched to the Six Nations match between France and Ireland. Now I love the Irish and I would support Ireland against most teams, but not against France, not my new country of residence within a few weeks. After a tough game the Irish came out on tops by 19-9. I made another trip to the fridge.

Then it was the Blue Bulls against the Stormers, a good game which the Stormers won by a score of 37-24. I was pleased with the result.

Man, did I enjoy this day of wall to wall rugby; it was just like being back home in SA, but sadly without the braai and the biltong of course.

I was still satiated from my beer infused snackies when Adri announced it was time for supper. “Do I really have to?” I thought, but apparently I did, Adri had already prepared it and she had that look in her eyes.

The promise of rain was hanging heavy in the air Sunday morning but did not deliver and by late morning the clouds became a few shades of grey lighter. After spending most of yesterday inside we needed to get some exercise, our destination was the Dukley Gardens Resort situated at the eastern end of Budva beach. At night, from the western end of the beach this place resembles a passenger liner all lit up and glitzy, but by day, from the same spot it looks like a ghost resort, all dark and dreary, we had the check this out. After a quick google last night I learnt that the Dukley Gardens is in fact a high-end apartment resort which seems to be rather la-di-da.

We walked down to and along the promenade in an easterly direction and happened upon the Dukley, and high-end it is. It only looked dreary from afar as it was painted a regrettable dark brown colour with very darkly tinted windows all around. It’s unfortunate, but high-end nevertheless.

 

 

We followed the promenade that brushes past the Dukley and into a tunnel that leads under the mountain and, as you emerge on the other side, you are in the town of Becici. A few blocks further down we were back on the Becici promenade, walking towards Rafailovici. Becici is not a particularly enticing town and there are few restaurants along this stretch of the beach. We did however get to visit the lovely little St Thomas Church but unfortunately it was all locked up.

The sun was almost ready to break through the clouds and everybody seemed to be taking advantage of the weather to go for a walk along the promenade. We passed a woman that was walking in her sleep, or more correctly, sleeping in her walk. With her eyes closed, obviously deep in thought, she walked along the promenade and somehow miraculously missed the kids at play, dogs being walked and bicycles being cycled. Or maybe they just intentionally missed her?

Fifteen minutes or so later we reached Rafailovici which we fell in love with almost immediately. It is a small town meandering up the hill with a wonderful little bay at the bottom with a number of restaurants. It must be noted that most restaurants and shops in these little towns are closed for the winter months, but this little place really have a magic feel to it, a quintessential Adriatic or Mediterranean seaside village.

 

By the time we had finished our recce of the town the sun was just about to expose itself. It was now 14:00 and we had not yet had anything to eat today after having too much of everything yesterday. But, now we had to get food, or at least a beer. On the way back home we stopped off at the Sveti Toma Restaurant and sat ourselves down at a table right on the beach. When I asked for a menu the owner looked at me apologetically and said “Only drink, no food”. It seems like this early in the season the tap of his beer was working fine but his kitchen was not.

Adri ordered a hot cappuccino and I tapped into a large ice cold Paulaner, on tap of course. As I took my first few sips a few rays of sun appeared. On each subsequent sip yet another ray appeared and soon we were bathed in glorious sunshine. By the time my beer was fading the sun was doing the same so we had to make tracks, it seemed like rain was once again imminent.

 

It was now 15:00 and we had still not eaten; now I was starting to feel rather timid, not sure whether it was from the beer on an empty stomach, or from the long walk, or from food shortage. On the way home we stopped off at our by now favourite takeaway shop and ordered a cevapi, a gyro and pomfrit (chips). We sat outside waiting for our order when we heard something that sounded like a knife tapping on a window… it was a knife tapping on a window; Adri was required to have her gyro adorned with her choice of toppings. An update on my cevapi was provided without requesting such… “Seven minutes“. Seven minutes later there was that tapping sound again…

Getting home we ripped into our feast, complimented by my leftover Jelen beer from yesterday’s rugby – I did not manage to finish that 1.5 litre pivo (beer) – while Adri had the last of the bottle of cheap Vranac red wine. Life was good.

