The Scenic Route to Paphos, Cyprus

 

                                                               Outside of Athens Airport

Ah.  The joys of a middle seat when you have 3-foot-long legs and are already tired of sitting on planes.  Yes, that was the fun I experienced on the flight out of the U.S.  I’m usually kinda jazzed to once again be leaving the country, but this time I’m just tired.

That fatigue worked in my favor as I slept during most of the overnight flight.  Landed in Heathrow for a bit of a layover and then it was onto security.  My 20-minute ordeal with security trying to find a .66 mil container of lotion in my computer bag during my last trip through the airport was still fresh in my mind but, mercifully, there was no issue this time.  The flight back to Lisbon was just as uneventful.

I’d flown to the states this time on a round-trip fare from Portugal as it was cheaper.  It also put me in a decent position to fly to my next destination.  I spent another night in VIP Picoas and headed back to the airport the next day.

This is where my issue with taxis really comes into play.  I’d taken an Uber from Lisbon airport to this same hotel when I travelled in from Faro and it was about 11 euros.  That same trip by taxi, depending on the time of day, costs anywhere from 13-30 euros.  The last guy also complained that I didn’t tip him (he’d also complained earlier about having back issues and not being able to help with my bags – seriously?  And you still want a tip?).  The convenience of having the cab waiting in front of the airport is usually not even worth the extra expense.  You’d think I’d learn that lesson by now, but I’m still stubborn like that. 

Just as an aside; I’m still using esims for my phone since Google Fi cut me off from international travel (still works perfectly fine in the states).  For some reason, the last couple of sims I used in Portugal would just randomly stop working.  This is part of the reason I was so quick to hop a cab as my connection to Uber was often spotty.

Another plane, another country.  It’s a four-hour flight from Lisbon to Greece.  I’d taken this same flight way back in the beginning of my journey and I was even less eager to leave Portugal now than I was then.  At least this time I wasn’t staying in Greece.  The Athens airport was just a means of getting back to Cyprus.

Except … why do the departure signs in the airport show that there is another airport on the island?  I’m flying into Larnaca, the airport I’m familiar with, and yet my accommodation in located in Paphos.  Are you telling me that Paphos airport is a short bus ride from my Airbnb while the airport I’m actually flying into is two hours away?

Really?

Oy.

I made this same mistake when flying into Montenegro.  I flew into Podgorica when I should have flown into Tivat and had to pay for that exorbitant taxi ride between the two cities.  How was I to know at the time?  When I searched for flights to the country, I just assumed the first airport that came up was the main (if only) airport in the area.  Sigh.  Another live and learn moment.

I’d already be arriving in Larnaca after 11 pm.  I could not face the idea of a 2-hour taxi ride from there to Paphos (which would cost about 130 euros!) followed by an exhausted fumbling for keys to get into the new place, in the dark, while lugging all my crap.  Couldn’t do it.

I booked a one-night stay in a hotel in Larnaca and figured I’d sort out getting to my apartment when I was fresh the next morning.  After arriving even later on Cyprus than planned (the flight was delayed), waiting far too long for my bags, and having to hail a cab to the hotel (that still cost 20 euros – it’s 2 miles away, my dude!), I still had to fumble for keys in the dark.  The reception desk had been abandoned by the time I got there, so the owners sent me pictures and instructions to get in.

It was a clean enough place.  There was a bed.  I slept.

The next morning, I scouted for some breakfast before trying to figure out the bus routes on the island.  Oh.  Yeah.  The sun on the Mediterranean.  Can’t beat it.  It’s why I chose to spend the next three months of exile from Portugal on the island.  I don’t have the bandwidth for anywhere new and, as I learned last year, my dear Istanbul is way too cold and rainy this time of year.  Cyprus remains sunny and warm at around 65 degrees F.

Still miss Portimão, though.

While sitting at breakfast in a seaside cafe, basking in the sun, I had a moment to think.  The last few days had been rough with all the travel and I still had another day of land travel before settling in my new home.   I was tired, anxious about my employment situation and my dwindling bank account, and uncertain about how the rest of the day would go.  But I was in Cyprus, a place I liked, and it was beautiful.

