Budva in Montenegro

Monday 19th September 1983

The weather was undecided when we awoke – the wind had died down a bit and the sun and cloud were engaged in a battle for supremacy. We had breakfast which was more palatable than yesterday, probably because we were hungrier. We avoided the eggs today and managed to get some butter and jam. The toffee drink was also served up and I managed to stomach a few mouthfuls without chundering (Australian Informal. Verb to vomit.). We handed in the key and hit the road, pausing briefly for petrol and some fresh oil. After a hint of rain the sun had burst through and now it is beaming.

We cruised along as usual along the coast but at one stage we moved inland passed lakes and irrigated plains hidden amongst the rugged hills and mountains. We covered over 50 miles before stopping for a coke. George was daydreaming, probably mulling over his mornings dysentery, and nearly hit an old woman and a parked taxi. Goats and laden donkeys are becoming a common sight on the road. We pulled our bikes in on the verge just down the road for an oil change and then went off again.

The road became even more interesting as the mountains become more rugged and tall coniferous spikes protruded from their slopes. We wound about bays and headlands until our bums began to ache and we pulled in for a break at a lone café. We steamed into a lovely mixed grill with mixed salad and chips. A veritable feast washed down with coke and coffee. We moved on, bloated, and headed for the Youth Hostel at Herceg Novi, a coastal town in Montenegro located at the entrance to the Bay of Kotor and at the foot of Mount Orjen.

The road wound above Dubrovnic and we saw that far from being the vast built-up hell that we had envisaged, it was as picturesque a town as I’ve ever seen. Dubrovnik is one of the world’s most magnificent walled cities, overlooking the calm blue Adriatic. Once the capital of the mighty sea-faring Republic of Ragusa (1358-1808), it's now Croatia’s most upmarket destination. Historically, this diminutive republic was sophisticated, refined and cultured. Today, the pedestrian-only Old Town – packed with aristocratic palazzi and elegant Baroque churches, contained within sturdy medieval fortifications – draws hundreds of thousands of visitors annually. A large sheltered bay harboured a wealth of yachts and ships, and buildings were subtly indispersed with trees on the slopes. South of the town old forts and fortifications guarded the approaches from the sea.

We got to Herceg Novi and after a merry dance we found the Youth Hostel which was closed (end of season despite what the YHA Handbook said – the bastards!). We decided to move on to the mythical paradise of Budva that featured so prominently in Pete Willis (our mentor for this trip) travel tales. The weather was cloudy but warm and dry as the bikes purred along with effortless ease and reliability that we had begun to take for granted.

A ferry across the vast inlet cost us a pittance (40 Dinar for both of us) and cut 20km off of our journey as well as being a pleasant change from riding. We continued across Western movie scenery to Budva and discovered a commercialised hell. With its medieval Old Town, sun-soaked beaches, and lively nightlife, Budva, Montenegro, is the stand-out attraction along the Montenegrin coastline. Its cobbled streets, geared up for tourism, harbour hotels, museums, souvenir shops, cafés, boutiques and discotheques in abundance. Gone was Pete’s beautiful seclusion and unmolested beach. We decided that a room here would be too expensive and prepared to sleep out under the stars after a few coffees and a peek at the town. We bought a bottle of wine each to help us sleep and demolished 2 packets of Jaffa Cakes.

N.B. Regarding Baška Voda, during our stay some bastards nicked George’s only wing mirror and one of mine. Also I finished “The Hobbit” and started on a Robert E. Howard Omnibus – a veritable treat and an inspiration, as well as helping to increase our vocabulary. I read aloud selected paragraphs and we roared with laughter at Howard’s magic with words.

We discovered what was left of the old walled city of Budva and learned that earthquakes in 1979 had decimated the old town and the new tourist trap was built on the ashes of the old place.

After a couple of unprompted shits I was feeling pretty miserable as we headed back to where the motorbikes were chained up in a hotel car park. We retrieved our bottles of wine and sat on a wall looking out at the hulking black shape of the island in the cove. The wine was potent and I was soon “well under the influence” as we chatted happily. Then, inebriated, we set off towards an abandoned caravan site with many caravans left with open doors. We selected one in the middle and moved in wholesale, deciding that our luck was in.

We slept peacefully for a while before we were awoken by scuffling noises outside. Crouching like thieves in the dark we waited in guilty silence as someone checked through the caravans. Luckily for us the caravan that we had chosen appeared to be locked from the outside and all the curtains were drawn. The noises died away and after a while we stole into the night to await dawn dozing fitfully on the beach. It was cold but the wine had a long-lasting numbing effect.

Bike reading 15,350 miles.