Day 14: Orasac to Podgorica (Montenegro)

I'd spent a pleasant time last night chatting with an adventurous French couple, Philippe and Valérie, who are doing almost the same route as me but in a campervan. Their amazing journeys are recorded in their blog:
https://cinqcontinents.jimdo.com

This morning I'm having a slow start. Everything seems to be taking longer than it should. I take time to try and sort the front wheel spindle bolt problem - it  keeps working loose. I check my 'nuts and  bolts' tin but there's no locking washers the right size. I improvise and use a hacksaw blade to cut radial grooves in the back of the nut. Hopefully, that will increase the friction enough to stop it moving. I'll have to keep an eye on it  

For the first time since I left Fishguard, I read the news. I wish I hadn't. I decide to ignore the outside world and carry on living my adventure day to day. If it all blows up there's little I can do from here.

The groundsheet of the tent is damp from the ground, but a little time in the morning sun dries it off before I pack it away.

I'm heading for Montenegro and ominously, the first really bad overtaker has MNE on rear plate. Is this a sign of things to come?
In the steep mountain roads the land falls away so much that I start to experience vertigo as I ride along. I find myself gripping the bars and staring intently at the road ahead rather than looking over the edge on my right. Shame, as it's a stunning view. You can see for miles...down.

I roll down into a small valley town. Again, a layer of blue smoke hangs over village. This time however, the smell is of woodsmoke. Spicy... I recognise it... olives.  Maybe it's the time to prune olive trees. Maybe they are burning off the prunings. I can only speculate but this olive incense fills the whole village.

Satty tells me to turn right at a place where all I can see is water. I write it off as her usual quirkyness. But she starts insisting that I make a u-turn. For some reason, I trust her instincts and turn. Of course...there's a ferry! I ride up to the man directing people into the boat. He holds out his hand.

"How much?"

He points to a small white building and says, "Get ticket."

I get ticket. He takes it from me and waves me onto the ferry, the last one. It's only a short sail, but it cuts out an enormous detour to get around the water. Three ferries are operating flat out, to cope with all the traffic from the West towards Podgorica.

A Lorry pulls out sharply in front of me. No signal - MNE again. I follow it keeping my distance warily, and use the lorry's up and down motion to help me anticipate the bumps in the road.

There's a long, slow queue at border. They are being very thorough. I ask them to stamp my passport, helpful if there are any problems later on. For that they demand my vehicle documents and green card. Eventually, I ride on thinking I'm through the border, but I'm mistaken; that was just the exit from Croatia. Next border hut holds a very serious faced Montenegran guard. "Passport."  "Vehicle documents."  "Green card." I have them all and show him my international driving licence as well for good measure. He stamps the passport and hands everything back with a stony face. I wheel the bike forward to let the car behind me in.

Parked up just past the border hut I see a motorhome with a Welsh sticker on the back so I pull up to its open window to say 'hello'. It turns out that he doesn't have a green card or his registration documents and has been told to wait here for 'processing'. I can imagine the border guard pulling on the surgical gloves ... or more likely, they'll empty his wallet and send him on his way. Whatever does happen, it takes a long time as the Welsh camper doesn't pass me until a couple of hours later.

After negotiating the madness that is Montenegro and it's death wish drivers, I pull up outside Hotel Ideal. The little bike looks out of place as I unload my dusty bags and ferry them up to the third floor.

I finally get a chance to have a decent shower and put on tidier clothes. I head out into the streets of Podgorica in search of some dinner.

I'm overwhelmed by the mass of activity as I suddenly turn a corner into a wide pedestrianised area. Hundreds of children and their parents are in the streets.  I go to the nearest cafe that seems to serve food. I sit and take a menu. There's no alcohol but they give me a good pot of tea. I'm offered a cheese pie dish. A friendly man at the adjacent table translates for me. I sit and watch the children as they play on little scooters with kaleidoscopic lights on the wheels which form tracers in the falling dusk.

Eventually I head back to the hotel and as I pass, I give the Honda's saddle a pat. It's a fine little bike.