And this is my life at the end of 2024. I had breakfast while watching the sunrise in Lisbon and the next day, I watched the sun set in Paphos.  I may be ready to return to being a cat lady/hermit with a boring desk job in Portugal, but I can still appreciate the amazing moments I’ve had on this journey.

Meal done, I went back to the hotel to check out.  The nice lady at the desk showed me how to catch the city bus into the center of Larnaca.  A short walk from there took me to the boardwalk along Finikoudes Beach, a place that was already familiar to me.  From there I caught the bus from Larnaca to Limassol.  Once there, I caught another bus to Paphos.

So, just to see some numbers, 20 euros for the cab ride from the airport, 53 euros for the hotel room, 2.40 for the city bus, 4 euros a piece for each of the intercity buses, and 13 euros for yet another cab from the bus station to the apartment.  Altogether, that totals 96.40.  Would taking a cab for the entire journey be easier?  Yes.  But since I am really tired of paying for overpriced cabs, I think saving 30-40 euros made all the transfers and waiting more than worth it.

The apartment turned out to be worth the trouble as well.  It’s a spacious place with a huge bedroom and a direct view of the pool.

The ocean is about a mile away while the city center is a mile in the other direction.  I’ll be here for two weeks, the longest I could stay as the place is booked up.  After that I might make my way to Limassol on the way back to Larnaca.  I don't know yet.  After the last week, I’m really not in the mood to make any more arrangements for a while.

My first morning in Paphos, I went to a local pub for breakfast.  And yes, I want food and not a beer at 10:30 in the morning like the people at the table near me (no shade on them, I just can’t get with the ‘every hour is beer hour’ attitude of the Brits/Irish).  As I’ve mentioned before, Cyprus is crazy with Brits as this place can attest.  It’s a British pub playing British music and featuring screens showing football (American soccer).  There were ads on the radio for relocation services for Brits looking to move to Cyprus.    

As I ate my big English breakfast, the genial Irish guy who ran the place asked where I was from.  When I told him the U.S., Georgia, he immediately responded with “that’s too bad”.  It made me laugh, but when he added that it was like adding a lift to a toilet, I only laughed harder.  Unasked, he then proceeded to give me all these tips for getting around the island, including a warning about the crazy prices of the cab drivers.  Good food, good atmosphere, and good tips.  Can’t ask for more as a tourist in a new city.

Oh yeah.  And cats.  Don’t forget the cats.

Too Many Planes, Too Many Airports

 

Yeah.  I knew that time was coming again.

You would think that I wouldn’t want to go through the separation anxiety of leaving Portugal ever again, so I just wouldn’t keep coming back.   But I’m not that bright.  Can’t stay away from the country, have yet to secure a bag to remain, so … gotta leave again.

This sucks.  Hard.

I was very happy in my pink palace in Portimão.  I didn’t do anything terribly exciting, hence not posting to this blog in a month.  I worked on my online store, tried to get some of my other writing done, and basically chilled.  Total all, I had two glorious months of not having to get on a plane, two months of regular walks along a gorgeous beach, two months of not having to plan my next moves.  It was lovely.

And did I mention that the hosts sent their cleaning lady, a nice woman from Brazil, to clean the place twice during my stay?  Can I tell you how much I loved that?  I’ve never hired a maid in my life, but I might have to consider it the occasional special treat once I find my new place.

That last week or so was a bit on the taxing side, emotionally.  Not only was it the stress of leaving my most recent comfy home, but I came to the harsh realization that two years out of work has done a serious number on my bank account.  There is still no hope on the job front.  Just news of more layoffs and the confirmation that ageism is alive and well in this horrible job market.  My online shop has been open for a couple of months with zero sales.  I’ve gotten plenty of phishing emails and people looking to scrape more money out of my pocket in consultancy fees, but that’s about it.  It’s all been very demoralizing.

Adding to that stress, I was faced with yet another trip across the pond.  More fun.  I figured one last trip to the U.S. before January and the return of the orange regime. 

It’s just gonna get worse, people.

