Yesterday afternoon I pulled up in Porto Montenegro. But not before a whole morning of drama; including a nearly missed flight to Croatia, my driver being an hour late, and no sleep since Monday morning.
Despite it all, the transfer from Dubrovnik to Tivat was smooth as a baby's bottom. One drives through stunning Croatian countryside, through winding roads carved into mountains, to bypass the main border control and into a quieter, lesser known route where border police emerge from a tiny stone hut to inspect one's passport, frown, then smile and wish you good day.
When one reaches the port one waits to be ferried across the sea...
...and then a short drive into my new home for the next week or so, the little expat bubble within the walls known as Porto Montenegro.
There's no Diet Coke in the Balkans, just Coke Zero, because the Slavs are too macho to drink anything that says 'diet' on the can.
Called it an early night; after a day of socialising, bar hopping, and clinking glasses I hit the hay shortly after midnight. And now I've woken up feeling fresh and glorious, like the hydrangeas that flourish on the roadsides like weeds (how is that possible?!).
I'm going to hit up the beach and pool for some much needed Vitamin D.
I'll be hash tagging #BalkanSoHard and #ILiveToSerb on Instagram.
Buh-b-Balkan so hard Montenegrins wanna fine me.