I felt overly satiated after this substantial meal and it reminded me of a saying that my brother Phil – bless his soul – had whenever he was feeling overly full. The saying is essentially a play on different words with the same meaning in Afrikaans, thereby stressing just how full one is. And it goes “Ek is versadig en verkwik, my maag is vol en my pens is dik”. Directly translated it reads “I am satiated and satiated, my stomach is full and my stomach is full”. And that’s how I felt when I stretched out on the couch in front of the TV for a snooze.

Tonight Adri wanted to watch the Oscars live, something she had never managed before. In SA it airs in the early hours of a Monday morning, not possible to watch if you have to work on Monday. But now fortunately she had nothing holding her back, although finding a stream to watch it via may still do just that. Although the Oscars will be on DSTV which we can stream via the DSTVNow app, DSTV could not stream the Oscars in line with their licensing agreement. Bummer!

It was early Monday morning when we finally managed to get the Oscars on RTCG (Radio Televizija Crne Gore), one of the channels from the local public service broadcaster called Radio and Television of Montenegro. Now obviously it was in Montenegrin, translated from English on the go. It was a stop and start affair with the many Oscar advert breaks being filled by a plain red screen with a golden Oscar statuette in its centre. Anyway, Adri did get her dream realized of sitting through a full “Oshcurry”, as the Oscars are pronounced here, from start to finish. She commented this morning that it was her first and last, she would in future rather watch a condensed version after the event, it just carried on and one and… it was just too damn long.

With the Oscars behind us, and also a fitful early morning sleep, we got up midday and had breakfast at 13:00. Adri did some washing, I continued with admin, outside was a lovely sunny day at 18°C, begging to be utilized.

I have not felt the need to wear my watch since leaving SA; the main reason being that Thailand was just too hot and sticky to be encumbered by an additional sweaty weight on ones wrist. Now that we were in cooler climes I felt the need resurface, I so do love a beautiful watch. And so it was that I removed my Rado Ceramica Diastar from where it lay hidden, deep in the dark recesses of our unused and thus unpacked luggage, still 100% unscratched after 20 years of hard labour.

But how is it possible to have not one scratch after 20 years, you may ask. Well, the Rado’s case, crown, bezel and bracelet are all made from high-tech ceramic with the glass or lens made of sapphire crystal which is described as “a synthetically produced crystal, second only to diamond in its hardness”. This specific Rado model is truly a timeless timepiece. And you would be forgiven if you question my lack of impartiality here.

My mind wandered back 20 years or so… It was 1998 when Adri and I took a few week’s holiday through Italy, Monaco, France and Switzerland. It was in St. Moritz in Switzerland where I finally succumbed to the temptation and bought my Rado at Bucherer, I remember it as if it happened yesterday.

But back to reality, there was one thing wrong with my Rado… it didn’t work. The battery had run its course and needed to be replaced. It was later in the afternoon – with my dead watch on my wrist – that we took a walk to the old town where we had seen a decent looking watch shop. We managed to find it again and €5 later my watch was ticking time; the battery was replaced at a fraction of the cost that an official Rado dealer would have charged.

Adri has been wearing her CK watch since we arrived in Belgrade but found that the watch was spinning around her wrist like a flywheel at full tilt. She needed one link to be removed from the bracelet which we had done for a mere €3. And, if it turns out (no pun intended) to be uncomfortable and she decides to have the link put back, that would be done free of charge.

It was time to celebrate our ticking timepieces so we ordered two Leffe Blond at our little Irish pub. While sipping on a blond and contemplating our progress on learning French via the Duolingo app, Adri mentioned that she would be prepared to work in a restaurant in France as a waitress for free, just to assist her in learning the language. I have no problem with that as long as I can drink there for free, that’s the deal, else no deal!

With such an arrangement I can be just like the owner of the Irish Pub we were sitting in. He is always there and sits at the same spot at the pub counter, drinking beer with a different buddy each day. He drinks Paulaner Weisbier in a tall glass that holds half a litre. When a third is left in that glass its replacement appears, right next to it, patiently waiting to be abused. It never has to wait long.

Anyway, as you know, we have been trying to get to grips with just a smattering of French words via the Duolingo app, with Adri being way ahead of me. Of course it would be nice to learn a third language, even if it is just a few words to assist in shopping or greetings, but hell, it’s hard, it’s really tough. One gets the feeling the French made it tough on purpose to ensure no one learns their language!