Anyway, there was nothing I could do about leaving Portugal as my Schengen days were coming to an end.  Sadly, I packed up and prepared to leave. Remembering that horribly expensive taxi ride into the city, I took a far cheaper Uber back to Faro Airport (more about the stupid expense of taxis in a later post). After one of the longest ½ hour flights I have ever had (why are children … children?), I was back to the VIP Executive Picoas in Lisbon.  I do love that hotel.  So comfy.  I booked my stay for two nights (including breakfast, which I still recommend) before the flight back to the states.

My short stay in Lisbon was enjoyable as always.  The city was all lit up for Christmas and full of tourists, even if the weather was a good 15 degrees cooler than in Portimão (I miss it so much!).  There was a Christmas Market in the park with carnival rides and an ice rink (seriously?  How?  It wasn’t that cold.).

I visited my favorite Hard Rock Café and was stunned to find that one of the waiters recognized me.  What?  The last time I went to that restaurant was six months earlier – the reason I remember that is because it was Easter Sunday and stupidly packed.  Weird, though, that I didn’t remember the dude.  I’m sure I’ll remember him if he’s still working there the next time I visit (he was definitely a cutie).

Way too soon, it was back to Lisbon Airport.  The flight to the U.S. was marked by having to switch my aisle seat in the very back of the plane to a seat near the flight attendant’s sitting area.  Not sure why the switch, but at least I had leg room for days.  A quick layover in Philly and then it was back to the ATL.

I hate that airport.  I didn’t used to before starting this journey.  Now it makes me itch every time I see it.  Still, the transition from plane to baggage claim to tram to car rental went smoothly enough.  Then it was off to an Airbnb I visited in January.

Still as cozy as ever, I did the standard things there during my short stay.  Mail pickup (including retrieving samples of the very t-shirts I had designed – very pleased with them, I must say), reupping on supplies, and dying my hair again.

I met the host on the way out of the place and we had a nice chat.  I filled him in on some of the places I’d visited since last seeing him and encouraged him to make his own way to Europe.  He said I was killing him with all these travel stories.  I told him I was killing myself as I’d hoped to be housed in Portugal months ago.  I confirmed his opinion that the Portuguese are a laid-back people living lives that aren't consumed by all the daily crap that Americans deal with.  That's just one of the reasons I'm still trying to get back there.  But for now …

Back to the airport.  Yeah.  I can’t keep doing this whole transatlantic hopping thing anymore.  The money, the butt-numbing time on uncomfortable planes, the stress – can’t keep doing it.  I was on the plane to the states when I realized that I need to do this as little as possible in the coming year.  I just can’t handle it anymore.  Screw dying my hair, screw getting the mail, and, as I had no income in 2024, screw having to fly back to do my taxes.  I need to remain in Europe for as long as I possibly can.

Still Happily in Portimão

 

Things continue to go well in Portimão.  It’s gotten a bit cooler and windier, but the sun is still shining (which I love so much).  Daylight Savings Time ended on Sunday 10/27/24, so the days are shorter now.  We’ve gotten a bit more rain, but that just makes the sunny days all the better.

I’ve extended my stay in my current cute pink apartment for a total of two months.  That makes this the longest I’ve stayed anywhere since I sold my house back in March 2023.  I’ll hate to leave the place as, when I do, it will also be time to leave the country again, but at least I’m enjoying my time here while I have it.

A couple of weeks prior to this post, there was a frisbee tournament on the beach.  Lots of teams and spectators in cordoned off areas for their matches.  One area was set up with bleachers for the larger matches.  Once the tournament was over, everything was quickly demolished, and a bunch of volleyball nets were set up.

As in the states, the Halloween decorations quickly gave way to Christmas trees and lights.  Again, there's no Thanksgiving holiday outside of the U.S., so it's a smooth slide into the end of the year festivities.  Once again, though, because of my timing, I won't be able to spend the holiday in the country I love.  Pesky tourist visa expires before 12/25/24.

I’m still reeling over the results of the 2024 U.S. election. 

Sigh.

The next four years are going to be bad.  Really bad.  A lot of people are going to die.

But, since there’s nothing I can do about that and as I already have one foot out of the country, the only thing I can do now is get my other foot out.  The job search has been nothing but a frustrating dead end. After a year of searching, I can’t even bring myself to look at another listing. 

