Tag Archives: Montenegro

A Wanker in Sri Lanka

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And so, after spending many lifetimes in Europe, I find myself in Sri Lanka. From the frozen tundra of Estonia to the white peaks of Slovakia, and the rocky peaks of Montenegro to the clear blue waters of Greece, now I’m surrounded by palm trees, curry, and annoying little men trying to sell me shit even a complete dickhead wouldn’t want.

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More fruits than an Oxford Street nightclub

The humidity hit me as soon as I stepped off the plane, walking through the night along a runway lined by palm trees, towards a place I thought I’d never visit. I passed customs like I pass ex-lovers, and stepped back out into the Colombo night. Unlike my first steps into India a year ago, however, the culture shock was not severe. There were no swarms of people trying to rob me, just a nice little dude with my name written on a sign and a cup of tea waiting for me in his car. That sounds a bit like I was being abducted, but it was all quite innocent – he was just taking me to my hotel.

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Beautiful downtown Negombo

“I was expecting a Sri Lankan gentleman,” he told me as I loaded my bags into the car.
“Sorry to disappoint,” I replied, “but I’m sure you can find one or two of them around here.”
“Rowan is a Sri Lankan name. Very popular. My son has this name. The man who lives next to me has this name. The man who cuts my hair has this name, and so does his boyfriend… oh, I forgot to introduce myself. I’m Rowan.”
How’s that! I travel around Europe for two and half months and no fucker knows how to pronounce my name, I get to Sri Lanka and I’m just one of the boys.

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It’s completely acceptable to photograph schoolchildren while on holidays. Just don’t do it while at home – that’ll land you in jail

It is very different here, though, obviously. Greece was hot, but had nothing on Sri Lanka. It’s close to 40 during the day and humid as hell, so a stroll down the street had me sweating like Casey Donovan opening a Mars bar. Beers stay cold for about four minutes before becoming warm sludge. I’m staying in Negombo, which is a short trip from the capital, but it’s still pretty quiet and relaxed. A little too quiet, actually, because the restaurants are empty and there’s not a lot to do. I’m right on the beach, which is wide and sandy and covered in a modest amount of garbage. It’s pleasant, if not beautiful, so I’ll head down south to find the good stuff (hee-haw!).

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Sri Lanka has gone to the dogs!

While it’s a peaceful place and I don’t feel like I’m in danger, there are signs of poverty everywhere. Dudes with no legs drag themselves down the street while tuk-tuk drivers desperately beg for their only fare of the day. It’s a poor place, but still has a good feel to it, even if tourists (and their dollars) are few and far between. It’s definitely not a place to rock up to if you want to go to a discoteque full of handsome European men (trust me on this one).

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He got thrown out of the pub for being LEGLESS

 

I was wandering along the beach, watching the sun sink into the azure ocean while little kids knocked a cricket ball around on the sand, when I noticed a man sitting on an upturned boat. He stood out because he was white and boasted an ample gut, and when he gestured to me, I took a gulp of my beer and headed over. Maybe this was the person I’m supposed to meet while in Sri Lanka (I hope not), or he’ll point me in the direction this adventure is to take me (that would be better). When I made it to the boat he looked down at me, extended his hand, and said, “I’m Ian.”

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Ian checks his Tinder matches

There haven’t been a lot of great men named Ian. Former Roosters player Ian Rubin. Hat-wearing gay man Ian ‘Molly’ Meldrum. Moustache dude Ian ‘Turps’ Turpie. It’s hardly a name that has changed lives, and the fact he lisped it at me in a voice that could’ve belonged to a schoolboy didn’t fill me with confidence. He told me to climb onto the boat with him and, with the spirit of adventure in my heart, I did just that.

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“That’s fucken LBW, carnt!”

“You’re on an adventure, and it’s just getting started,” Ian squeaked, looking out at the red-hot sun. “Tomorrow is when everything changes, and you find your destiny.”
“And what’s that?” I asked, filling with awe quicker than a cup fills with water when left out in the rain.
“I see the ocean,” he replied, gesturing wildly.
“So do I, mate, it’s over there, about five metres away.”
Ian went quiet, as if I’d hurt his feelings. I apologised and took another swig of my beer as he sat there, his white hair fluttering in the gentle breeze. “I mean, I see you sailing across the ocean, seeing things you’ve never seen before, experiencing things you’ve never experienced before.”

