#its nothing all to be sorry about- just an amalgamation of curiousity and what i know and the train of thought associated with it

[rooftops-are-for-towels]

Is the world out there as ill as the world in here? How often are you sick? How often is your family sick, how often are your friends? How often does sickness spread, how easy has it become to be sick- for you, for others? How long are you sick? At times, is it endless?

[smitten-miqitten]

Repost because idk how to desktop but can’t do readmore on mobile :/

Era’s past reveal fic

The Past, pt 1

Ao3 Link

Era had been suffering a series of splitting headaches not unlike those preceding a vision from the Echo. However, no such vision was forthcoming, leaving her to fight against the pain with no relief in sight. Cid worried over her, trying in vain to ease her suffering, but nothing he could do or provide was of any help. After days of fitful ‘rest’, she was finally overcome in her exhaustion, falling into a sleep so deep it in of itself was worrisome. Unwilling to let her alone, Cid held her fast to him, slowly but surely drifting off as well.

….……..

Cid found himself standing alone in a snow laden forest, the cold of which curiously lacked the bone-deep chill inherent to the locale. The edges of the area seemed to blur and fade into nothingness, solidifying only once he focused his attention in one direction or another. Breathing deep, he was overwhelmed not with the scent of the surrounding pines as one might reasonably expect, but of lavender.

Strange.

As he took in the scene around him he spied an odd blue light emanating from the distance, bouncing off the falling snow in a misty cerulean fog. A faint, intoxicating music drifted on the wind, calling him toward it. As ever, curiosity bested him and compelled him forward as surely as the music, his surroundings increasingly bathed in soothing blue. The ground and trees and snow all started to devolve into gradient around him and a great Crystal came into view. The forest and all it held dissolved impossibly into a deep blue void before the Crystal, telling him in full certainty, in the odd way dreams do, that this was far from reality.

A dream. Of course, he was dreaming. Cid berated himself for not arriving to this conclusion sooner, though, given his experiences, one might forgive him for having trouble discerning the fantastical from the real. 

He paused to ponder this revelation, only to have a young Miqo'te girl run into his shins full tilt. She was frantic, evidently fleeing the Crystal in the distance. In terror she moved to hide behind him but, growing brave, instead stood in front with arms thrown wide, guarding him from the tendrils of light that pursued her.

The girl, too, cannot be real, as she is unmistakably Era – though she couldn’t possibly be more than 5 or 6. Her head barely reached past his knees, her tiny body all ears and fluffy, stubby tail. Turning her head towards him, large and twinkling periwinkle eyes gazed into his own with fear and determination. She would quit this place, but was not about to leave someone else to fall victim to whatever unearthly intentions the Crystal bore.

 But of course she wouldn’t.

Not knowing what else to do and hating beyond reason how the scene made Era tremble, he picked her up and tossed her over his shoulder, making hastily back toward the woods where the scenery carried more of the weight of reality. Tendrils of blue followed for a time, but grew weak and ceased as they passed beyond the treeline.

The pervasive feel of danger fading, Cid adjusted his hold on the child, cradling her so that she might be more comfortable. True to her apparent age, much of her earlier bravado had vanished and her eyes brimmed with fitful tears, though she stubbornly would not suffer them to fall. This youthful Era inexplicably took no issue with her rescuer being a complete stranger, knowing, as (or because) Cid did, that he was no threat. 

“Thanks”, she squeaked, in a tiny voice that was both Era’s and not. This voice gave rise to a thought that had been nagging at Cid since he had fallen asleep: This is more than a dream.

Though Cid took great pride in his mind and imagination, he was under no illusion that he could dream up an Era so lifelike. She was here, with him somehow, despite appearance and circumstance. Everything around him smacked of both hyperbole and truth, as if he were participating in some abstract amalgamation of her childhood. As if to punctuate this point, a number of buildings were quickly coming into view in the distance. Her home, he thought with a certainty he could not begin to explain. The buildings gave him uncomfortable pause, however. The architecture and green hued lights were unmistakable; the town before him was Garlean. 

“Whatever were you doing all the way out there? You’re from the town ahead, no? ” Cid asked, though he knew he already knew the answer. Nothing and everything felt like a mystery here.

He suspected, as strongly as one does when they know they’re right but cannot definitively say so, that the Echo must be involved. It must be. The telltale migraines should have been his first clue, but when they failed to reveal to her whatever it was they meant to show he assumed she was simply ill. That the air smelled of lavender should have been the second; it was the smell of her, her presence and her influence. How and why the vision, if it even was one, was feeding back to him was utterly beyond his comprehension. The only precedent he had was when she recovered his own memories, but this vision surely had nothing at all to do with him or his memory. 

“I was looking for snowflowers and I got lost. Tutor did warn me not to wander but… the big Crystal called me. Like she was my friend, like she knew me. She’s really pretty, all big and blue and sparkly, but the way she looked at me was so scary. I don’t like it.”

“Well, I think we’re well shut of the blasted thing now; I’ll not let it hurt you while I’m here. Let’s get you home, little miss.”

Era nodded, smiling, and snuggled in closer, gripping the collar of his coat.

“Please don’t tell Mama and Papa I wandered. Tutor said not to, and if Tutor says so the Viceroy says so. They’re ever so scared of him.”

“The Viceroy takes personal interest in your family?” A province then. She grew up in a province. Northeastern Ilsabardian, if the surroundings were anything to go off of, in the mountains. Cid wasn’t quite sure how to feel, his stomach twisting uncomfortably at the thought of what she must have endured at the mercy of his homeland. A guilty part of him was not unhappy that she did not remember.

“Umm hmm. He thinks I’m clever. Cleverer than the other kids, though I don’t agree. He said that if I stay smart, and be good, that I can go to the capitol when I’m bigger.”

Fat chance of that now, huh. They had reached the streets now, eerily empty, lights lit everywhere but not a soul around. Era pointed an itty bitty finger toward a modest home just off of a large, gated complex undoubtedly meant to house the Viceroy in question. “My lips are sealed. And…and you’d like to visit? The capitol?” Though Cid bore little love for Garlemald, it had on occasion crossed his mind that he’d have liked to show his former home to her.

“Not really.”

She hardly missed a beat. Cid fought back a laugh.

“I study ‘cause if I do he’ll keep being nice to Mama and Papa. I dunno why, but he’s not nice to everyone else. That’s why the other kids don’t like me, I think, but Papa says ‘there’s no help for the jealousy of others’.” She mimicked her father’s deeper voice, failing spectacularly with her much squeakier one.

Cid supposed she was right. “Aye, but you seem pleasant enough to me. I’m sure they’ll come around.” So she’d been but a puppet for other’s convenience since childhood…

They were nearing the doors of the small house, the light emanating from the windows warmer than that of those surrounding it, undampened by the cold metal and dark stone. Inviting. Safe. He could leave her here without worry, he knew, but… to leave her to whatever abuse she was bound to face as the favorite of a provincial viceroy… though there was no avoiding it, he struggled with the thought. To hand her, his very heart, as tiny and fragile as she was now, into such arms…

“Aera! Oh my darling, we were so worried!” a woman’s voice rang out from the hastily thrown open door, the Miqo'te mother rushing toward the pair and wresting Era from Cid’s hold.  A stern looking man, the father, followed not far behind. Era was the spitting image of her mother, and her father, though white haired and tan, bore uncanny resemblance to a certain Ishgardian Count.

“Mama! Papa! I’m really sorry.” Era (no, Aera) clung tightly to her mother, ears pressed back and voice sincere in its apology. Looking back to Cid, she smiled at him with a warmth he knew all too well. “I got a little lost on my way back from the library, and this mister found me and helped me home. Can he stay for supper?“ 

Not wishing to impose upon the family, Cid started to protest, but his curiosity and the cacophony of “Please? Pretty please?” falling from the child’s lips got the better of him. He merely smiled, shrugging at Era’s fervor. She seemed very keen that her newfound friend not vanish into the aether, and given she likely had no others he thought it fair.

Her mother eyed him warily, the center lens of his goggles to be specific, but after a brief, wordless consult with her husband she assented, asking his name and welcoming him. The smell of lavender grew stronger as she ushered him in, mingled now with the familiar scent of ceruleum, of all things. Hardly a common pairing.

Walking through, the scene dispersed into light.

……………………………………….

[juleswolverton-hyde]

Comfort is coming (YG x Reader)

Genre: Fluff, College/University AU

Pairing: Student!Yoongi x Student!Reader

Warnings: No warnings apply

Summary: Hard academic labour deserves to be rewarded with a treat every once in a while. For example, with holding a marathon of a favourite series while eating a tub of ice cream.

And the unsuspected company in the form of the silent force under the same roof. 

There are times when life is hard, when it knows periods wherein every single thing that is normally so ordinary now forms an extraordinary addition to the amalgamation of educational stress. Each day is filled with nothing but typing on the flat slightly illuminated keyboard of the matte silver MacBook filled with academic files, hoping to finish that close reading essay that was thought of too easily, when a heavily caffeinated mind is not occupied by trying to process every bit of information eyes framed by glass absorb from paper. It always is the same song and yet its dance can never be learned.

