Today, on the road to somewhere on Lake Ochrid, FYROM.
3 days ago, trying to hitch Tivat to Bigovo, Montengro. A native picks me up. We have no shared language. Once in the car, I feel my pants, and realize I can’t feel my wallet. I cry “STOP!”. He nods sagely, and calmly continues on his way. I shout “STOP!!!!”. I shout “Arrete, merde”. I shout another 10 things that all come down to the same basic things. He notices my panic, and stops the car. I get up, and realize my wallet has shifted in my pants, and became wedged between my ass and the seat. I pantomime my brain, my wallet, back there (”benzjinika”) and thums up (ok, “dobra”). I’m trying to say it’s ok, everything fine. He nods, sagely, and starts to drive back to the gas station. I slap my forehead, and try to at least pretend he’s helping me out. As soon as we arrive, I run into the toilet, I pull out my cellphone from the pocket of my pants. I run back to the car, smiling big, pretending that was what I forgot. He’s very happy to have done me this favor.
The great things about hitchhiking, it that the assholes never take you. (or almost never).
I arrive to Tivat at four in the morning. I made the classical mistake of thinking I could catch some sleep on the bus. And then I push myself hard to arrive to my destination around 10 o’clock. I’m figuring out that I’m not that strong, but stubborn as hell. This place has no highways, but no sidewalks either. But these are not the important things.
The important things is that I’m now staying in Bigova, or, more precisely, the bay of Bigova, about 10 minutes of rowing. Don’t try and look up Bigova on Wikipedia or Goole maps, it’s too small to register on the radar. Find it here.
The rich life, in every meaning of the word. I’m hosted by Elena and Eddie, and joined by their cat “Bedbug”. A short swim to wake up from a rocking sleep. A cigarette. Then a coffee. A cigarette again. Some contemplation of going to shore for the afternoon, 10 minutes by rowboat. No internet. No electricity, as the engine is broken. Only a little bit of leaking. I’d read, but I read my book, and all the others are in Russian.
Today a quick trip to Kotor, tiny fortified town build vertical beyond belief. Tomorrow, the long, slow road to the country that some may call Macedonia, and other call the home of name-thieving bastards.
I’m thinking of making a proposal for a new Lonely Planet: Europe, the North American/Oceanic way. Everyone is invited to participate. Mainly, we try to affirm all the cliche’s. Prague as an excellent way to have a stop in Eastern Europe. Amsterdam covering 80 percent of the surface of the Netherlands. Bruges as the capital of Belgium. Overuse the term “run down charm”. Barcelona as a nice way to sample Spanish culture. You get the idea.
Well, actually I failed to hitch worse than ever before, for many scorching hours. The only upshot was that I didn’t get anywhere at all, so I was able to take a bus straight back into the city. And now, I’m hanging out in a bus station waiting to catch one to the Montenegrean coast. And frankly, I don’t give a damn. I did have a loose plan to hitch all the way (where?),but I’m not a fascist. And I’ve been invited to spend some time on a double masted yacht, which is way more of a priority for me. Big sloppy grins all around.
I should be on the way South-Westish right now. At the time of writing I don’t know where or when.
Memories of a road between Budapest and Belgrade. A border checkpoint in the middle of nowhere. A highway that simply ends. Single lane turn into 2, getting out of this place is an emergency so it’s allright. Not a mountain in sight for hours. A surprising amount of abandoned cars in the ditch. Their vehicles sure look like dinosaurs. Everywhere there are tons of improvised fruit stands in the back of a van, but not a single permanent building. Who stops for them, anyway? Are they mirages? Is this road even going somewhere? I would be scared to get out. To die of thirst. Nobody would notice, my corpse would be covered in dust in a matter of minutes.
Belgrade. A walking city, mainly by virtue of it’s complete lack of subways. Run-down in a good way. Marseille without a sea. Cyrillic shenanigans. A smell of queer bashing hangs in the air. You can almost hear the concrete creak as it expands in the heat. A touch of recent bombing. A lot of walking. Cheap beer, and the art of making sandwiches.
I think I really like Belgrade, but only time will tell.
As a counterpoint to the assault and battery experiences on the water recently, I indulged and spend about 4 hours in a Hungarian bath. Well, I spend about 4 hours in a Turkish bath in Hungary to be precise. After a couple of hours, all present worries are processed in your head. And you only have the easy choices to make in life. 18, 22, 32, 36 or 42 degrees? Steam bath or sauna? Rinse with a bucket, shower, or freezing pool? It’s been a long while since I’ve so been in touch with my body , and it feels great. It’s also very funny to see all the experts at work. Hungary is such a great country, that some retirees get free access for medical reasons. And go there every day for 4 hours. Tell me another civilized country where this is possible.
I made it to Budapest faster than it would have taken by train. But this is not what matters. I was actually not what matters. I originally wanted to go to Pecs, in the south of Hungary. Perhaps in an attempt to avoid a capital city, perhaps because it’s description reminded me a lot of Leuven. But in the end, a combination of gas-station-missing snoozing and faulty navigation computers caused my Ukranian driver to take the most direct route East, straight through the city centre. So, I bit the bullet, and hopped off. And immediately found very good hospitality at a friend I made only a couple of days before.
A couple of hours later. I see a couple taking pictures. Afterwards, a couple making out. And I wonder who’s right. They notice, and I quickly continue, embarrassed to have disturbed their reverie. And I keep on walking. This city looks like a neglected Vienna. A tomb of a Turkish poet, wonderfully restored.. Hungarians are friendly people with no desire for revenge. Random big city problems. The street plan is so predictable it’s not fun anymore. I smoke, and I wish the river would smell like the sea. I have to hustle if I want to see the Adriatic. I’ve got a date with Istanbul on the 16th. And I’m going to go nuts if I stay in cities like this. I would live here if it’s placidity wasn’t so damn familiar. And I keep on walking.
My whole brain was out of tune (x2)
I don’t know how to tune a brain, do you?
I went into a brain shop
They said they’d have to rebuild the whole head
I said well, do what you got to do
When I got my brain back
It didn’t work right
I didn’t have as many good ideas
I haven’t had a good idea since I got it fixed
Morphine, interlude during the Bootleg Detroit concert
I’m still in Prague, but I’m leaving tomorrow for Hungary. I don’t have any pictures to show, as I’ve mostly been hanging out with old and new friends, cooking, discussing and partying. We had a really nice crowd going, it’s as always amazing that it happens, and bad because it dissolves after a couple of days. The only real photo opportunity I had, canoeing on the Sazaka river slightly south of Praha. And, considering that I wiped out badly four or five times during 16 kilometers, I’m happy I didn’t bring my camera. I’m bloody, bruised, and -insult to injury- I lost my favorite hat.
But it’s all alright.