The data analyst course I was taking ended up being another non-starter.  The course was estimated to take 3-6 months.  When I wasn’t done after nine months of waning interest, I knew that was not the route for me.  I don’t care how much an analyst can make, if I hated doing the work, I couldn’t pursue that career.

So, Instead I have opted to become an entrepreneur.

I opened a print on demand shop a few weeks ago.  I’ve had this thought in mind for about a year now and finally just decided to take the leap.  Despite all my research, the learning curve has been a steep one.  No sales yet, but I’m keeping hope alive. 

I’m also still posting on Medium.   Though the amount I’ve earned over the last year is only enough to buy me a single cappuccino, I do keep trying.  My goal is to eventually have multiple sources of income.  It’s slow going so far which is … sigh.

Here's the link for the shop if you’re in the market for a snazzy new t-shirt.

www.thetangyteeshop.com

Randomness on the Road Part 5

 Happy Halloween from Portimao!  Here are more tidbits I've observed during my travels.

I don’t know if I’ve ever mentioned this dude before, but this is Cristiano Ronaldo.  He is a football (American soccer) player who used the jersey number CR7.  He is practically worshipped as a god all over Europe and especially on Madeira where he grew up.  The picture was taken through a shop window -- it's a custom-made rug with his mug on it.  There are hotels bearing the name CR7, people wear his jersey everywhere, and he has his own museum in Funchal.  There’s even a statue of him outside of the museum where people rub the crotch for good luck. 

I seriously don’t think that man can live in his own country anymore.  He’d probably be mobbed on a daily basis.

Ronaldo's Best Moment with His Fans in a Coffee Shop #cristianoronaldo #football #fans #respect

Another face I keep seeing everywhere is Frieda Kahlo.  Her uni-browed visage shows up a lot in souvenir shops on tote bags and purses.  The first shot is from Montenegro while the second is from Türkiye.

In trying to make the best of Negril, Jamaica while I was there, I decided to get a massage on the beach.  The ladies who ran the place seemed surprised that I was interested and barely knew what services they offered.  Since the ‘facility’ was a bare bones space upstairs from a bar, the lady sent me to the nearby restaurant to disrobe.  I was then expected to put on a towel and carry my belongings back to the massage space. 

I got to the tiny bathroom, having nowhere to even put my clothes while I was changing, and immediately changed my mind about the whole endeavor. I realized that the draw of the service was the open-air view of the ocean, but I just wasn’t feeling it. Yet another way Jamaica got on my nerves. 

Thanks Jamaica!

I have an odd relationship with dogs.  Most of them are drawn to me.  I was walking on a beach in Hilton Head (I think) and a pair of dogs that were playing together slowly moved their way to me across several feet of sand just to say hello.  I once walked on the main street near my old house and had a pair of dogs cross the street to get to me (again, not a threat – just to say hello). 

For every two encounters I’ve had like that, there will be a dog that sees me and immediately starts barking.  No reason, I wasn’t doing anything in any of these instances.  That’s mostly been my experience in America.

In Europe, it’s been … different.  Most dogs completely ignore me.  I quickly got used to this in Türkiye as most of the street animals ignore people as a rule.  But even the leashed dogs tend to walk by like I’m not even there.  And yet I’ve encountered a few barkers as well.  Go figure.

I’ve read that dogs are drawn to a person’s scent, to their good energy.  Call me crazy, but I think there are more good or at least less stressed people in Europe so the dogs are just used to it.

I've seen these dealies in a couple of places, mostly Greece and Cyprus.  The door key controls the electricity.  As soon as you take it out of the slot, everything that isn't essential (refrigerator, power to computer) shuts off.  It takes a while to get used to, but I never worried about misplacing my key once inside.

There are a lot of tattoo parlors in Europe.  I first noticed this in Greece where even the small towns on the islands have one or more places to get inked.  The guy giving you your buttery croissant will likely have arms covered in artwork.  It’s mostly the dudes, but some of the chicks do as well (they’re also more likely to have nose rings or piercings).  Not many colored tats though, most of the designs I’ve seen are all in black.

