"Herceg Novi at midnight" a Herceg-Novi Travel Page by maykal

Taking my time in Kosovo was perhaps in hindsight not the best idea. It meant that I had to rush myself in Albania, and because of the difficulties in finding buses in Albania, I found myself in Shkoder, the wrong side of Montenegro, with less than 24 hours until my flight home, from....Dubrovnik!

Montenegro is, from all accounts, a spectacular place, especially along the coast. I can't really comment, as I saw practically nothing. A couple of hours walking around possibly the most unattractive place on the coastline (Bar), and a few coastal views, glimpsed through a set of windscreen wipers on various buses...but for the most part it was dark, as I sped across Montenegro from south to north. I missed Ulqini, I missed Budva and Sveti Stefan, I missed Kotor and the famous bay. All that mattered that night was getting as close to Dubrovnik Airport as possible, so for that reason, I ended up in Herceg Novi at midnight.

Midnight is not the best time to arrive anywhere really. If you're looking for a cheap place to stay, it can be disasterous. There were no offers of "sobe" (rooms) at the bus station. In fact, there was nobody but a barking dog to greet me. A lone kiosk over the road remained open for business. "Hotel?" I asked. Shrugs. A hand pointing vaguely downhill.

I trudged down the road, steep and dark and silent. No hotel in sight. I reached a square, a pretty one, all lit up but nobody around. Drunken singing rang out from somewhere, but not from a bar...not one that was open for business anyway. A few cats crept across the square in hot pursuit of a mouse or a worm.

A policeman was vaguely bemused by my presence, and came up to ask what I was doing. In my best Serbo-Croat, I said "hotel?". Again, more shrugs, then a lightbulb lit up in his head and he said "Hotel Plazha", pointing towards some impressive old town walls.

Despite not having anywhere to stay or any real idea where this Hotel Plazha might be, I started to sort of enjoy my midnight wanderings. I guess Herceg Novi is quite touristy, but midnight in April allowed me to see the sights in complete solitude.

Eventually, a gargantuan concrete palace appeared. Hotel Plazha. Sliding black glass doors swooshed open to reveal a vast red carpeted reception, a solitary light shining above a lone receptionist marooned right in the middle. He had a room available. Big sigh of relief. 40 Euro. Oh. A bit pricey for me, and potentially disasterous, as I had just enough cash for a cheap room and a bus over to Dubrovnik the following morning. Anything cheaper? He pored through his big ledger, scratched his head. Raising an eyebrow, he suggested a different room for 35 Euros. Still way over budget for me. Was there a cheaper hotel nearby? No, but he did have a cheaper room he could let me have for 30 Euros! Spotting a credit card machine, I decided to go for it...

Holding an enormous metal key and with instructions to take the lift up to the ninth floor, I padded across acres of carpet. What's the name of that film, where a family look after a remote hotel in the mountains and get snowed in for months? Little toddler on a tricicle wheeling down endless carpeted corridors in the dark? Was it The Shining? Anyway, it felt a little bit like that.

The room was spectacular. I haven't seen a room like that since the 1980s. In fact, I'm not sure if I have actually seen a room quite like it. Is this what people used to call luxury? Everything seemed white and square. I loved the faded and stained doilies on the bedside tables, the shower with mushrooms growing in the plughole, the stark bright lightbulb in the centre of the room, the missing ceiling tiles allowing a peek into the water pipes (flashbacks to a film called Coma...), the broken seal on the toilet seat saying "to ensure a cleanly bathroom", the enormous sliding window that didn't slide, the manky net curtains, the yellow cylindrical lampshade over a lamp that hadn't worked for decades. This wasn't a hotel; it was a heritage centre! I got the giggles.

In the morning, I realised I had a view from the sliding window. actually, it was quite a spectacular view over the mouth of the Bay of Kotor, huge mountains towering over calm blue seas, red tiled roofs, yachts. 6am was sunrise, and I seriously regretted not being able to spend longer in Montenegro.

Breakfast. The lift creaked and clunked its way down to the ground floor, home to an empty indoor swimming pool with what looked like grass growing at the bottom, a "Trim Kabinet" (whatever that may be....I thought maybe a hair salon, but there was one of those on the 6th floor, so it must have been something else...can anyone enlighten me?) and a gargantuan restaurant.

More acres of carpet took me to a handful of tables in the centre of the room, feeling terribly isolated. I was not the only diner. Three other tables were occupied by men on their own. Nobody spoke. We all looked anywhere but at each other. A door flew open, and out came a no-nonsense lady with a clunkety trolley. She made the rounds, barking out the menu at speed. Finally the trolley creaked to a halt beside me, and the menu was rattled off, no eye contact whatsoever as the lady was staring out of the window at nothing. My Serbo-Croat is almost non-existant. I do like to try at least a little of the local language wherever I am, but after a couple of weeks attempting Albanian, it was quite difficult at 7am to make head or tail of the verbal menu, and disgusted that the only phrase I could summon up from memory was "Do you speak English?"

She looked alarmed, and it took her a few seconds to recover. "Eine minute" she exclaimed, as she looked to the sea for inspiration. An awkward silence began, one I put an end to by suggesting "French? Italian?". She raised her hand as if to say, "It's coming", almost breaking into a smile...and indeed it did come, erupting from her lips like bullets from a machine gun. "Omelettemittcheeseomelettemittshroomomelettemithambreadjambutterkafetea". Deep breath "Whatyouwant." I opted for omelette mitt cheese, and she whisked her creaky trolley back to the kitchen without another word.

Silence. Four lone men waited at four separate tables for their omelettes mitt cheese and breadkafetea for what seemed like hours but was probably only quarter of an hour. Then a flurry of action in the kitchen, and the door flew open again. Out she came, with the same creaky trolley, this time laden down with omelettes mitt cheese. As she crossed the acres of carpet, the trolley made a noise like a rusty train. Clink. Clunk. Clink. Clunk clunk. It struck me as a comedy moment, and I got a fit of inappropriate giggles. Trying to stifle them, I let out a very audible snort. Disapproving stares all round, which didn't help me at all.

An omelette mitt cheese swimming in oil and breadkafetea was thrust on my table, and there was certainly no trace of a smile this time. I put it down to the loud snort.

All that remained after breakfast was to walk uphill to the bus station, and board my bus to Dubrovnik, just enough time to buy a postcard of Herceg Novi's old town on my way. Half an hour later, we crossed into Croatia, and my sojourn in Montenegro was over.