"Blogging isn't journalism, it's graffiti with punctuation."

>serbia and monte-never-fucking-going-back-negro

>so here was the plan….after kosovo, i’d spent a couple days hanging on the beach in Bar, Montenegro, which i did. the waters were blue, the sky reflected in it, surrounded by massive eye-candy mountains and nothing but palm trees and colourful sands at your feet.

just like the french riviera or italy….looks identical….but a helluva lot cheaper!

that was the plan anyway. i did lazily sun myself by the beach, read my book, frollick in the waters. of course i did. i sauntered down long sunlit streets in my flip flops with a towel slung over my shoulder, bronzing my skin and winking at the boys in swiming trunks on holiday from blackpool and newcastle and whereever…sure, why not.

the problem was….montenegrans (do you call them that?) are fucking mysogynistic assholes and the hotel i stayed at deserves to be plowed into the ground.

in case anyone ever googles places to stay in Bar, Montenegro, i hope they come across this blog (people have googled worse things and happened upon this little website). DO NOT STAY AT HOTEL SIDRO. it is the shittiest of shit holes.

the hotel put me on the same floor as a school full of adolescent boys who spent each morning and evening running up and down the hallways, banging on doors, throwing things off of balconies, and shooting pellets from a toy gun at my door. okay, whatever, boys will be boys, i was twelve years old once too, i know what that’s like. fine.

but a gal’s gotta sleep at night, for fuck’s sake. told the staff, they did nothing. i told the boy’s teachers and coaches. they did nothing. and the fucking circus continued.

it came to a head on my last night there when two boys crept onto my balcony and peeped at me while i was in the bathroom. i fucking lost it. the staff said it wasn’t their fault. the coaches said it wasn’t their fault, that it’s not their job to control the kids, and that the kids should be taught manners at home by their parents. the kids denied ever doing it.

if this was london, this fucking hotel would be out of a business licence. after screaming for a few hours and letting everyone else who was staying at this hotel what was going on, the hotel finally moved me to a different room on a different floor at no extra charge…but that’s only because the guy manning reception had the hots for me and had (earlier in the day) propositioned me like the scuzzbag he was. even after his shift was over and he had gone home, he kept calling my hotel room and asking to come over to see me.

all of this was complimented by the fact that, as i was sunning myself earlier in the day on the beach, the pervy lifeguard kept coming over to hit on me. dude barely spoke english, but he understood i wasn’t interested. yet he still felt compelled to sit on my deck chair, grab my thighs and torso, make disgusting grunting noises and lick his lips while muttering in broken english “i love you kiss me, you beautiful!”

so this is it. i’ve made a decision. i’ve had lots of affairs this year so far, i’ve had my fill. i’m done with men until 2009. men are scum. men are the root of all evil and are the only reason why women are oppressed in almost every single country. men are fucking pigs. especially men from montenegro.

they can all go eat a bag of dicks.

not that i’m bitter or anything.

*cough*

i just don’t need men in my life right now. i’ve got great friends, a great budding career, and a television show coming out soon, for fucks sake. i don’t need the headcase and drama that always comes with cock. fuck ’em. fuck ’em all with a broomstick.

now that that’s out of my system, enjoy my photos of Bar, Montenegro!

(ahem)

yeah, this above photo is kinda weird. let me explain, i was carrying a couple bags along with my purse when i saw something pretty and wanted to photograph it. as i struggled with my parcels, i accidentally took this photo. that gold thing you see is my belt going across my waist. the dress i was wearing was white. that little bit of orange-red is my purse, the skin-coloured thing is my arm, and the rest of the photo is just sky behind me. i thought it was just so cool, and had to blog about it…


—-

yeah, as you can see, not a lot of Bar photos. i just wasn’t in a touristy-backpacker-explorer-photographer kinda mood. i was more of a get-me-the-hell-outta-here mood. hence all these photos from my train ride to belgrade!

here’s the train in question…she actually went up into the montenegran moutains, it was absolutely stellar. look at zee photos below!

is it just me, or is this photo UBER sexual?….you KNOW what i mean.

enjoy some short video clips of the train ride:
http://www.youtube.com/get_player
http://www.youtube.com/get_player
http://www.youtube.com/get_player

—-

alright, so once the unpleasantness of Bar was wiped from my body, i was jonesing for some belgrade. the city is very cosmopolitain, bustling with cafés and galleries and waterside retreats. The Police were even playing a massive gig on one of the nights i was there, so the city was buzzing like a hive. problem was – my time in belgrade was eaten up by a little recurring bladder infection that refused to go away even after all my pills were gone. so i spent the majority of my time wandering in and out of hospital wards, crying my eyes out, scared i wasn’t going to find an english speaking doctor or nurse to help me out.

i admit it, i was crying just because i was feeling sorry for myself. and if the situation were to arise again, i’d probably start crying again. but seriously, when you’re all alone and you get sick, and everyone scowls at you and slams the door in your face because you don’t speak their language, you get frightened not just for your own health…but you’re frightened because you’re hit with the brutality and the reality of the world.

so this is the world. this is it.

and suddenly you know why millions die every year from preventable diseases.

okay, tangent aside, i finally found an english speaking doctor, and i got my more potent-drugs, and all is fine with Estima’s Pee Hole now.

still…an hour after leaving the hospital in belgrade, i hadn’t stopped crying.

toni texted me to say that only truly strong people cry. i sure as hell hope so.

after that fiasco, it was time to explore belgrade…which i did by renting a bike from my hostel and peddling so far across town, i technically left belgrade.

my vagina hurts now from that dumbass bike seat, but the photos were sooo worth it:

me in shadows, cycling away from the city, into the green of the meadows….

i actually, at one point, cycled past the venue where The Police were to play that night….as i rode by, they were doing soundcheck. I HEARD STING AND STEWART COPELAND!!! HOLLA!

One response

  1. Anonymous

    Haha so so true about Montenegrin men! Had the same problem and also decided never to go back there.. 🙂
    Btw, you write really really good. You made me laugh and worry about you while reading your interesting writings.
    Salute from Serbia,
    Marija

    P. S. Sorry to hear about rude medical stuff. If it's comfort some of them are acting exactly like you've described toward Serbian speaking people. Like they're tripping they have some power over the “lil” ppl. 😛

    January 29, 2010 at 5:33 AM

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