Monte in the bank

It really seemed for a while that I had nothing more to say on the topic of my travels. For almost a year, I just didn't feel the urge to share the observations and experiences gained from trips made to Berlin, Postugal, Bosnia and Budapest. I thought that maybe I lost the taste for storytelling, or used up the format of the 600-800 word blog with two-to-four storylines

nicely tying in together at the end. But traversing Montenegro and Kosovo the last few days has made me recognize the flaws behind this assertion. Wonder finds its way into words.

Where the Croatian coasts hosts many travelers from the mainland and Bosnia,the seaside towns of Montenegro mostly host Serbians and Russians on holiday. People common with the phenomenon 'turbofolk' can picture the hordes of holidaygoers. Others are advised to search on Youtube for some videos, and then put the muscled, shorthaired men and ultimately made up women in a Costa del Sol type setting. The most frightening observation made during my one day field work was a high heeled girl of nearly two meters kicking - instead of punching - one of those fairground boxing balls into a jackpot alarm. I looked ahead and kept quiet, moving away slowly.

Capital Podgorica reminded me of capitals like Mbabane and Windhoek, both in size and in shape. In a 35 degree afternoon, a number plateless Porsche whizzes past on a street surrounded by once ornamental trees now out of proportion. During the day, the streets are empty, but come alive when the sun sets and the people go out for a coffee and a beer, waving, shaking hands and hugging every 30 seconds to a familiar face in the limited crowd.

In neighboring country Kosovo, not considered not a country to a considerable chunk of the world's political entities, the international ties of the people living here becomes clear from the different number plates that can be witnessed on the streets. Some of the cars are humble machines that simply get people places, but it seems that the more priviliged the origin of the cars, the more they shout big money, accumulating in a Norwegian Hummer with lipstick artwork and a bright green Swiss

Lamborghini. Impressive as it is, my local contact explains that the majority of the cars are rented by their proud chauffeurs to impress their family they visit for the summer time. Back in Switzerland, Norway and Austria, the keys will be handed back to the car rental agency in September and their regular cars will be started again.

My visit to Kosovo was suddenly cut short when the bank machine abruptly refused to proceed with my request for cash. As one of two Euro rearing countries that are not in the EU, my bank had assured me that paying and withdrawing would be no problem, but to no avail. Regardless of bank branch, all machines refused service, and i was quick to find out why. With the help of a friend at home who helpfully volunteered as emergency centre, I was explained that 1) my bank did know of the problems and 2) there was no possible way that they could do anything about my lack of liquid funds. Without any other solution, I set out to hitch hike back to Montenegro to find a cash machine, cursing ABN-Amro's inadequacy in informing their clients about a situation they are well aware of. But apart from being a shit bank, I do thank them for the exciting day I spent trying to get my hands on my cash. Successfully withdrawing a crisp € 50,- note in a dusky mountain setting has never felt that rewarding.