Another recurring theme I’ve seen all over the souvenir shops is the evil eye.  Big in Türkiye, Greece, Cyprus, it’s on jewelry and clothing and takes many forms.  Also big in souvenirs?  Dongs.  Most of the souvenir shops carry statues of different sizes, including quite a few of some very happy naked men in Greece (I would have included the picture, but I don't want this post to get taken down).  

Or if you don’t need a whole statue, you can just buy a decorated wooden dong bottle opener.  If ever you need to play the “My dick’s bigger than yours” game, you can just whip one of these out and declare yourself the winner.  And then you can open a celebratory bottle of beer.

Portimão, Portugal

 

Surprise.  I’m back in Portugal.

What can I tell you?  It is my happy place.

And, yes.  I’m fully aware that there are so many other countries I could visit with my renewed Schengen days.  Switzerland, Germany, Italy (I still have a thought of spending a month traveling by train to multiple cities), France (I want to hit Nice eventually), and Spain but … naw.  I’m good in Portugal.

After several tries, I was able to find affordable housing, just not on Madeira (still looking into that).  Instead, I decided to hit a new part of the mainland.  The Algarve is in the south of the country, best known for its beaches.  The airport is in Faro which is apparently nowhere near where anyone wants to be.

The first transport options I encountered were several booths for shuttle services.  The lines were very long for all of them, so I went on the hunt for a taxi.  I quickly learned why the line for the taxis was non-existent.

My next apartment was about an hour away from the airport.  I can’t say how thrilled I was to see my first Pingo Doce along the way.  Yay!  I was back in Portugal!

Wait.  You want how much for the cab ride?

Sigh.  There goes another hundred bucks out the door.  (Please note: this is the third c-note taxi ride I’ve taken in the last three countries, Türkiye, Montenegro, and now Portugal.  You’d think I would have learned by now that cabs are a rip-off.)

Needless to say, I will be finding a different way back to the airport.

I spent my first week in Portimao in a cute, pink, 1^st floor apartment.  It was a nice setup with a double balcony and a tub (with the dreaded partition).  The building is about a mile and half from the beach over a sometimes rocky path.

The beach is fronted by the usual boardwalk with restaurants and shops.  And a lot of British people.  I knew before my arrival that there are more Brits here than anywhere else in the country.  There’s even a grocery store called The Food Co. that’s run by Brits and sells British made products.  My host in Porto had already warned me that the only reason to go to the Algarve was for the beaches.  All of the history and old-world charm of a city like Porto was completely given over to apartment buildings.  Lots of apartment buildings.   

And that’s about it.  Not so many historical sites in town.  The big draw is definitely the beach.  I have no problem with this.

I couldn’t book the first apartment for more than a week, though I wanted to.  Might as well make the most of the overpriced cab ride.  I ended up booking another apartment owned by the same hosts and get this – it was in walking distance from the first place.  Sweet!  Further away from the beach but closer to Continente (a very small Pingo Doce is another mile further up the road).

I knew before I got to the second place that I wouldn’t like it as much.  It was located on the 8^th floor in a building with a pool.  There was another tub (this time with a shower curtain – yay!) and two HUGE balconies.  I loved those things.  This was a corner unit like the first place which meant different views for each one.  Granted, there wasn’t much more to see than other apartment buildings, but still.

A little over a week in that place and I managed to book the first apartment for an entire month.  And, despite liking this place more, I found myself kinda missing the 8th floor.  Oh well.  Both places are good and means I don't have to make any more plans for a while.  I have no interest in getting on a plane again right now, so I figured to ride out my time in Portimao.  I’ll see if I can hit Funchal next month to use the rest of my Schengen days.

I love this country so much!  Y’all don’t even know!

Time to Leave the Country Again

 

I really enjoyed the apartment and if I were to return to Tivat, I could stay there again.  The only issue with the location is the access to taxis.  Occasionally, I’d see one coming into the block of apartments, but it was a coin toss if they were dropping off or picking up. To find an available one, I’d have to drag all my crap to the main road and hope for the best.