Day in, day out.

Sigh after sigh.

Nevertheless, they pass, eventually, invoking feelings of tremendous relief, mental devastation and exhausted defeat to flow throughout a learning being again and again. Today is one of those moments in which this memorable potion is drunk after completing the deadline and cramping up with pain inflicted by ink in a most powerful tool and chaotic panic at not understanding the capability of the human intellect despite cramming hours on end.

The leather bag is thrown onto the floor at the entrance of the apartment shared with a silent stoic raven-haired force who composes music in the hush habitual to the residence, headphones always on in the bedroom functioning more as a studio even when nobody is home. In fact, it is not unlikely to think the padding of toes merely clad in socks goes unnoticed, the noise-isolating padding tuning them out immediately after removing nightly black and crisp white Adidas sneakers in the tiny entryway and putting them into the shoe closet next to the entrance. 

It is not minded since it is part of the routine, the only moments of really enjoying each other’s company being dinner and occasional mutual trips to the supermarket to stock up for the coming week. Lunch is never shared because either party picks up something in the cafeteria of the university building they have to be for a seminar or lecture or somewhere in the big concrete jungle, alone or with a friend. Breakfast is also rarely a moment of true friendship, Yoongi skipping it on a daily basis yet always nagging the curiously accepted housemate when there is a risk of giving into the same habit. It has gotten to the point of being forced to wait until the musician finishes his characteristic double espresso and preparing a decent enough meal for one likely running late for class whenever the scenario presents itself, nonchalantly blocking the way in every instance feet try to slip away from the scene to crack on or sending empty threats behind a turned back.

Although, in hindsight, the same happens in the event of dinner and not feeling too hungry if at all.

Withal, skipping a meal will have to be excused for the day because when bone tired limbs have exchanged the complicated outfit - consisting of onyx leggings matching the same-toned dress underneath a denim jacket and above knee-height light brown leather boots - for dusk-shaded Puma sweatpants and a plain ivory V-neck shirt, nothing will be done anymore. Bare feet crawl under the alabaster thick sheets after wrapping them in the blanket coloured in a murky earth and mossy tone, moonlight-shaded MacBook opened to the downloaded Game of Thrones episodes the quiet strangely kind power roaming the same house shared by email at accidentally discovering a mutual love for the series during a boring lecture, sharing earphones to watch season one painfully unfold all over again because, apparently, Yoongi had just started it.

And, although already having seen the first few batches that were sent by digital means before illegally online, they nevertheless bring a grateful smile to tired lips each time because it is due to this sharing of documents a splendid opportunity has been steadily formed to indulge in a marathon to withdraw from the world in silent celebration of a liberation from stress.

However, it would appear the musician has stopped watching recently since conversations have led more often to forbidding giving any spoilers for season four and further. Though, when asking to brand new seasons bought on DVD on the hard drive to add to the little nerdy collection on the bedside table also functioning as a headboard, Yoongi gladly rips the files and sends them over email thus adding both to the personal collection and that of a soul glad for the kindness in spite of the more stranding chit chats since there have not been many moments of bonding since moving in four months ago. Other than the series, there is little to talk about that which has been discovered as common interest let alone bond over and both working and hanging out with different people besides the study does also not greatly help in forming a deeper meaning to the fragile friendship.

Just as a comfortable position is taken up and noise-cancelling white headphones put on, a digit hovering above the touchpad for the cursor to start from the very beginning of the visual version of “A Song of Ice and Fire”, a dimly audible knock is followed by an immediate opening of the door to the private haven. Obviously disregarding the polite pause to wait for consent, Yoongi stands on the threshold, bangs as dark as ink covering a pale forehead and the light skin of the resident stoic silent force further accentuated by the overall casual outfit of ripped jeans and a T-shirt that could blend easily into the shadows. ‘Judging by your appearance, I wager it’s either that time of the month again where you get grumpy at me for no good reason and act like a drama queen or you just made your exams and deadlines.’

‘Why are you here? Shouldn’t you be composing or something? You normally ignore me until before dinner.’ The constraints on hearing are removed while eyes wander to the bright green slightly translucent plastic convenience store bag held by bony skillful fingers, light up at registering what the item within it is and seeing a comforting sympathetic curve on lips having lost every sense of mocking when looking back at the unexpected visitor. ‘Why the ice cream?’

‘I never ignore you, Y/N. I know I don’t say much and we don’t have much of a relationship, but ever since you’ve been here I’ve had no choice but to observe you on a daily basis, looking as shabby a-’ An offended palm lashes out as the flatmate sits down on the edge of the mattress - a bed frame a disturbance to the overall minimalist aesthetic - on the cedar floor and puts the bag down, the sharp slap of skin on skin resonating in the temporary hush. The hit has a deceivingly powerful impact because a red outline already begins to form and makes the baffled young man cover it protectively in the instant the imprint is noticed. ‘What the- Y/N! What the hell?’

‘That’s for calling me shabby. It’s not, it’s comfy.’ The pout in which the last statement is made returns clear amusement with a caring undertone to the other’s shocked expression. The digits reaching out to pat locks depicting the aftermath of academic stress are swatted away, arms crossing in defiance afterwards while an unforgiving glare holds a warning strengthening the one made in a voice that cannot sound entirely angry due to the gratefulness towards the pale onyx-haired lad for checking up on an exhausted somewhat friend. ‘Don’t touch me. I’ll bite your fingers off if you try again.’

‘Fine. Here I was, thinking I’d cheer you up with the ice cream you always buy when you’re like this, but apparently, it isn’t appreciated. Guess I’ll give it to Joon or Jimin, instead.’ An attempt at getting up is made yet stopped directly by apologetic palms at the ends of uncrossed arms clad in too long sleeves, a tug on the wrist asking to return while also not being able to help but glance longingly at the icy cinnamon roll treat that threatens to leave alongside the present company. ‘Oh, so now you want it, huh?’

‘I’m sorry, if that’s what you want to hear.’ Albeit reluctantly, an apology for the defiance is given, knowing full well the playful mocking attitude of the fellow student though personal pride was still damaged at being called badly composed style-wise.

‘You’re forgiven. Look, I’ve gotten to know your personality through actions. In university, you’re the independent hard-working calm girl while at home you’re one giant ball of stress who’ll get frustrated with deadlines again the day following a bit of rest. But it is days like this one that you’re happy and it’s annoyingly rubbing off on me.’ The tub in the plastic bag is put in the lap covered by the thick alabaster duvet. ‘Making me want to see you be a little content hermit. Here, eat up and relax. You’ve earned it.’

Brows furrow in played confusion, teasing like him howbeit in retaliation for the insult earlier in spite of the oddly satisfying confession at not being a mere invisible force like the musician. ‘How am I supposed to eat this without a spoon?’

A contemplating nod, acknowledging the treat cannot be enjoyed without otherwise and should have been brought along from the beginning. ‘Right... I’ll get you one.’

‘Can you make it two?’

‘What?’ The surprise at the request raises the indifferent husky voice by a few tones.

‘I can’t eat this all by myself, though. So, do you-’ Doubtful irises shift from the favourite ice cream to the screen, awkwardly moving on the mattress thanks to the self-made constraints on wrapped feet, and back to Yoongi whose expression briefly transforms into characteristic stoicism before showing a ghost of a rare gummy smile. ‘Do you want to watch Game of Thrones with me?’

‘Sure. Which season, though?’

‘Three. Where are you?’

Sheepishly, the creative genius rubs the back of the neck in obvious hesitance to admit something. Regardless, as always, what needs to be said, is said is as serious a tone as possible. ‘I’ve kinda forgotten since I think I stopped halfway. Although, I’ve seen the Red-’

‘We. Do. Not! Talk about The Red Wedding.’ An accusing finger rises in offence at bringing up the sensitive subject about a most traumatic and tragic event in Westeros. ‘Not a single word more about it, Min Yoongi.’

‘I forgot how immersed you are in the series.’ A roll of the eyes goes accompanied by an amused sigh as palms plant themselves on hips and a headshake emphasizes the entertainment at the, perhaps, too extravagant reaction. ‘Alright, I’ll shut up. You start up the point from which you want to watch, but no further than the event we just spoke about, and I’ll get the spoons. So you can shovel the ice cream in.’

‘One more degrading comment and I’ll have your head!’ The empty threat is shrugged off by the leaving flatmate who has always laughed off these types of statements, either frustratingly coaxing more out or merely mumbling something along the terms of being cute which, in turn, raises more protest that, again, gets treated in the same manner. It is a viscous endless circle.

‘Who are you? Geoffrey Baratheon?’ A smug glance over the shoulder invites a new discussion that on one hand wants to be held while, on the other, the aftermath of educational stress does not allow it.

Henceforth, it is hoped to be ended with a final deciding futile violent phrasing. ‘I will be if you don’t get the bloody spoons.’

A reflecting tilt of the head, raven locks partially covering up the devious expression of the annoying yet beloved musician. ‘Maybe Cersei.’

‘Go.’ The command comes out between gritted teeth, absolutely done with the subject and too eager to attack the tub of cinnamon roll goodness before it is all melted.

