Okay. I've Had Enough.

 

 

Time to move again.  Tried to book this place for another week but it was a no go.  Life of a nomad.

Once again, I had the host call a cab for me.  We had to wrestle with GPS in order to find my new digs as all of my texts and calls went ignored.  The car ended up in a dead-ended parking lot with the apparent location near by so I paid the guy and hoofed it the rest of the way.

I arrived at what I thought was the building only to realize that there were no instructions anywhere as to get into the place.  I texted the host again while waiting in the lobby before I started to feel very awkward.  Hauling my junk back down the ramp, I waited on the side of the road.

I knew I was early for my check-in.  It was the usual gap between 10-11 a.m. checkout and a 3 p.m. checkin.  So I waited.  And waited.  Have I mentioned how much I love to wait?  In the hot sun with all my crap and still no contact from the host?  Good times.

I thought maybe the host would send an automated text at my check in time.  But that was at 3:00 and it wasn’t even noon yet.  Great.  Since I had not eaten all morning, I figured I’d find go something.   So with heavy heart and heavy luggage, I dragged everything down to the nearest restaurant for a meal and a wait. 

That is definitely one thing I love about European establishments – they don’t care how long you sit around.  The wait staff won’t even bother you to pay.  I usually have flag someone down to give them my money.

There was a nice beach near the restaurant so when I got tired of sitting there, I went to sit by the water, still waiting for a word from my host.  When 3 p.m. hit, I started to head back to the apartment.  But before I climbed back up that hill, I realized that there was no guarantee that I was even at the right building.  Feeling at a complete loss, on thought kept running through my head.

I am done with Montenegro.

I didn’t even want to stay for another week.  I was ready to just head to the airport.  Instead, I checked on a couple of motels I passed and asked if they could put me up for the night.  Nope. Then I figured to just find something on Booking.com.  That site saved me back in Greece when I was at the airport and had no idea where I was going so I called on it again.  Found a vacancy then flagged a cab.

For once, I actually got someone to stop … but he refused to take me.  He said the place was too close and he could only do rides to the airport.  Sigh.

Guy, I’m exhausted.  I’ve been walking in the hot sun, dragging all my worldly possessions while wondering where I’m going to lay my head for the night.  And my phone battery is dying.  I have money to give you to do your job and you refuse to take it.

I am SO done with Montenegro.

Fine.  Let the weary tourist drag her stuff up yet another hill while dodging cars on the narrow road and hope her battery doesn’t die while using the GPS.  Fortunately, I found the place, the owner was at the gate and sent her sons to get me up the 3 flights of stairs (ugh).  The room was small and clean and the host told me that she and her sons were about to go to the beach and would be back later to collect the money and get a picture of my passport.

While my phone was charging, I called Airbnb support to figure out what to do.  The guy said he’d try to call the host then get back to me.  I headed out for some dinner.   

Sitting in a very loud restaurant, Airbnb called me back.  They hadn’t had any more luck than I had in reaching the hosts.  Since I’d already arranged for a new place, I told him that the only thing he could do for me is give me my money back.  He said no problem.  I did indeed get my refund a few days later.

People complain about Airbnb a lot but I’ve been using them almost exclusively for three years.  This is the first time I’ve had a host ghost me and I’m glad the issue could be resolved so quickly.

Next morning:  you know the drill.  Call me a cab, host lady, so I can get to the next place.  The amiable driver drove us out of the city center and down a back road with nothing but houses on it.  After several wrong turns, asking directions of a woman passing by and calls to a host who actually picked up this time, and we found our way to the house.  You know, the one we originally passed because it was under heavy construction?  Yeah, that’s the place.

Really Montenegro?

The host lived in the private house and rented out the two rooms above his place.  He showed me in … and I realized why this place was so cheap.

Studio, tiny kitchen, a shower stall that’s only half-enclosed.

A bed so low to the ground that I have to climb my way out.  Not a mini-fridge like the last place, a fridge that was also so low that I had to bend over to get anything.  I’m an old lady who’s been sleeping in strange beds for three years – could you cut a sister a break?

Nope.