I’d managed to get to the road, but before I even had a change to flag someone down, a beat-up old car pulled up next to me.  A guy leaned out and asked if I needed a ride.  I said yes but … this did not look like a cab.  There was no signage anywhere or a meter that I could see.   I asked the price to go to Tivat Airport and he said 10 euros.  More than reasonable, but …

The dude got out to move a bunch of stuff around in the back seat just to get my bags inside.  With no other room in the back, I took shotgun while being wary the entire time.  It was a short trip to the airport but a long walk to the terminal.  The reason for that was the guy wasn’t allowed to drive up to the main gate.  So, nope.  Not an official cab.  But at least he got me there is one piece and didn’t try to gouge me (either literally or figuratively).

Once again, the travel gods are looking out for me even when I make some sketchy decisions.

While there were tons of folks hanging outside of the tiny airport, the inside was practically deserted.  There were few seats inside, which is why everyone was out front.  I joined them to wait for a good 45 minutes before check-in began.  Then it was off to wait some more to get to security.  Then it was more waiting for the flight to be called.

So, yeah.  It was a travel day.

Less than two hours later, I was back in Türkiye.  I just did my routine from two weeks earlier in reverse and cabbed it back to the same hotel I stayed in before.  The next morning, I had my last Turkish breakfast for a while 

then cabbed it back to Istanbul Airport for the big non-stop flight.

I do really like Turkish Airlines.  The food is good and the seats don’t numb the butt as much as some other airlines.  While I did have an aisle seat (not my preference), the middle seat remained empty.  The other single woman in the window seat agreed that we got lucky.

The flight was actually decent for being my umpteenth trip across the pond. Then it was the usual routine while back in the states.  I’d managed to book the Airbnb I’d had the last time for a couple of days. 

Seeing Trump 2024 signs on the way to the apartment was just depressing.  Being in the country is already a bummer.  I didn’t need more confirmation that I really don’t want to return to live in the U.S.

Amidst the other errands I had to run, I took full advantage of the tub and dyed my gray hair away.  That’s the one perk(?) of coming to the U.S.  It feels like a reset, a refresh before beginning the adventure again.  Except …

I had something of a moment in that apartment in Woodstock.  It was time to decide my next move and I was at a loss. My Schengen days had reset which was great.   I wanted to return to Portugal (shocker) but was still having a difficult time finding housing that didn’t break the bank.  I didn’t want to go anywhere else.  I didn’t want to get on another plane, but I definitely didn’t want to remain in the states.

I considered extending my stay just to give me more time to plan but the place was booked.   I was supposed to leave the country in the next few days and had no idea where I was going.

I felt a little lost and unwanted.  Not a good feeling.

Fortunately, it was brief.  I managed to find a new home for a week and make the arrangements to get there. 

Whew.

***

Ah.  Heathrow.

I’ve just now discovered (after more than a year of travel) that heading to London is a good, cheap way of getting out of the states.  You can get a non-stop flight to an airport that can connect you to anywhere in Europe.

The problem, as always, is security.

I had to retire my trusty carpet bag while in the states as it was getting really worn.  I replaced it with a small roller bag that can be used as a carryon.  It was an adjustment having two roller bags and trying to move them around (escalators are so much fun).  Easier on my shoulders, but still a challenge.  While checking the big bag into Vueling Airlines (a new one for me), the lady asked if she could also check in the little bag.  Hey, as long as there was no fee – sure.

And look at that.  With one less bag, getting through security should be a breeze, right?  There’s nothing in my computer bag and it has NEVER been flagged before.  Easy, yeah?

Sigh.

It got flagged.  My shoulders slumped as I walked over to the screening area.  After waiting for the previous person to get checked, I stepped up to the counter … only for the officer to leave the station.  Okay.  Is someone else coming for shift change or am I just going to stand here until I miss my flight?  There’s no reason for this in the first place.

Eventually, a woman showed up to do the screening.  She’s scanning, she’s taking stuff out, she scanning again and not finding anything.  But, she’s sure there’s something there.  I’m thinking if it’s taking this long to find something, maybe it’s not worth finding?  But still, she pressed on.

Turns out there was a tiny bottle of hand lotion, well under the 100 ml limit, that I had slipped into the bag and forgotten about.  And why wouldn’t I forget?  That thing has probably been in there for months and no other airport has cared.

But this was Heathrow.  The airport where any liquid passing through security is treated like an explosive.