‘As my lady commands.’

Vaguely in the distance sounds the barely audible padding of bare feet towards the kitchen after the flatmate has left the room, leaving a small crack in the door in the wake filled with endeavours at soothing kindness. Although it might mean inherently nothing, the tight grip on the edge of the warm duvet cannot be helped as the heart flutters with innocent joyous sentiments bordering on a deeper version of themselves. Especially when Sense comes in to calculate the outcome of the sum of caring behaviours and recalled mental transcripts of past conversations, however trivial, alongside the little gestures in the studying composer’s absence in the form of song recommendations on post-it notes or sharing earbuds inconspicuously during boring lectures or seminars to listen to the same song.

The clinking of the cutlery drawer being searched, looking for the right spoons.

The sound of a metal wave when the loud impact of the momentum makes the insides shake in unison when it is being slammed shut despite the mechanism ensuring a gentle closing.

Returning bare toes underneath a delighted sliver of a grin as slim pianist fingers present the retrieved items, one of them handed over with a broad smile that is glad to see the eagerness with which it is accepted and the tub opened to attack immediately.

Once more Yoongi strikes down on the edge of the mattress but this time to look for a comfortable position to sit in and getting incredibly close while doing so. It is not unusual to be fairly intimate during educational hours, but this is a whole new sort as the onyx-haired man tries to secure a seat just in front of the night table functioning as a headboard, thus placing an utterly confused girl between black pepper and ink scented legs. ‘Scoot over. And don’t you dare eat that whole tub by yourself. You always get me worried for your health when you do. I enjoy seeing you eat, but you shouldn’t overdo it.’

‘It’s only 360 calories and I’m an adult. I can do what I want.’ Awkwardly, an attempt is made at putting a bit of distance between bodies by trying to ease into a lying position next to the curiously intimate flatmate so that only shoulders touch.

However, the composer does not allow it and makes use of the clumsy unbalanced shuffling to pull the spine flush against a soft warm chest, locking the captured party by grabbing the laptop from the side and placing it on top of the two-person lap which has just been created and locking ankles in place after rearranging the warm sheets to cover both parties.

Both friends.

Or more, though that remains to be seen when the confusion will be explained by the course of Time.

As if nothing unusual has happened, blatantly ignoring burning ashamed crimson cheeks, the cursor flies over the screen to start up one of the episodes without knowing the exact point from which an original beginning of the marathon wanted to be made. ‘Where do we start?’

Hands still wrapped about the cinnamon ice cream carton, spoon balanced between nimble fingers, grab the treat a little bit harder to calm down while speech clearly portrays being affected by the sudden show of closeness. ‘Season three, episode- no, wait. Season one, episode one.’

The best way to remember all that has transpired in the politics of Westeros after escaping the realm for a while is to watch the game of thrones unfold all over again despite almost being able to recite every scene by heart. ‘That’s where we’ll start.’

‘I think I still rec-‘ The considering protest is broken off by a spoonful of cinnamon ice cream from the rapidly opened carton box, tired of having to wait to finally kick back and relax in, apparently, good human company.

‘Shut up, Lannister, and just start the series.’ The nicknames from the houses each individual supposedly belongs to have become a sort of inside joke to refer to one another and it would be a lie to say it was not missed in rare actual conversations. It brings back the memories of that first moment of watching this exact same beginning to the turbulent fantastical political chaos, huddled together while plainly ignoring the professor talking about a subject undoubtedly important for the exam but which at the time did not matter whatsoever. Perfectly content watching the battle for The Iron Throne unfold and taking a quiz to figure out where one would be in Westeros was it the real world.

The topic of the lecture did matter, as would be discovered, for the close reading.

‘Okay, fine, Tully, we can still cha-’ Another icy bite cuts Yoongi off again before irises return to the screen and a weary head lies down on the top side of a cushiony stomach in splendid delight, eating ice cream while regarding a bloody imaginary history.

Winter is coming.

But comfort is already here.

[voidsettle]

Summer Junction: Small Balkans

                                                                                                       May-June 2018

Chasing the last-August experience of a region-wide country run, we started planning for our next trip, something southern this time. We wanted some history from the old towns, scorching heat of the sun over bright sea, and long vistas of the mountain ranges. Montenegro became the basis for the plan. But why settle for one if you can have more? We were going wild.

Sveti Stefan, Budva, Montenegro

Full 2 weeks were spent in careful preparations. We were throwing in Hungary and Serbia before and Bosnia and Croatia in between. The original plan grew from a tour around one country to five, some of them added (almost) against our wills. We had to fly through Budapest - our airlines had rather cheap tickets to the destination city. From there, it was hit-and-miss travel by every kind of transport you'd imagine. Bus? Plenty. Car? Repeat the hitchhiking experience. Train? Make it two.

First Stop: Budapest, Hungary

Fisherman's Bastion over Danube, Budapest, Hungary

Arriving at Budapest, we had several hours - it was but a short stop before the night train to Serbia.

Whenever I'm in Budapest, there are three things I'm looking forward to: enjoy the vista from the Fisherman's Bastion, visit Szechenyi Thermal Baths and have a taste of Hungarian Tokay.

Last time when I was in Hungary, I got lost somewhere in Pest and ended up deciphering another tourist's instructions in German (which was mutually poor but delivered fun experience nonetheless). This time I finally got to creating a mind map of major sites and attractions. No that I can definitely find Budapest Opera if left at the central train station, but a can guess the general direction at the very least.

Fun at Fisherman's Bastion

Besides, the good thing about traveling on your own (without a guide and a group of whiny tourists tagging along) is that you achieve the level of liberating enlightenment never to be experienced in your own country. It usually takes several days for this skill to kick in. I was all the more surprised as this expanding feeling bubbled in my chest as I descended into Budapest subway.

While in Budapest, you absolutely must visit one of the thermal baths, the relaxing and soothing experience best after a long walk around the city.

I personally prefer the ones in Szechenyi Park because of the sheer scope and variety - inside the pavilions, under the open sky, cooling, warm, hot - whatever you heart desires. Just visiting one by one will take around 2 hours, so better come with some spare time on your hands.

I must say, the Hungarian capital was truly underestimated by me. I definitely plan on going back and add a couple more to-dos to my usual itinerary: visit the Opera, roam through the halls of National Gallery, have a slow stroll on Margaret Island, and taste much more local delicacies.

What to see:

Fisherman's Bastion

Matthias Church

Gellert Hill and the Citadella

Hungarian National Gallery at Buda Castle

Hungarian Parliament

Szechenyi Chain Bridge and its tongueless lions

Margit hid (Margaret Bridge)

Ruins of the Fransciscan church on Margaret Island

Szechenyi Thermal Bath

What to eat:

goulash (thick paprika soup/stew)

libamaj (goose liver)

fried duck

chicken paprikas with dumplings

halaszle (fish soup with paprika and tomato sauce)

langos (basically fast food)

kremes (cream cake)

somloi galuska (biscuit with custard)

chestnut puree

kurtoskalacs (vanilla and citrus pastry)

Tokay wine

palinka (fruit brandy)

Second Stop: Beograd, Serbia

View on the junction of Sava and Danube from Belgrade Fortress, Beograd, Serbia

First things first, a cry of pain to Serbian trains: they are immensely, unbelievably hideous. But such fun!

Truly, after Ukrainian railroads I believed I've seen it all - oh how thoroughly mistaken I was! The compartments are shabby and worn out, nearly everything is torn or broken, just on this side of usability, the wall facing the passageway is made of plexiglass delivering a (not so) beautiful view of your sleeping face to anyone happening to pass by. And the cherry on the top: they have four (which is standard for Ukraine and, I believe, most of Eastern European countries) and six (?!) seat compartments. Preordering the tickets, we were so curious that we couldn't miss the opportunity to travel in a six seat one (aside from it being slightly cheaper).

Three floors of the six-seat compartment on a Serbian train from Budapest

What it meant on practice was literally three floors. The first of which basically was a seat standing on the floor (when sitting, my knees were before my eyes), and the last had only around half a meter to the ceiling. Basically no storage place. It was truly scary sleeping both on and underneath these seats.

I keep wondering if we got lucky that the two middle seats were (obviously) non-functional, so we only had two other poor unfortunate souls to share this sorry excuse of a compartment. On the other hand, the experience was so bizarre and unique that I couldn't keep myself from laughing hysterically. Not sure any of my companions comprehended my mirth.

On the brighter note, Beograd is one of those cities that don't care the least for you as a tourist. One day is pretty much enough to see everything there is to see, the major attraction being, of course, the Belgrade Fortress with its rich history protecting the city (thus the clash of architectural styles), vast park area below leading your eye to the joint of Danube and Sava rivers, and quaint winding passages that lead to different courts, half-hidden castles and fortifications.

Beograd Fortress

Lost somewhere in its area, I caught this wonderfully serene moment of pre-summer heat hammering down the irregular stone-paved trails, deafening crickets and the dizzying smell of grasses and red poppies (that are all over the place, magical beyond belief).