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Get a Tiger up ya!

I didn’t think my adventure to Sri Lanka was going to take me to the ocean, but if that’s where it takes me, that’s just the way it is. “How do you know this?” I asked.
“I can see it in your eyes,” Ian said, looking not at me but at the children playing cricket. “Tomorrow, you go out on the ocean, and there’ll you’ll see something amazing.”
“Shit, what will I see?”
Ian shifted on the boat and looked at me dead on. “You’ll see world unimaginable, life-altering scenery and more fish than you ever thought possible. You might even find the missing part of your soul. The cruise includes a seafood lunch, fruit, and drinking water. It costs only 3000 rupees and leaves from here at 9am. What do you say, are you ready to meet your destiny? I’ll need the money now.”

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Beats Maccas

I was thinking about pushing Ian off the boat, when fate took care of it for me. One of the kids smacked the cricket ball our way, and when Ian tried to catch it he toppled backwards, falling a few metres to the sand with a thud.
“Sorry Ian, you’re dropped,” I smirked, as the young cricketers swarmed around me and started slapping me high fives and calling me a legend.
I’ve only been in the country a few hours and I’m already a hero of the people – at this point, it’s all in a day’s work!

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Things to do in Podgorica when you’re dead

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Podgorica, the capital of Montenegro, doesn’t make it onto many lists of must-see cities, and for very good reason. While it’s not an unpleasant place, and you won’t get stabbed or raped if you go there, I can’t think of a single reason to visit it rather than any other medium-sized city anywhere on the planet. Well, apart from Huddersfield.

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Me and some dickhead on a horse

I had to spend a eight hours in Podgorica before catching a bus to the Macedonian capital of Skopje, which was about seven hours too long. There’s just not much to look at – the river that runs through town is wet, but not particularly pretty. The Turkish Old Town is covered in graffiti. The most prominent landmark, the Millennium Bridge, is celebrated by locals but looks like any little bridge in any town you’ve ever seen. Alright, the women are all pretty, which is a bonus if you’re a sex tourist or something.

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Looks like a nice place to have a wedding

The city centre is pretty flat and boring, with a bunch of three story buildings clustered together and not much else. It feels more like a country town than a national capital. I became confused for a while and thought I was in Wyong, and wondered why dickheads with tattoos weren’t trying to punch me while homeless dudes urinated on my leg.

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The bustling main street of Podgorica

That’s one thing you don’t see much of in Europe – tattoos. Every dumbarse in Australia is loaded up with stough stickers, and most of the women have shit ink all over their bodies, but not over here. They might eat weird food, smell funny, and talk like they’ve got dog shit in their mouths, but at least they don’t think it’s good to have a tattoo of Spider-Man above their buttholes.

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The river would be nice to swim in, if not for all the crocodiles and dead dogs

The most exciting thing I saw in Podgorica was a pervert – who also might be the mayor of the city, according to some locals I was magging to – started flashing children as they walked past him, enjoying the sunshine. Apart from that, he seemed like a nice enough bloke.

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The sicko, obviously masturbating in public

Oh, and speaking of thin, slimy things, I saw a fucking SNAKE slithering around like he owned the fucking joint.

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Get fucked, you legless bastard!

After oohing and ahhing over the small number of statues in the centre of the square, and remarking at all the unfinished buildings strewn around the joint, I’d exhausted my list of sighyseeing options and spent the afternoon eating pizza and drinking beer. The Petra Cetinjskog boulevard is actually quite lovely, with plenty of trees and nice little bars and restaurants to get pissed at.

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Not a bad pizza

After drinking my bodyweight in Tuborg and eating enough pizza to have Rebel Wilson tapping out (who am I kidding, that fat slug would eat pizza till her sides split), I staggered back to the river, stripped off and flaunted my wares as the sun went down. It was the most exciting thing to ever happen in the city, and small children danced around me with sparklers in their hands.

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One at a time, ladies!

Alright, so my travel advice for Podgorica is

  • Don’t fucking bother going there
  • Watch out for snakes
  • And perverts
  • If you have to spend time there, get really drunk or take up a heavy heroin habit, AND
  • If you’re going to masturbate in public, the local cops can be easily outrun

So, yep, that’s Podgorica. Next!