Today Adri baked, or rather prepared, a milk tart. I say prepared as we could not make the baked variety, there was no oven in the apartment. Obtaining the meagre ingredients for this delicacy was difficult, everything about this milk tart was difficult, but let me explain…

There was a big discussion as to whether the recipe called for corn flower or corn starch, the latter we would commonly refer to by the brand name Maizena back in SA. It was finally decided that Maizena would do the trick and after a long search we finally found corn starch. We also needed condensed milk and after another long search we finally discovered it lurking in a fridge somewhere. It seems like Montenegrins are not very familiar with condensed milk as it is hard to come by and it would also explain why it is kept refrigerated!

Furthermore, for the crust the recipe calls for those delectable Nutticrust biscuits that I love so much. We did not even attempt to find it, we bought a poor substitute, what else could we do? So you see, it was a battle from the start, and the battle was set to continue.

With all ingredients at the ready Adri started her operation but of course she has the brain, but she needed my brawn. I had to whisk those egg whites into a frenzy until they pouted, man, that really tested my stamina. After all was prepared the dish was placed in the fridge to cool down and set. There was only one problem, it never did set! It stayed in a runny state and that was how we eventually had it. Dished into a cup with the mandatory cinnamon added to the mix it made for a really delicious milk tart pudding.

We have not had chicken in a while so tonight was designated chicken night. Ordering the chicken at the meat counter downstairs at Franca’s the butcher half asked half insisted that he cut those fillets into 8mm slices. And man, was that the way to go! The chicken was wonderful accompanied by deep fried potatoes and cabbage with onions. The latter was never a favourite of mine back home but the cabbage just seems to taste much better over here.

Rain was forecasted for Wednesday, and it did. Starting at around 09:00 it continued until… well, for most of the day. Adri wanted burek for breakfast, or rather, she needed it. This I knew as she insisted on walking to the bakery for such in the rain. Of course she donned her cheap bright orange plastic raincoat we brought with us from Thailand but now the raincoat was coming apart at the seams… literally, but that did not deter her.

After breakfast my sweet tooth whispered something in my ear. I had half forgotten about that limited edition green wrapped Snickers bar that we bought in Belgrade, which contain hazelnuts rather than peanuts. I relieved the bar from its green mantle and took my first bite, and then a second, and then… it was all gone before Adri could confirm she did not want any. It was delicious, now go on Mars Incorporated, start mass producing them.

It was beginning March and we needed to book our transport for the trip to Sète in a couple of week’s time. We tried to be creative with our travelling choices between Budva and Sète using a combination of bus, train and ferry options. This just to make life interesting, but we soon enough found that it was rather complicated travelling this way from outside the EU, into the EU, and I suspect vice versa.

There was one final bus option we did consider, using Flixbus, but we would still have had to get from Budva to Tirana in Croatia. It seems that many of these bus companies either operate in the EU or in the Balkans, but not both. We finally decided it was not worth the effort by bus or train on such a long route with so many connections, so we turned to the trusted flight option.

The best and most convenient flight we could find was flying from Tivat, about 20km from Budva, back to Belgrade, then to Paris and then on to Montpellier. The only downside to this is the overnight stopover in Paris that amounts to around 12 hours waiting time. What also made this option attractive is that one is urged to ensure that your passport is correctly stamped at time of entry in order for the long stay visa to be properly recognised and activated. I would rather have this done correctly at the Charles de Gaulle Airport than at some obscure land border post between Montenegro and Croatia. All things considered I went ahead and booked with Air Serbia, flying the first two legs via that airline and the last on Air France.

Thursday the sun was gloriously out in its full splendour, there was not a sliver of white in the sky this morning, all brilliantly blue. We had not seen a blue-sky day like this for months. We had to move, there was no time to waste, you know, places to go, people to see.

This morning we had a breakfast, like a breakfast is supposed to be, at least here in the Adriatic and Mediterranean. Take a simple slice of fresh local bread – anything other than the usual square sliced loaf variety – and drip copious amounts of olive oil over that puppy. Slap a slab of cheese on top of it, and on top of that, a few slices of salami. Then, with each bite, chuck a green olive into your mouth and… heaven!