The city shows itself. Walking from the fortress down Knez Mihailova Street, you find yourself at the National Museum. A little to the South, ruins left after the NATO bombing stay proud in the middle of the bustling city. And then there's the Cathedral of Saint Sava, quite the monumental construction to mark the grand aspirations of Serbian nation. It is one of the largest churches in the world, and one that is still being built, starting in 1935. That tells you something about the nation.

If you don't have much time, take the round tram #2 to see all the major sites in city center. You'll miss something, for sure, but it's a good way to start your acquaintance.

And don't forget to get yourself familiar with the people - they're quite the friendly type. My friend's shoe tore at the most inopportune moment, and we were looking for something that'd help keep it together. Asking in one of the shops where we could buy glue, the owner not only told us how to get to the closest place but he personally walked us there. At yet another instance, a woman we asked directions from spent quite some time (and probably missed her bus) to make sure we know how to get to the Cathedral of Saint Sava. Using Serbian and gestures; pure incomprehensible joy.

What to see:

Beograd Fortress

Knez Mihailova Street and the pedestrian area

Ruins of Yugoslav General Staff from 1999 NATO bombing

National Museum (with one if not the largest Impressionist painting collection in Europe)

St Mark's Church

Cathedral of Saint Sava

Church of Saint Alexander of Neva

What to eat:

cevapi/cevapcici (regional delicacy, variations met throughout the Balkans - basically grilled meat in flatbread with chopped onions)

kajmak (cheese)

Karadordeva snicla (meat stuffed with cheese)

sarma (meat rolled in sour cabbage leaves)

musaka (potato and meat casserole)

ajvar (vegetable side dish)

pljeskavica (meat in flatbread)

cvarci (fried pork rinds)

rakia (fruit brandy; do you start noticing patterns yet?)

Third Stop: Underground Train and First Glance at Montenegro

Ruins of Bedem Castle, Niksic, Montenegro

Unlike traditional tourists, we decided to take a whole day off sight-seeing to indulge in traveling at its utmost. Moreover, the whole detour to Serbia was solely for the purpose of catching this train: Beograd, Serbia to Bar, Montenegro. We wanted to get our hands and eyes on mountains as soon as possible - and boy, did we get our fill!

If you get a chance to travel from Belgrade to Montenegro by train, by all means do. You won't regret a moment of it.

Train Beograd, Serbia - Bar, Montenegro

Actually, before the trip, I had my doubts: spending the whole day sitting in train, with nothing but observing natural beauties for over 10 hours; I thought we'd be bored to death by the end of hour 2. I didn't factor in the underground traveling - all in all, after spending the lion's share of the trip counting and noting the time, our route amounted to nearly 200 tunnels and almost hour and a half under ground in Serbia alone.

The longest tunnel is nearly 5 km long. I even counted the speed of underground travel - approximately 15 mph, a lower speed due to the danger of high mountain travel. Curiously, in Montenegro, the speed in tunnels was considerably higher, even though we didn't manage to uncover the reason.

One more thing to note is the considerably higher quality of Montenegrin trains. Compared to that taking us from Budapest to Beograd, this was nearly comfortable. I don't know the reason, but air-con was only available in one carriage (coincidentally, the one we were in), and it wasn't shying away from its function. I was freezing by the end of hour one, and went out in search of something to warm up. In other carriages, people were clustering by the windows, catching air, vistas and smoking.

Smoking right under the sign 'Smoking prohibited'

Thus, I anchored myself in the buffet car (calling it 'restaurant' wouldn't do; they offered no food) with a permanent cup of coffee before me. This was my little yet unforgettable time - the amalgam of beautiful mountain ranges flashing by outside the window, hot coffee and a cozy book that I prudently brought along. Light chatter of the trainmen fought with cigarette smoke in the air, the rattling of the train creating snug and quaint ambiance.

We arrived to Podgorica after sunset. The first glance at Montenegro delivered the unique feeling of living on the roofs - the room we were staying at had an exit right near the red shingles of the neighbor house. While I was having cup of tea before bed, a woman casually strolled on top of the roof nearby to hang the clothes to dry.

Despite the status of the capital and the largest city in Montenegro, Podgorica more often that not creates the feeling of a medium-sized deeply provincial town. Hidden behind the mountainous hills, far from the seaside, the city doesn't enjoy the influx of tourists during summer seasons but also boasts a warmer climate in winter.

And so we followed the route inland, leaving the Adriatic for the last part of our journey. My friend, the terrifyingly stubborn woman, woke me up at 4 in the morning to catch the train to Ostrog.

If I was to advise for Ostrog, I would not. And I'm unlikely to repeat the experience in the future.

Ostrog, Montenegro

That was one of a hellish trip for me - high up in the mountain, hides a Christian Orthodox church shrine. Sounds better than it is in reality. Well. It does look nice, I must admit - the chambers cut out in the sheer rock and all. But I'd argue not worth the effort put in.

Given I'm not religious and a late-sleeper, the way up the mountain trail early in the morning thoroughly irritated me. My mood didn't better at seeing how the 'religious' folks arrived right by the entrance in buses and cars - the hypocritical bastards. I guess we had a fight with my friend, who is much more loyal toward Christian religion and keeping faces. The things we give away.

Besides, the timing was really off - the vistas from high up the mountain are pretty bland early in the morning. The angle of the sun was just not right. The whole place in the morning looks like a refugee camp, with dirty mats and plaids for those willing to spend the chilly night on the monastery grounds. The whole place feels weird.

Camping outside the Ostrog monastery, 900 m above sea level

I was much more cheerful as we were leaving the damned-- I mean, sacred place.

By this time, we were at our basic premise: high in the mountains, half an hour by car to our interim destination, several hours before anything goes the way we need,  and a choice between astonishingly hideous weather and heavy backpacks. There was that trip to Crete where we were basically blind and death from the wind, cursing the moment we decided to go through the mountains on foot.

Our fallback is hitch-hiking fellow travelers to take pity on us and give us a lift. This time, we were picked up by a nice couple from Belarus who brought us right to Niksic. Unexpectedly, the city appeared more interesting than we imagined. I loved the ruins of the local castle. At one moment, the atmosphere was distinctly medieval - the lush green pastures outside the half-preserved walls, the grey grim limestone and delicate, full of color flowerheads taking over the reign in this place. That glimpse of centuries long gone sent a shiver down my spine, and was gone as fast as it appeared.

Bedem castle, Niksic

Today, the castle ruins serve as a concert hall for the local youth - naturally, the larger part of the stone is covered in graffiti, and we've met a couple of sturdy young boys at the foot of the castle, unloading what looked like heavy sound equipment boxes. We had to sacrifice half a bottle of water as an entrance fee.

After an ice-cream and a meditation over the neat and apparently old cemetery, we headed for the bus station to catch a ride to Sarajevo. And, oh, did our adventures only begin!

The same way as I was rumbling about Serbian trains - one should be aware of the buses in Montenegro.

The worst part? Not enough seats. The bus we got was tiny, more like a minivan. We were forced to take our bags inside and to stand the whole way to Bosnia (2.5 hours to the border, same to Sarajevo). I wasn't even trying, sitting down in the aisle as soon as we started off. I got through the first hour alright, catching a casual conversation with a guy from Albania sitting beside me. And then the air stopped circulating (at least where I was sitting), and I don't remember most of the way to the Bosnian border.

I got a seat somewhere along the ride. When we arrived in Sarajevo, I was so tired that it was nearly blissful - I don't think I was the slightest bit worried when we got the message from our to-be host that we couldn't be accommodated at their place that night. Fortunately, we caught decent free Wi-Fi in the middle of the Bosnian capital. Last thing I actually remember from that day is reconciling with my friend over the religious matters and thinking before falling into darkness that nothing could surprise me during this trip anymore.

Descending the Ostrog mountain, panorama dipped in morning haze

What to see:

Sahat kula, Podgorica (clock tower)

Ostrog (take this up at your own risk, and, by gods, do not go on foot, you won't be getting out)

Church of Sv Vasilje, Niksic

Bedem castle, Niksic

What to eat:

prshut (dried meat)

cevapcici

pleskavitsa/roshtil (fried and grilled meat)

sopsky salat (vegetable salad with cheese)

ribla chorba (fish soup)

Negusi cheese

meat burek with yogurt

sarma

Vranac (red wine) and Krstach (white wine)

Niksicko beer

desserts: baklava, tulumba, shampita, vanilice, padobranci

Fourth Stop: Two Pearls of Bosnia and Herzegovina

Breakfast at panorama over Sarajevo, Ispod Grada, Bosnia and Herzegovina

For Sarajevo, I was really hyped even before the trip. The primary reason was, of course, the history of this place. Point of focus: the assassination of Archduke Franz Ferdinand and his wife Sophie triggering World War I. Time: June 28, 1914, 10 in the morning. Place: Latin Bridge.