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Kotor-head

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While the resort town of Budva is an absolute delight, no trip to Montenegro is complete without a visit to nearby Kotor. It’s an ancient village situated in one of the most incredible locations on the planet – it sits on the banks of the Gulf of Kotor, with astonishing mountains on all sides.

Climbing up the cliffs are the walls of the ancient fortified city. They reach a height of around 500m and provide heaps of great places to look out over the water, and as I was wheezing my way up there I was regretting every kebab and beer I’ve downed over the last couple of months. Actually, that’s a load of bullshit.

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I’ve been to the real Great Wall of China, and the main difference was that this ancient wall had slightly fewer Chinamen climbing all over it. Not that I have a problem with Chinamen – far from it, they’re some of the best little fellas you’ll ever meet, and always smiley and happy. The ruins of the walls and a series of fortifications date back to the 13th and are very well preserved.

Instead, Kotor is infested by a far more invasive species – the cruise boat daytripper. The bay is deep enough that those massive fuck-off cruise boats can slide in and expunge their cargo of loud-mouthed American dickheads, who proceed to swagger around the place, yapping about how much better everything is in America.

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Kotor is rabid with these sorts,but fortunately it’s easy to get away from them while climbing up the mountain towards the top of the fortress. While the main track is packed with people, there’s another one that’s as empty as the Cronulla Sharks’ trophy cabinet. It also creeps around abandoned churches and other fun stuff, providing a more authentic Montenegran experience.

I was traipsing around the mountains, having the time of my life, when I heard someone yelling out to me in a funny accent. My blood ran cold as I registered the voice, trying to convince myself that it couldn’t be him. I turned around slowly, and fuck me sideways if I didn’t see Stav the Slav lying on the ground, looking like he’d been shot!

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I first encountered Stav at the top of Mount Wellington in Tasmania, where I helped him to the peak before he stole all my food and started demanding I bring him pizza. I left him to die at the top of the mountain, only to have further run-ins with him, and each time he pissed me off more and more. Well, he obviously hadn’t learnt his lesson and was climbing another bloody mountain he shouldn’t have.

“You help, you help,” he said, while wiggling around on the ground like some sort of demented worm. “I fall, you pick up, you carry. Have food? Hungry, hungry. Is hot. Umbrella, umbrella. 50 Euro? Poor, poor.” I think I did the right thing by not rolling the prick back down the hill and into the sea, and instead left him lying up the top of the mountain. Sorry, Stav!

He looked at me like I’d slapped his dog, and got off the ground and started walking around without a limp. When a good sort asked me for help a few seconds later, and I replied by almost carrying her down to the bottom, Stav went off his ‘nana, waving his arms around and acting like a dickhead.

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I was hotter than an Asian kid in a casino parking lot by the time I was finished with that, so I grabbed a beer and headed down to what passes for a beach in Kotor. Don’t get me wrong, the view was grouse (and I’m not just talking about the mountains and stuff – there was a few lookers around), but the ‘beach’ is little more than a few metres of rocks, right next to the road. Still, I was able to kick back and relax in one of the more exotic locations I’ve ever been.

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I molested Budva’s symbol of the city

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During my time in Budva, Montenegro, there was one woman who truly gained my attention and stole my heart. Good body, nice head, spent most of her time at the beach with her tits out. What’s not to like about that?

Every day I passed her and promised that I’d make my move, but I was always too nervous. But then, before leaving town forever, I plucked up the courage to walk over and honk her right on the boobies. Right on ’em!

I’m talking about the Budva Dancer statue, of course, which is the symbol of the city and quite revered. So it’s no wonder that after squeezing her metal knockers, some local tough guys sauntered over and chased me off.

I’m currently in the awe-inspiring town of Kotor, where the interwebbing is slower than a Mount Druitt High School student, so an update on that might have to wait until another day. Until then, I’m going to head out and see if I can molest me some more statues…

Sweaty Steven

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With the rain gods splashing water around like it’s going out of fashion, and the beaches closed due to huge waves, there hasn’t been a whole lot to do around Budva, Montenegro. So I toodled up to the bus station, told the little bloke behind the counter that I wanted to go somewhere fun, and I wanted to go there now, and he cheerfully told me to head to a place called Sveti Stefan. I thought he said Sweaty Steven, and was ready to punch his lights out for sending me to an obese homosexual prostitute, but the misunderstanding was quickly resolved when his very large friend stepped in and politely suggested that I not fucking do that.

