Adapting to a Canceled Ferry

Ok, this is what happens whenever you travel, never by jet. We arrived at the ferry in Split ready to head to our next destination -Dubrovnik - where we were then scheduled to take a bus to Herceg Novi, Montenegro.

But soon we got word that the bad weather we could see off the coast meant that the ferry was canceled. So here we stood out on the wharf, with all of our bags, having checked out of the hotel, hundreds of miles from our next room and zero idea of how to get there. And rain was coming.

For a little while we looked like the proverbial clueless deer gazing at a pair of bright headlights. Nearby we noticed another couple. They looked American, and seemed to have the same clueless look on their faces. They too had planned on the ferry that had so cruelly let us down. They we a couple C-Squareds too: Carla and Carl. Who would have thunk it? We agreed, we were in a pickle and still without an answer. And then a cab driver walked up and asked do you want a ride to Dubrovnik? Price? 350 Euros he said. He wouldn’t budge on price. It was a good four hour drive so I couldn’t blame him. In New York it would have been $3500.

We tossed our bags and ourselves in his van, and we went to Dubrovnik at high speed. The views were often stunning as we rose into mountains and gazed at the Adriatic to our right.

But it was a long drive and it was about to get longer.

The car swung us to the base of Dubrovnik’s monstrous castle and fort complex, made famous as Game of Thrones Central. Carl and Carla, who were delightful, stepped out to spend a few days in that city while the cab driver took us onto our less than splendid, but bustling, bus station before it took us into Montenegro.

Busing Across the Montenegro Border to Herceg Novi

The cab driver was faster than our ferry would’ve been so we had a good hour and a half to kill before it was time to board the bus. We walked about a half a mile, grabbed a couple of stale sandwiches and barely dodged the rain before it was time to board. For four hours we rose up and down the steep Dalmatian mountains, taking in the breathtaking views, but, honestly, just wanting to get to the next location.

It took some time.

First, there was the Croatian border station. This went fairly quickly as we all piled out on the bus, had our passport stamped and then re-entered. But getting to and through the Montenegrin border was a different matter. It was long, very long, two hours long.

Now it was growing dark, and starting to rain. The bus wheeled on. I don’t recall exactly how much longer it did, but I’m pretty sure it was a good two hours more.

In Herceg Novi, they don’t leave much room for the bus stations. It was more or less a wide spot in the road when we pulled into a hard rain. Now we had to find the hotel and the information on the hotel was simply one name which meant “station” in Croatian.

Once again, a couple of American vagabonds lost and in need of succor. And we got it when a young lady who spoke perfect English and who had spent time in the United States, but was herself from Montenegro, did the remarkable: she called a cab and asked the cab driver to come to the bus station for us. And when he did, told him where the hotel was and how to get there. What an angel.

Actual arrival turned out to be a little more exciting than that, but eventually, we did make our way to the Station Hotel, and eventually to our rooms, where, soaking wet, we cleaned up a bit and headed to a nearby restaurant where we filled our bellies with fresh fish and a couple of refreshing glasses of local white.

Recommendations

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