As I was fangirling over the epic episode, I should also mention the sheer delight of this city. Sarajevo is filled with the distinctly Turkish ambiance (visiting Istanbul three months prior, I could not ignore the similarities between the two cities) - and yet it's a European capital. It has the tiny street teahouses with old men chatting and smoking their days away, muezzins shouting early in the morning, heavily clothed women and bubbling Eastern bazaars. But it also has eclectic architecture, Mediterranean cobbled streets flowing down the mountainous hills to the Miljacka river, and 15th to 19th century Christian churches. Starting at the White Fortress crowning the city, we roamed down the winding streets to the river bank, than had a real breakfast in the labyrinth of Bascarsija (I'm ashamed I still cannot pronounce that) and then made a stop for coffee at Cajdzinica Dzirlo.

Cajdzinica Dzirlo and it's host

I don't usually give personal opinions of places to eat - they change to fast, and TripAdvisor still does it better. But this one is the number and a renown site of its own - people who know Sarajevo will surely know this little teahouse in the city center. Take all the best things you want during your tea/coffee time, and you get this place.

Splendid drinks with plenty of choice. Ambiance and atmosphere supported by great view. Perfect location near Bascarsija. Most welcoming, authentic and fun host.

You feel as the dearest of friends not a random tourist. This place is a must for a perfect trip. I'd come back to Bosnia just to visit here again.

Besides, it's here that I fell in love with Bosnian coffee (a direct take-away from the Turkish coffee of the Ottoman Empire). I was already fond of the Turkish way to drink black thick coffee. In Bosnia, it is served with a sweet refreshing sherbet (ideally; more commonly, it's a glass of cold water) and a bite of Turkish delight on the side - perfect combination for a hot day.

As a side attraction, I learned how to serve and drink Bosnian coffee. Coffee is made in cezve and served along with another cezve of hot water. First comes adding the water to the coffee and some light stirring. Then coffee creme is carefully gathered from the top and put in the kahve finjani, a tiny porcelain cup in a metal stand. Coffee is poured in afterwards, resulting in a cup of strong, fragrant and relaxing marvel. A sip of coffee is alternated with a gulp of sherbet - I don't think I ever had a better drink.

Combined with the elevated view of the city center and the flocks of pigeons pirouetting around the roofs, this was the experience that ultimately summed up Sarajevo and this whole vacation for me. Yet the Bosnian adventures continued. Walking around the city and gaping at the listed attractions, we were caught in a dreadful storm. It rolled down the mountain tops in low black clouds, rumbling and growling as a wild animal and then pouring down in ice beads the size of a fingernail.

Latin Bridge before the storm ensued

Me and my friend, we have this weird thing we do on the photos, arms and legs spread around in a semblance of a six-pointed star. We do that once per every new city we visit, and, due to the plan, Latin Bridge was the designated site for Sarajevo. We failed spectacularly though, taking cover from the hailstorm on the tram stop for nearly half an hour.

As the storm subsided and turned into regular heavy rain, we plodded through the streets, knee-deep in murky, chalky, coffee-and-milk colored water, ultimately happy. The traffic was hideous, we missed our train, wet head to toe (I literally poured water out of my shoes) - yet I don't remember a better time from this trip. Besides, we caught the best cevapcici near the bus station - and they were prepared lighting-fast, we were shocked at the speed. Sitting in the bus (finally comfortable) taking us to Mostar, we were languidly enjoying the slack feeling of being prepared for anything coming our way.

Mostar old town and Stari most, view from the minaret of Koski Mehmed Pasina mosque

If you get a chance to walk around Mostar at nighttime, enjoy the lightwork, the cozy streets and the coolness of the evenings near Neretva.

Compared to Sarajevo, Mostar is tiny, one of those exclusively tourist destinations that have one major attraction, a couple of minor sites and plenty of ambiance beckoning huge crowds year after year. In a way, it resembles Kazimierz Dolny but with the whimsical quirk of Turkish and Southern European minutiae framing the singular character of the town.

Naturally, the crowds flock on and around the Old bridge, the main site of Mostar. As for me, the narrow painfully cobbled streets (do try to wear shoes with thicker soles) outcharmed the bridge.

Neretva river and panorama of Mostar from Koski Mehmed Pasina mosque's minaret

There is a choice of cozy hidden gems: the Crooked bridge is less famous but instead drowning in greenery. The beach under the Old bridge gives the ability to dip your feet into Neretva (the water is freezing, we nearly got cramps while hastily taking photos - but it's clear and wonderfully refreshing under the blazing sun). The garden of the Koski Mehmed Pasina mosque offers enchantingly picturesque view of the river and small houses under red roofs, transforming the town into an artist's paradise.

It's also possible to get up the minaret of Koski Mehmed Pasina mosque, an activity I believed to be forbidden for non-muezzins, non-Muslims and (even more so) females. The spinning stairs inside the minaret are entertainingly narrow, the balcony on top offers a grand view. And the mere fact of being in a half-prohibited place was enough to pleasantly tickle the nerves and positively reinforce the experience.

What to see in Sarajevo:

Bljela tabija (White fortress)

Zuta tabija (Yellow fortress)

City Hall

Latin Bridge

Bascarsija

Sebilj

Old Orthodox Church

Cathedral of Jesus' Heart

Orthodox Cathedral

Gazi Husrev Bey' Mosque and Bezistan

Taslihan

Lunar clock

Old Synagogue (Museum of the Jews of Bosnia and Herzegovina)

What to see in Mostar:

Stari most (Old bridge)

Crooked bridge

Koski Mehmed Pasina dzamija

Karadoz-begova dzamija

Mostar Peace Bell tower

What to eat:

cevapi

meat under sac (veal or lamb cooked under special lid)

cufte (meatballs)

duvec (vegetable stew)

drasak (pea stew)

ajvar

somun (flatbread)

ustipci (fried dough balls)

Bosnian coffee (and I cannot stress this enough!)

salep

serbe (sherbet)

ajran (salty yogurt drink)

Fifth Step: Dubrovnik, Croatia

The walls of Dubrovnik, Croatia

Dubrovnik is another historic town heavy on tourists, and for a good reason: it's gorgeous. The beauty of city walls unparalleled, Dubrovnik is truly the pearl of the Adriatic sea. The preservation of the old town is worthy of praise, on par with old Tallinn. But that's it - talking about Croatian people, they're quite the unwelcoming type.

To get from Mostar to Dubrovnik, one has to cross the Bosnian-Croatian border tree times. In and out, and in again, and all in just under two hours. And the border guards stamp your passport every time.

The tension of Croatians runs high. From our hostess to most waiters, locals don't seem friendly at all - a surprising fact given the contagious amicability of Bosnians. The prices in Dubrovnik are also considerably higher while coffee is considerably worse (although, to tell the truth, after Bosnia, every cup of coffee I had was so-so at best).

Yet, despite the ranting, Dubrovnik truly is a city with its own character. The first impression was: stairs. The whole Balkan region is like that, built on the hillsides, streets narrow and oftentimes only suited for pedestrians. Dubrovnik is the quintessence of the concept. The hills it is built on are indented with stair-streets, and the road for cars winds and twists, curling in circles through the city like a giant snake. To get from point A to point B, it is easier to clamber up the stairs. Besides, one gets all the best views that way.

Stradun with the belltower of Franciscan monastery, Dubrovnik, Croatia

The old town is enchanting. The narrow streets tightened in the restrains of smooth stone are cool and soothing at sunset. Dark green shutters emphasize the rhythm of the delicate houses. Our early evening in Dubrovnik was drowning in pinkish haze, enchanting and amorous, and the screams of seagulls cluttered up the slowly darkening skies.

The city was built by Venetians, the fact completely obvious to anyone remotely acquainted with architecture. Lacking the tell-tale canals, Dubrovnik instead becomes the labyrinth of tiny streets, a photographer's wet dream at every turn. Stradun, the major street, is full of tourists, day or night, but the back streets are shatteringly quiet as the night falls, almost to the point of feeling haunted.

Panorama of Dubrovnik from city walls: red roofs and Franciscan belltower

The city transforms by the daytime. The blistering sun reflects from the smooth surfaces of the white stone and hits you from all sides: it truly is scorchingly hot. The city walls bring no relief; even the sea breeze is but a short refreshment.

A hat, a bottle of water and a sunscreen are obligatory items on the walls of Dubrovnik anytime from April to October.

But oh the vistas the minute details! Walking around the whole old town and observing how it was built and how it lives from the height of the walls, one is immersed in the history of the relationship between Venetians, this great seapower, and the Balkan region, the focus of their constant conflicts with the Turks. Catching glimpses of inner yards and narrow streets, it is easy to imagine how people lived several centuries ago - as it seems nothing changed much.

The city walls are full of tourists, naturally; a different experience is provided by fort Lovrijenac to the west of the city. Not only it gives a different perspective of Dubrovnik, but is also more spacious as a fortification and is closer to nature (the gorge under its walls lets the imagination run free and create hidden grottoes and caves full of wonders, treasures and sunken ships).

Dubrovnik is surely a city one must visit. If time permits, it's good to have a swim in the Adriatic sea, enjoy the famous Croatian beaches, get up to the fortress on the top of the hill to catch a glimpse of the whole city, and indulge in the rich history. But overstaying your visit is not wise when the much more hospitable Montenegro is just in a couple of hours drive down the coast.