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They must be doing 50 per cent off on red roofs

Turns out Sveti Stefan is a tiny fortified village about 8km south of Budva, and it really is quite scenic. It was built in the 1400s and soon became a haven for pirates, before becoming a bustling village a few hundred years later. At some point the villagers were forced out by the government, who transformed the island into an exclusive resort for the rich and famous.

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I did this handstand to impress a couple of lesbians

And Kirk Douglas.

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Kirk Cameron is cooler

Of course, when I got there it was pouring rain and there was a wind strong enough to sit me on my arse, but I still copped a great view of the little place. The parts of the village that sit on the mainland are pleasant to walk through, and the beach at the bottom would be lovely in the right weather. Actually, that might not be true. When I walked down to the sand, an angry Montenegroan rushed over and started yelling and gesturing at me, and it wasn’t hard to work out that I wasn’t allowed on the beach. Hmmmm.

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Beach is packed, bro!

I wasn’t there for the beach, anyway, so I started swaggering across the narrow walkway that joins Sveti Stefan to the coast. When I was halfway across, I heard the idiot yelling his head off again, and turned around to see him racing after me again. I didn’t know what the hell was going on, so I just kept walking, until I felt a tug on the back of my shirt.
“You no go, is hotel!” he yodelled, and I decided not to walk any further, lest he throw me in the ocean or try to kiss me or something.

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As close as I was gunna get to Sweaty Steven

So, you can’t explore the ancient island of Sveti Stefan unless you’re willing to cough up a couple of grand a night (I’m paying $50 a night for my studio and that’s breaking the bank, so it’s a bit out of my price range). I reckon that’s bullshit. It’s like if some rich prick came along and bought Mount Druitt, and wouldn’t let anyone explore it. What a fucking shame that would be!

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Please return your penises to the upright position

It wasn’t a complete bust, though. I ended the day with a thoroughly enjoyable ride in a cutting-edge aircraft. And, just between you and me, I even joined the two-metre-high club when I was in there! By myself, yeah, but it still counts.

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Hey, Buuuuuuuuudva-y

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How good is Pauly Shore! Undoubtedly one of the most talented and influential members of the 90s new-wave cinematic scene, along with luminaries such as David Faustino and Carrot Top, he revolutionised film by appearing in classic such as Encino Man and Butt-Fuck Bikers 4. With his lady-friendly hair and larrikin grin, this wise-talking nugget of cinematic gold became one of the most-loved homosexual actors of all time. But I’m not here to talk about Pauly Shore and his hilarious catchphrase of “Hey, Buuuudy!”, I’m here to talk about Budva, Montenegro.

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Formerly known as Montenigger, this southern European fantastic is more beautiful than a big-titted blonde with a cold schooner on a hot day. I should know, because I took the bus from Dubrovnik to Budva, and it was non-stop glory as the road wound its way along the water.

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As soon as I hopped off, I was consumed by the feel-good vibe of Budva, with happy fuckers wandering around and some sort of goat things tied up in a garden outside the bus stop. You just know it’s a fun place when animals are imprisoned outside major transport terminals!

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After spending three night sleeping in some old bloke’s spare room in Dubrovnik (and losing several pairs of underpants) I was pleased to find out I have an entire apartment to enjoy here. After swanning around inside it for half an hour like some sort of dickhead, it was time to head off to Budvar’s delightful xxxMogar Beach. And it actually is nice, unlike most Euro beaches.

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Wonderfully, the beaches are crawling with women who have their titties out. Not fat chicks, either, but young, good-looking ones who love showing off their razzers. One sheila even took her bikini bottoms off, but the beach was consumed with a sound like a wind tunnel, so I reckon I might stay away from her.

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Unlike in Dubrovnik, where I was 45 minutes’ walk from anything resembling fun, I’m in the middle of the action here, with pubs and fun shit all over the place. Because of this, I may end up getting quite drunk and wearing my one remaining pair of underpants on my head. I just hope I don’t end up in that fucking wind tunnel…

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