Wednesday, 25 April 2012
The Rain in Montenegro
I've just returned from a week in Croatia and Montenegro. Of course, I was hoping for a little sun, a little warmth. It rained for almost seven days solid. My bikini, flipflops and lovely summer dresses stayed in my suitcase and I was forced into a waterproof, wet trainers and various umbrellas. My feet were damp for most of the week. I wore the same warm clothes over and over. There were more indoor days than I imagined, and dripping soggy walks that were not too unlike my rainy Manchester days. Did it spoil the holiday? Nope. Did I moan sometimes about the rain? A little.
But I'm not adverse to rain. And there was something so exciting about creeping onto the balcony one dawn to see how the mist had descended over the water and clung damply to everything, and then dozing with a huge smile on my face. And there was something fateful about walking into a restaurant one afternoon, dripping with rain, shaking myself off like a wet dog, and asking if we could have coffee, not realising I would spend four days with the man who answered my question. And there was something entirely beautiful about lying in bed in the early hours one morning, while rain lashed the roof and thunder cracked the sky open. I lay awake for hours listening to it, not wanting to sleep in case I missed something. And walking through the village under an umbrella, seeing the different dramatic skies, with nobody else around. And breathing in that delicious after-rain smell. And visiting towns that were empty enough for me to wander round and feel as if the town was mine. And the dripping of water into a drain that sounded like a tiny bell. And all the conversations with people about the rain where we laughed and shrugged because really it doesn't matter, and maybe it brought me close to people that otherwise I might never have known.
I'm struggling to know how to write about my time in Montenegro, because there was so much happened, so many shifts and changes in me, such a beautiful sense of connection and feeling 'at home' and so very free.
So, I'm doing what we do when we're not sure what else to say. I talk about the weather, hoping that I get across somehow a sense of how I felt and slowly maybe I'll be able to unravel all my experiences there and find a way to describe them.