What to see:

old town

St Francis church

Large Onofrio's Fountain

Dominican monastery

crkva Svetog Spasa

Sponza Palace

Orlandov stup

Mala Onofrijeva Fontana

Rector's Palace

St Blaise church

St Ignatius church

Church of the Annunciation

city walls (Bokar, Minceta, Saint John, Buza gate)

Fort Lovrijenac

Lokrum island

Carska tvrdava

What to eat:

raznjici (meat skewers)

zagrebacki odrezak (stuffed veal steak)

lignje (squid)

salata od hobotnice (octopus salad)

crni rizot (cuttlefish risotto)

manestra (soup)

zganci (polenta)

palacinke (crepes)

rozata (creme cake)

Malvazija (dessert wine)

Coming Back to Montenegro

Crkva Svete Klare/Svetog Antuna, Kotor, Montenegro

Planning the trip, it's important to have calm days mixed into the mass of those full of mad activity.

Herceg Novi was our first in the row of more relaxing experiences, a good choice with its lush green streets cascading down the mountain to the Bay of Kotor and the quaint atmosphere of a pre-tourist season. A comparatively young city, it still bears the scars of Venetian dominion, flaunting the old fortress, dark and grey and heavy over the light touristy air of the coast resort.

According to the newly established tradition, I got a day off the trip to catch up with my friend from work who moved with his family to Herceg Novi couple of years back. The rest of the two days were submerged in a daze of slow breakfasts, warm days that tasted like strawberry and tepid waves licking away the tiredness of the feet.

What to see in Herceg Novi:

Citadella

Forte Mare

Crkva Svetog Jeronima

Church of Holy Archangel Michael

Sahat Kula

Kanli Kula

Kotor old town, view of the Fort of St John

For the next day, we picked our speed up, cramming in Kotor and Tivat, and a circle trip around the Bay of Kotor. I still have my regrets about not being able to make a stop in Perast and pay respects to the famous island Our Lady of the Rocks.

The good thing about Kotor is that, although there are many things to see, they are all clustered together (like old well-preserved towns tend to do) - you only need a day to see it all. The only exception is the Fort of St John - probably the main attraction of Kotor, not counting the old town itself.

The streets of Kotor old town

The popularity of this place is primarily based on three things: its age (including historic and militaristic value starting from VI century), the magnificent views it gives from the top over the Bay of Kotor, and its sheer size (it's one of the most significant fortifications of this type in Europe, with 4.5 km long walls).

Kotor may lack the posh sumptuousness of Dubrovnik and the green curvy coziness of Mostar. Yet it is definitely its own thing, a small intimately built town in the clutches of grey stone with sultry air of tiny squares with towering churches and cathedrals, with palaces on every step - Kotor feels like a museum.

What to see in Kotor:

Gurdic Gate (South Gate)

St Triphun's Cathedral

The Drago Palace

The Pima Palace

The Buca Palace

The Palace Bizanti

The Sea Gate with the Tower of Town Guards

The Clock Tower

Duke Palace

Arsenal Building

Crkva Svete Klare/Svetog Antuna

Crkva Sv Nikole

Crkva Sv Luke

Crkva Sv Mihaila

Karampana

The Grgurina Palace

Crkva Sv Ana

Svete Marije Koledate

North Gate

Kotor's Castle of San Giovanni

Church of Our Lady of Health

Fort of St John

Dancing Girl Statue with a view of Old Budva

We spent the night in nearby Tivat - not a historic but resort destination, a city full of luxurious hotels and yachts shimmering off the competing degrees of splendor. As the high season didn't start yet, the city was immersed in a sluggish slumber.

Budva, on the other hand, as the major tourist hub of Montenegro, was boiling and lively, offering a bit of everything. UNESCO-protected old town neighbored fashionable boutiques and giant malls. Quay was full of restaurants offering meats and seafoods of all sorts, narrow streets of old town offered cozier cafes and confectioneries. The beaches, both in-town and on the close-by 'Hawaii' island, beckon with warm transparent water and hidden caverns ready for relaxation or exploration.

The old town of Budva is comparatively small. Half a day is enough to explore it - but the best part about it is the many cozy back streets, dead ends and cubbies that tell their small stories and beckon you to rest and observe the world around.

There is a small street that always has cats pooling under one of the windows - obviously a feeding place. An inner yard of Citadela features a cafe under bright white umbrellas - the perfect combination with old stone, deep blue sea and the green vines to create the true Mediterranean feel. One of the buildings has an old library turned posh restaurant with displayed models of the famous ships.

I've found my favorite cozy little place on the thick wall of the old town near Ricardova Glava beach. A small square surrounded by churches used for concerts and often featuring weddings. A quaint corner of the earth that caught my attention as a street musician was lightly plucking guitar strings for a mellow, sweetly sorrowful melody interweaving into the song of the wind. I go back in my memories to that place - hot crude stone behind my back, sun and seagulls over my head, and fresh warm breeze in my face.

The second day was completely dedicated to exploring the beaches of Budva. The beaches of the tourist zone are sandy; the old town has pebbles.

One of the beaches on Hawaii island, Budva

Seeing Ricardova Glava for the first time, the scene catches one off guard: people are bathing in the clear waters of Adriatic sea right under the rough walls of the church dating back to 840 AD built of darkened pebbles and whitened mortar, battered by time and seawinds. The narrow walk from Ricardova Glava to Mogren beaches conceals a set of hidden gems - from Dancing Girl Statue (one of the symbols of Budva) to the rugged, indented mountain walls on one side and the rocky coast on the other, open-air vista of the sea and Hawaii island, leading to the ambitious route over the rocks and boulders to yet another viewpoint of the city.

And then there's the Hawaii island. Boats take turns to drop off locals and tourists alike on the island full of beaches suited for every taste, with cozy lagoons and hidden grottos.

Best to take the boat that makes a detour to Sveti Stefan - the most luxurious island in the vicinity of Budva, completely covered in medieval red-roofed white-stoned houses and requiring a permit just to get in, people roaming from the coast to the town walls during low tides.

What to see in Budva:

old town

Citadela

Ruins of a Roman church

St Jean Baptist church

Church of the Holy Trinity

Church built in 840 AD

Former St Sara church

Poet plaza

Roman grave

Ricardova Glava (beach)

Dancing Girl Statue

Mogren beaches

Hawaii (island of Sv Nikolai)

Crkva Sv Nikolai (Hawaii)

island of Sveti Stefan

Zipline near Durdevica Tara Bridge, Montenegro

Our last day was decided beforehand.

Everyone going to Montenegro advises to take a tour of Tara canyons. True, the nature is absolutely worth seeing - although I'd prefer taking my time at certain places not rushing as the guided tours do.

I don't know if it's typical of this mountainous region, but that day was rainy, getting us wet from time to time. Durmitor actually got me soaked through to my bones - it's usually chilly here, and the rain made its contribution. But the nature is breathtaking - the dark, nearly black pines, the incredible ravines of rugged sharp stones and brash winds, the sweeping rivers of boiling, madly foaming water, the weak bushes clinging to the tiniest cracks and crevices, and gradually fading off to give way to the bare rocks precipitously piercing the high skies.

Zipline across the Durdevica Tara Bridge actually allowed to experience the void first-hand.

Tara canyon, Montenegro

Forget the 'short line is as good as the long one'. No it's not. It's short - meaning that it takes nearly half of your time on the zipline away from you.

The first moment was quite scary due to the push at the back I got from one of the guys who geared me up - but the anxious thoughts of my-god-there's-five-hundred-feet-of-nothing-under-me were almost immediately swept out of my head by the sheer rapture of damn-I'm-flying-and-it's-so-beautiful. That's something to experience by yourself, no one will be able to translate it to you accurately.

The final adventure was as unexpected as it was welcomed. Summer snow is an occurrence I've never yet experienced in my life - that is, before this trip. Hail is not that common but it happens from time to time (there's one in my memory from when I was around 7, where the hails were the size of a child's fist). But the one we encountered on our way back from the Montenegrin black forests was unprecedented - not only it was accompanied by strong wind and showers but also covered the ground in freezing white blanket, the strangest sight among the rich, plentiful wild greens. The trip back was soothing and distressing at once, with the soft rocking of the comfortable bus on the winding mountain roads and the rapid rapping of hail over the roof.

Big Finale

The Hawaii Beach, Budva, Montenegro

Coming back to Kiev, I was firm in my belief: best trips happen when you plan everything yourself, encounter a bunch of weird and fun adventures and meet challenges head-on. This Balkan tour reconciled me with my turbulent self: the bad things, the good things - it's worth saluting everything that comes our way. What's a trip without obstacles; what's a trip that tells you nothing about yourself, people you travel with and world around you? Cheers!

[not-so-innocent-bi-sander]

The Dragon Witch’s Monster Curse

       Ok, so this idea popped into my head almost fully formed and I just had to write it down. Inspired by a conversation I was having with @authordreaming13, heres a little.. i dont know. A little story I wish i had come up with before Halloween. I hope you all enjoy it. 