It would be a waste to waste this day so we ambled down to the bus stop and arrived just in time for the bus to Sveti Stefan. This is a town further along the coast and not to be confused with the co-driver we encountered on our bus trip from Belgrade to Budva, who could easily carry the name of sweaty Stefan.

Arriving in Sveti Stefan we walked along the steep walkway down to the beach. A woman and a small child rushed past and I caught a fleeting glimpse of her face, it was a Thai lady. Before I could direct a sawasdee krab (hello) in her direction, she had already disappeared. We have seen a few Thai people here; there is even a Thai massage parlour in the shopping centre and a Thai Restaurant up the road from us. Sadly, on inspection, the Thai restaurant is closed for the offseason; I was so looking forward to a green, Massaman or Penang curry. Man, I miss this stuff!

The little island resort of Sveti Stefan, linked to the mainland by a walkway, is closed for the offseason; it is essentially locked up with a gate and a huge lock. After a photo shoot we walked further along the beach to the Olive Restaurant. The weather was great so we sat outside, sans my leather jacket, under the old olive tree with a beautiful view towards Sveti Stefan.

 

We ordered Americanos, “with hot milk on the side please’, and that’s exactly how it arrived. We have just had breakfast but glanced through the menu nevertheless, just for in case. Something that caught my eye was the cheese platter, maybe we’ll come back for that later. Then a woman ordered the same and she sat there, with each bite of a cheese, any cheese, she closed her eyes as if in a trance, enjoying each strain of taste that emerged from that delicacy. Now I was thinking, we’ll definitely come back for that later!

We walked along the pebbly beach until we reached the end, then headed up and down and around a few streets, marvelling every time at the perfectly blue ocean whenever we saw it appear between the many apartments buildings.

I tried to find a shortcut to the street the next level up the hill and nearly landed up in somebody’s kitchen. The man of the house appeared and I thought “Uh oh!” I started to explain about the shortcut but I was probably not the first to have landed up in his kitchen, he didn’t seem surprised and pointed me in the right direction. He turned out to be such a lovely guy, made some small talk and on hearing that we were from SA, he claimed that the wines in SA are so much better than in Montenegro. He has a point there.

After completing our recce of the greater Sveti Stefan village we took our places back at the Olive Restaurant and ordered that cheese platter to share as a snack. When the waiter returned he said “That’s not all”, Adri heard “That’s all” and looked deeply disappointed. There was a bowl of the freshest bread in a basket with a small tubby of butter and mashed up eggplant. Five minutes later the real platter arrived adorned with pieces of blue cheese, pecorino, a creamy salty one, a type of mozzarella and a few slices of Gouda.

Included on the platter was a liqueur glass filled with a sweetish slightly sour jasmine infused syrup with two tiny thin slices of lemon as well as two sweet cherries. Mixing up the cheese with the freshest of breads, dripping with olive oil and sometimes also with that syrupy concoction from the liqueur glass… Well I have never; this was all simply amazing…!

We relaxed here for the better part of two hours but it was getting late and we did not want to miss the last bus back to Budva. We dragged our now ample bodies up the steep hill back to the bus stop and seven minutes later the bus appeared.

 

 

Back in Budva we were considering going to Herceg Novi tomorrow, a town that lies at the furthest end of Kotor Bay, about 60 km away. On our walk home we stopped off at the bus station to enquire about prices and schedules. The guy behind the counter quoted us €6 for a single trip to Herceg Novi but when asked about the schedule he was once again deep in conversation with his friend on the phone, I was nowhere to be seen. When I stood my ground he pointed heavenwards, I was ready to go the other way. It’s then that I realised he was pointing to a screen above my head that shows timings for all the bus routes. Cool.

Anyways, we finally decided to give the bus to Herceg Novi a miss tomorrow, for the same price we could rent a car for the day to drive there, it seemed like a much more fun option. We had enquired about rental rates the other day and in season the smallest of cars go for a whopping €55, in offseason the same car could be had for a mere €20.

The thought of supper did not cross our minds tonight after the cheese platter of late afternoon. We read and relaxed for the rest of the evening, getting to bed rather early after a wonderfully active day.

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