After all that, she didn’t even throw the lotion away.  All that time and energy spent on nothing.

To say the least, I was a bit perturbed.

So much so that after I’d repacked all my crap and started hunting for my gate, my distress must have been visible.  I passed by a woman standing in front of her retail store.  She asked if I was okay.  Without stopping or so much as looking at her, I said “I will be.  Thanks for asking.”

Maybe Heathrow isn’t the best way to get out of the states.  For the sake of my blood pressure, I might need to avoid it in the future. 

A Day Trip to Budva

 

I saw as much of the Tivat as I could between bouts of rain.  When the sky appeared to stay sunny one day, I figured it a good time to find my way out of town for the day.

Uber doesn’t exist in the area, so it’s best to catch the bus or a cab.  I flagged down a taxi on the main road and asked him to take me to Budva. 

I mentioned in my last post that the one major road was cut through the mountains.  Unsurprisingly, when there is construction on that single road, the traffic can get ridiculous. There were delays on both trips to Budva and I don’t envy anyone having to regularly take that road during the day.

While Tivat is this peaceful little town with a harbor full of yachts, Budva has more of a touristy party town vibe.  I remembered passing through the town on the way from the airport and the place was jumping well into the evening.

When the cab stopped, I thought we were just stuck in more traffic since I didn’t see any signage for the café.  But, no, the ride was over.  He gestured vaguely to the left, but since he only spoke Russian, I didn’t understand what he was saying.  I paid him and got on the good foot.

I’ve seen some comments online about people lamenting how much travel has changed in the last few decades.  That it was more of an adventure to find hidden gems without seeing them first on the internet, how you were forced to figure things out without Google translate and easy access to money.  I do understand what they mean – it was a different time.  Having said that, I would not give up having a living map on my phone for anything in the world. 

The GPS came to the rescue once again as the café was in Old Town, much of which is not accessible by car.  The narrow stone walkways through ancient buildings reminded me of Portugal and the maze of Mykonos at the same time.  It was full of shops and restaurants, hotels, and hostels with loads of tourists wandering around.

The café itself was just a store with no attached restaurant.  After buying my shirt, I found a place on the beach for lunch.  Just outside of Old Town is a boardwalk curving around the water.  Plenty restaurants facing the boats for rent in the harbor.  I had a basic meal and a cosmo with a great view of the water. 

As per usual when visiting a place I like, I looked at pricing for apartments.  Depending on where you look, there are places as cheap as 380 euros for a one bedroom.  Two-bedrooms can be found for around 750 euros.  Of course, there are also plenty of luxury places for the billionaires and a lot of construction going on everywhere.  I’m not sure what the visa situation is looking like right now, but it might be worth a look.

Overall, I’m impressed with Montenegro.  I knew it would be pretty, but I didn’t expect it to be so affordable.  It even has a slight advantage over Türkiye as far as livability (Ah!  Sweet potatoes! Broccoli!  I missed you!).  The widely spoken English is a bonus.  But there are a couple of issues that I can’t overlook.

I checked a couple of pharmacies in Tivat and one in Budva for my pills, but it was a no go in both cities.  No immediate worries, though, since I’d already stocked up in Türkiye.  I just wanted to do a price comparison between countries.

While grocery stores and places of interest are in walking distance to my apartment in Tivat, getting out of the city does require a car.  There are buses, but their schedules are tricky.  Cabs, as I’ve mentioned, are not cheap.  There probably was another way to get around, but I just didn’t stumble on it.

It rains a lot.  I started my two weeks in the country wearing shorts and by the second week, I was in long pants.  The temperatures dropped fast in mid-September because of the rain.  But it keeps everything green and pretty so I can’t complain too much.

Also, and I wasn’t sure I wanted to mention this but, I did spot a rode by a dumpster one day.  This was near the harbor and the high-end shops, so I was a bit stunned.  Left me spooked for the rest of my stay.  And this was with all the stray cats and dogs around the area.

I had to leave for the states after my stay otherwise I would have liked to explore more of the country.  Dubrovnik, Croatia is right up the coast from Tivat so there is still much to see in the area.  I can see myself going back one day.