Gonna tag a handful of people- let me know if you want me to not tag you in the future. @twentyoneparades-to-panic-at @de-is-me@introverts-assemble @lilylunalovegood2002 @musicwitchthomas @sidewritings

     Logan sat at his desk, his arms crossed in frustration. He was stuck in this situation through no fault of his own and there was nothing he could do to remedy it. But because of a mishap between Roman and the infamous Dragon Witch combined with the unfortunate timing of Patton opening Roman’s bedroom door… The four sides had been transformed into different classic monsters.

           Logan reached up and itched at the bolts sticking out of his neck. Of course he was a Frankenstein’s monster.. Just of course. He glanced down at his fingers, finding them the same tinged green just they had been since last night. He had random suture scars all over his body, which he found extremely unbecoming. Even his clothes had become tattered and stitched in spots, almost similar to Virgil’s style. Roman assured him this would last around 24 hours at most, and seeing as this was magic, Logan couldn’t do much about it. He sighed and scratched once more, these bolts were irritating.

           He stood to move away from his desk, none of his books offered him much information about magic and dragon witches anyway, when he heard a knock at his door. He moved and swiftly opened it, finding Roman in the hallway. The royal looked moderately distressed standing just outside his doorway. 

“What is it Roman?” Logan asked the figure before him.

 “Can I talk to you for a minute?” He asked, gesturing into the logical one’s room. 

“Sure.” Logan spun on his heel and walked back into his room. He expected to feel Roman’s presence behind him but when he turned, the creative was still in the hallway, looking annoyed. Logan sighed audibly. 

“Roman, you have my permission to enter my room.” He said, annoyed. Roman swooped inside and closed the door behind him. 

“Hey its not my fault!” The regal vampire said exasperatedly. If you had asked Logan two days ago to choose classic movie monsters to embody his counterparts, he would have instantly assigned the role of vampire to Virgil. Something about his dark room and overall aesthetic just made sense. But looking before him at Roman, he realized the royal side before him embodied the regal style of the monster much moreso. He stood in what was mostly his usual prince getup, but there was a lot more of a Victorian era flare. He also had a stunning cape that trailed behind him and the classic vampire look: his skin was much paler than usual, he had a pair of glinting fangs, and his irises were blood red.

           "Of course it isn’t, Roman. Now what did you need to talk to me about?“ The stitched together trait asked, once again scratching his neck bolts. "Two things, mainly. First… Do I look ok? How’s my hair?” he asked, uncharacteristically unsure of himself. Logan rolled his eyes once again, Roman had asked him this about a million times since he realized he no longer had a reflection. 

“You look like you normally do, Roman. Well… Given the circumstances. What is the second order of business?” The regal vampire rolled his red eyes.

 “Well, I wante-” he began but what was cut off by another knock at the door. Roman instantly swooped to hide behind where the door would open and put his finger over his lips. Logan was unsure what that was about but ignored Roman’s antics and moved to the door. Opening it, he found Patton. 

“Heya Logan! Can I borrow your puzzlebook?” He cheerfully asked. Logan nodded and handed it to him from the bookshelf near the door. “Thanks Logan! I’ll be in the living room if you want it back!” He smiled and wandered off. Logan closed the door, revealing Roman. Logan simply raised an eyebrow at the strange creature of the night.

“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about!” he exclaimed Roman.

“What?” Logan’s eyebrow remained raised.

“Patton! He isn’t a monster!” Roman exclaimed. Logan hadn’t even noticed. But now thinking about.. Patton didn’t look out of the ordinary at all.

“Oh… You are right. He didn’t seem at all affected like we do…” Logan trailed off, he had just looked right at Patton. Nothing about him seemed changed. “It’s possible it didn’t impact him?”

“He was the one who opened the door and let the spell escape, he was right there… I feel like it must have done something!” Roman explained.

“Hmm… Well I was in the living room and you were in your room. Maybe Patton was blocked by the door. We have no evidence it would have affected anyone who may have been shielded.” Logan pondered aloud. Both their eyes widened at Logan’s words and they both whispered in unison.

“Virgil.”

           Neither of them had seen the anxious trait since this had occurred last night. He had been in his room when the spell escaped the previous night and hadn’t been seen yet that day. They both ran from Logan’s room over to Virgil’s. Logan knocked on the door and reached for the handle.

 “WAIT!” They heard Virgil from inside the door and what sounded like quick scrambling around. “Ok, you can come in.” The amalgamation and the night creature shared a worried glance before pushing open the door and walking into the room.

           Virgil was sitting up on his bed with his hood up, dark sunglasses on his face, leaning against his headboard. 

“Sup?” He asked, completely nonchalantly. The room was completely dark, as was usual, beside the lamp on his bedside table so his sunglasses didn’t seem to make sense.

 “Um, Virgil? Are you alright? Why are you wearing sunglasses in the dark? Is… Something unusual going on with you?” Logan asked, realizing Virgil probably could barely see them. 

“I'm… Uhh.. Fine. Why?” He seemed nervous.

 “Oh lets just get on with this!” Roman stamped his foot impatiently. The royal reached behind him and switched on the bright ceiling light, illuminating all three of them.

           The anxious trait gasped in surprise, finally able to see the two monstrous traits in front of him. “Oh… That is comforting.” He said very quietly.

“Comforting?” Logan was surprised at his reaction.

“Well, yeah… I thought this was just another cruel anxiety thing I had developed. Like.. this is a much better thing than what I had thought.” Virgil explained.

Roman stepped forward. “You thought.. what was?” He asked, curiously. Virgil sighed and reached up, slowly removing his hood. Where his hair should have been, there was a mass of writing snakes. He continued to remove his hoodie entirely, revealing a faint scale pattern down his neck and arms.

 “I’m.. a Gorgon.”

           "Well.. It certainly explains the sunglasses.“ Logan finally said. Virgil chuckled darkly. They then took a moment to explain to Virgil the entire situation. Everything from the Dragon Witch to Patton mysteriously not being impacted like they were. Virgil took it in and thought for a moment. 

"I bet you twenty bucks I can figure out what Patton is and prove it to you in less than a minute.” He finally said, smirking from behind his dark glasses.

 “What?! How can you be that confident?!” Roman angrily shouted.

“I know monsters.” He said, even more confidently.

Roman began to shout another outburst but was cut off by Logan who held out his hand to Virgil to shake. “I’ll take that bet.”

The three of them traveled back downstairs, Virgil leading them now with his jacket back on and the hood back up. They found Patton, joyously laying on the floor playing with Logan’s puzzlebook. 

“Hey Patton, would you come here for a second?” Virgil asked, stepping off the landing of the steps and leaving the other two behind him.

 “Of course Virgil!” He popped up off the floor and bounded over to him. “What is it, Kiddo? Those are some cool shades by the way!” He beamed.

Virgil looked at Patton for about 2 seconds before turning behind him and mouthing to Logan, /Better get out your wallet./ He turned back to the emotional side and said. 

“I just wanted to tell you… I’m worthless and I hate myself.” He said simply, shrugging his shoulders.

Patton stared at him for a moment, suddenly his eyes turned red and his hands balled into fists.

“What did I say… ABOUT TALKING BAD ABOUT YOURSELF?! YOU ARE PERFECT AND SPECIAL!” He suddenly yelled, his voice sounding amplified and much larger than his small frame. He dropped to his knees and curled into a ball. They watched as he began to grow larger, his shirt ripping revealing his body underneath to be… coated in hair. His hands and feet also grew to be large, hairy, and clawed while his face elongated into a wolf’s snout.

Virgil crossed his arms in triumph as Patton stood, a massive werewolf in a tattered polo and a cardigan around his neck that somehow managed to stay on.

 “Sorry dad, I didn’t mean to upset you. Let me make it up to you.” Virgil reached behind the wolf’s ear and began to scratch, effectively turning Patton into a happy puppy,  pressing himself against the anxious side to give him better access to his new favorite scratch spot. Princey simply stood with his mouth hanging open, while Logan stood shocked next to him. He did, however, still manage to place a crisp twenty dollar bill into Virgil’s hand.

[eosforge]

The Laipougsa Revolution (Part One - Laura) Prologue

Hello to all guys, gals, and nonbinary pals! This is an original work, inspired by this post (thank you, OP, and all contributers, even if I can’t see what you posted). I ask that you do not repost to another site; if you do, I expect that you credit me properly. In a few days’ time this will be cross-posted to ao3 under Original Works (I will put a link to my a03 account then). I intend to continue this with one-shots centered around each character’s attributes (which will be regarded as peculiarities and in numerical order), and when I have enough I will begin to compile a master post (to be linked to when created).

Alright, let’s jump in! Welcome to part one of The Laipougsa Revolution!

Prologue: Laura Is Not A Laipougsa

She was on her back - torso straight and diagonal, neck curved against the cold stone wall. There was nowhere to go; her knee had buckled when she had turned to run away, and her left leg was turned in a way it shouldn’t have been able to turn. Her entire body was trembling and throbbing with pain. Her left arm - the one not braced against the ground - raised to protect her front, fist clenching.

Did Laura know how to throw a punch properly? She couldn’t remember.