While the patio is lovely (more grape vines!), I couldn’t spend any time out there because of the constant construction.  The workers used the patio to set up and get to the roof. At one point, they asked me to turn off the air conditioner while they were painting just outside my door.

I’d already figured that this was my last week in the country so I figured to just grin and bear it.  My breaking point came when, after a rare afternoon of quiet, the distinct sound of construction began at the prime hour of 9 p.m. on a Sunday.

ARE YOU KIDDING ME?  Like it’s not bad enough the place is in the middle of nowhere and was built for a little person, but now I have to message the host to tell them not to start a buzzsaw over my head when I’m about to go to sleep.  Seriously?

The next morning, as I left the apartment to head to the grocery store, one of the men working on the house stopped me.  Speaking no English, he pantomimed driving while smiling at me so I assumed he was offering me a ride.  Thanks, but one, I need the exercise, and two, who are you again?  I’ve seen people hitchhiking in this country but I’m still not comfortable with it (says the person who has regularly used Uber in foreign countries).

After I got back, I encountered the same guy.  He came up the stairs with me to help me get through the ladders and mess that the guys had made.  A few minutes later I heard a knock on the door.  That guy, smiling gray-haired guy, held up a plate covered in a red napkin.  A nice assortment of Montenegrin treats waited beneath.

Does the plate of goodies make up for the noise?  H@ll no.  But it was still a nice gesture.

Despite being close to the airport, I tried to get a bus ticket back to Albania.  From Tivat it’s only about 5-6 hours away for a ticket price of around 50 bucks.  But every time I tried to book a bus, whether late night or during the day, the website kept saying that everything was booked.  Seriously? 

Frustration about all things has been the name of the game for months now.

So instead I booked an overpriced plane ticket through Belgrade again and back to Tirana.  As long as I got out of the country in one piece, it was all good.

Back to Tivat Center

 

Can’t say I was upset about leaving that place.

I do have to note, though, that the host was very nice.  When I asked about a kettle (yep, I’m European now), he not only brought me one but also a coffee machine from one of the other units he rented out.  When I asked about a clothesline, he pointed me to the line used by the family which was located in their lovely garden area. 

That garden was another one covered in trellises and grape vines.  I asked him about harvest time (sometime in September) and did they eat the grapes, use them for wine, or what.  He said the family ate them.  That was surprising to me as there were a lot of grapes.

At the end of my stay, the host was also gracious enough to extend my check-out time as there was no one else scheduled in the place.  He also called a cab and kept in contact with the driver as there was a delay in his arrival.  I still couldn’t recommend the place because of the mold and mosquitos, but I also couldn’t trash the place in a review on the website.  I just thanked him for the hospitality and wished him the best.

After waiting for about an hour for the cab to arrive (at least I had some shade from the fruit trees and it wasn’t too hot), I was off to my next home for the week.  This time I actually did make it back to Tivat proper as I wasn’t eager to pay for another expensive cab ride to get to any other city.  Besides, I knew I’d be leaving the country soon and didn’t want to be too far away from the airport.

The host, like the last couple of places, lived on the property.  He was there to greet me and get my back up the three million stairs to my new place.  Upon opening the door, he immediately detected and odor.  I’d just come from mold central so it took me a minute.  He, however, recognized it as coming from the shower.  His brother soon came up to fix it followed by another brother (3 brothers in total – I asked) carrying a brand-new clothesline.  I was just about to ask for one while brother #1 told me this replaced the one broken by the previous guests.  Well, maybe if it wasn’t one of the plastic ones, it would last longer.  I prefer the metal ones.

Yep.  I’m European now.

Every apartment, in Montenegro in particular, seems to be a trade-off.  I wasn’t eaten alive by mosquitos in this place, but at least the old place had an oven and ample counter space.  It had a full-size fridge as opposed to a mini-fridge -- I do hate mini-fridges.  This place has a decent shower and no smell of mold (the shower was fine after cleaning), but I spent the week wedging myself between the sink and the washing machine just to get to the toilet.

I’m too old for this sh!t.

But again, the location was killer, just a short distance away from Jadranka’s place and even closer to the shops and harbor.  And another thing I’ll note.  This was one of the rare places that had electrical outlets for days.  There was even one outside on the balcony.  Nice.