The sound of hooves and claws, along with the click of boots, made the hair on her arms stand up. Those were the creatures chasing her. One may have been human once - as they were a biped - but certainly wasn’t anymore. The humanoid had a strange amalgam of human and unnatural features; there was the sleek black pixie cut, human clothes (including a face mask that covered the area where the nose, mouth, chin, and neck would be on a human), and almond shaped eyes; there was also the pointed ears and the horns, which grew out of their temples (the skin there surrounded the base of their horns, which were bony white and ridged) and arced around their skull; at the base of their neck the horns turned outwards and abruptly tapered into a sharp point.

The other creature, something that was not a deer and probably never was, walked on four legs. The front set had hooves, while the back had paws with claws. It had a scaly tail that tapered into a blade-like bony point. Its head and neck were that of a deer, and it had the antlers to match, but its eyes... the sclera, irises, and pupils were dark blue, and there were no veins that she could see. The entire creature was furry (with the exception of the tail, the hooves, and the antlers) and dark brown in color.

Laura had seen the thing that was not a deer easily smash through a concrete wall, first driving the tail tip into the wall to make a weak point and then battering it twice with the tail. Laura had seen both the biped and the thing that was not a deer ram through bulletproof windows with their horns. Laura had seen the biped’s horn ridges glow pink, had seen the pink energy expand and arc around the biped, had seen that energy change whatever it touched into something else. It has to be magic, Laura had thought, because it had taken time for it to affect her and then stopped affecting her entirely once she got out of range; that magic had changed her mind, changed what her eyes were seeing, into something that wasn’t really there.

Her stomach dropped at the creatures’ increased volume, chilly anxiety thrumming through her. Her eyes filled with tears, weighing her lashes down; they slid down her cheeks, unnoticed. She was going to die here.

The creatures got closer, slowing as they approached. Laura flinched, shutting her eyes and leaning into the wall. Her heartbeat pulsed through her body; the clicking of the creatures’ feet stopped right in front of her. Heat - humid heat, the type that New Yorkers experience in summer when it’s about to rain - washed over her. “Please don’t kill me,” Laura gasped, the sentence strangled because she had started to sob softly. The anxiety was choking her by this point, her medicine being the only thing that was preventing her from having a panic attack.

Nearly everyone she loved had died at the whims of these creatures - they had told her to run, which she had, and then she had heard the sounds of fighting. Those sounds were snuffed out all too suddenly, and then the biped and not-deer walking had been all that remained.

Warm air that was weighed down with power hit her face. Laura flinched back and let out a shriek, curling into a ball, trembling, whining pitifully as the motion jostled her broken leg. The biped’s boots clicked as they walked around her; the power - because that was the source of the heat, it had to be - pressed down on her more. Oddly enough, it became easier to breathe. The girl felt like she would pass out when she felt a tap on the shoulder.

Laura stayed curled up, trembling. There was another tap, this one harder. The not-deer snorted into her face, nudging her temple with its wet - and soft - nose. The not-deer nudged her again, firm and insistent.

Why weren’t they killing her?

Laura cautiously tilted her head up and cracked an eye open. The not-deer’s face was inches away from hers; the creature was staring at her curiously, blinking every couple seconds, breathing into her face. It was actually kind of cute. She let her eyes flit right.

The biped was crouched next to her, hands on their thighs, staring at Laura was an exasperated look. Once they had her attention, their eyes lit up; they lifted their hands so their palms were facing outwards and Laura flinched, curling into herself again but keeping her eyes open.

The biped paused, then looked to the not-deer for help. The not-deer bent its knees and slowly sank to the floor, as if the action took a lot of effort and would hurt if it went too fast. It nudged Laura’s neck with its nose now that it was at a better height to do so, putting pressure against Laura’s neck to make her turn her head towards the biped. Laura had no choice but to oblige.

When she didn’t open her eyes, the not-deer leaned over farther and licked her eyelids. It had a warm, wet tongue. Laura flinched, shaking her head; the not-deer drew back, thankfully, allowing Laura to swipe her hand over her eyelids to get rid of the slobber. “Hey!” She protested, sounding like she was scolding a dog. Laura uncurled, letting her legs slump sideways and ignoring the throb of pain from her broken one. She braced her right hand against the ground. “That was uncalled for!” She twisted so she could point a finger in the creature’s face. “Bad not-deer!”

The not-deer leaned back a little, ears pinned back against its skull, and had the decency to look ashamed - well, as much as an eldritch abomination could look ashamed.

Laura turned back to the biped; their hands were in their lap again. “And you - “ she snarled, only to cut herself off when they raised their hands again. Laura flinched back, but didn’t curl into a ball this time.

Then they began to sign. “Can’t talk, no mouth,” they imparted. Laura’s eyebrows shot up; it was a good thing she knew ASL. And the biped was disabled, just like her, albeit in a different way. “Sorry about...” Their hands clenched, eyes flitting right as they searched for the right words. “...that,” they finally settled on. “I didn’t kill them, but I did have him” - the biped turned towards the not-deer and gestured with their chin - “freeze them. They’ll be okay, but unable to move, and nothing will happen to their bodies while they’re in that state. I don’t regret doing so; to get to you it needed to be done.” A pause. “They’ve been hunting my people for months. I wanted to kill them, you know, but then you wouldn’t have let me sign.”

Well, they weren’t wrong. Laura would have fought them if her leg wasn’t broken and if she wasn’t scared out of her mind. She would have called for help had her phone been charged.

Get to me? Why would they need to get to me?

Their eyes locked onto Laura’s; their sclera were white, irises magenta, pupils black but lined with a ring of bubblegum pink. Their skin was dark, but not that dark, reminding Laura of the color of red clay. Their short hair, sleek and bubblegum pink - hadn’t it been black before? - was now mussed and sticking straight up in places. Their column shaped lean muscled body was covered by utilitarian clothes; the outfit consisted of a white round-neck t-shirt, gunmetal gray cargo pants, and black laced-up military boots. It was the type of outfit the family and Laura normally wore, and now the fabric were dirty as well; there was a smattering of blood against the part of the shirt that arced around their small chest.

So the outfit - and that magic, Laura presumed, which made sense considering what she had seen that day - was how the biped got in here. Odds were that magic extended to the not-deer - which was easily the size of a Thoroughbred horse.

“I’m Illieris,” they continued, when it became obvious that Laura wasn’t going to reply. They had to spell out the name, and they did so in 5 seconds. “Pronounced ILL-ear-US. I use she/her pronouns.”

Laura blinked. The biped was female. She had a name: Illierus. Laura had no clue what exactly Illierus was - she may have been human once, but wasn’t anymore, if she had ever been - so Laura decided to refer to her by name instead of the biped.

And Laura’s family had been hunting Illierus’s people for months? She had to have interpreted that bit of Illierus’s sign wrong. Laura’s family were the kindest people around - maybe a bit too prideful and a bit too traditionalist and a bit too insistent that unchangeable things could be changed, but still kind.

Remember the emotional abuse? And the overprotection, how someone in the family always follows you everywhere, how your laptop and phone are constantly invaded? And their reaction to most of the things you do that’s natural? Her brain reminded her.

Okay, so that would explain why Illierus had her not-deer freeze them. Her family wasn’t the greatest; that was just a lie she told herself, fearful of the consequences if she had addressed all of the above. Laura now wanted to get away from them more than anything, which would be easy because now they were all frozen. That still doesn’t explain why she wants me, though.

Illierus gestured to the not-deer, whose head swung around to look at its owner. Then she snapped her fingers to get Laura’s attention; both Laura and the not-deer focused on her. “This is Korien,” Illierus signed, spelling the not-deer’s name out as well. “Pronounced core-e-an.” Korien snorted, drawing Laura’s attention, then opened its - his? Her?- mouth and cheeped, entire body jerking as it did so. Laura’s eyes widened at the unexpected noise.

What the hell? It sounds like a cheetah. Is it a chimera?

Illierus snapped her fingers, drawing Laura’s attention again. “He’s a good boy, don’t worry, he just looks scary,” she signed, letting her hands fall. She braced her weight on her right hand, then leaned forward and let her left curve around Korien’s furry check. The not-deer let out the mrr noise that cats sometimes do when regarding a human that startled them, then produced a smaller cheep and closed his eyes, leaning into Illierus’s hand. Korien’s eyelids were translucent; like his and Illierus’s horns and his tail it was probably a defensive measure.

Laura’s eyebrows furrowed, but she nodded along all the same. She was the most frightened she had ever been, but at least she was getting an explanation. Illierus sat up straight, fingers still stroking Korien’s fur, and raised her right hand to begin signing single-handedly. “We’re here to get you, unwitting Laipougsa” - this word was spelled out, a pronunciation (Lie-po-g-sa) given  - “out of this horrible place and bring you home.”

What the hell was a Laipougsa? And why did Illierus - the person with the fucking horns and pointed ears - think Laura - the one who was completely human, if a little strange - was one? Laura was black-sheep Laura, intersex-biologically-but-a-girl-gender-wise Laura, developed-mostly-female-secondary-and-tertiary-sexual-characteristics Laura, likes-practical-sneakers-and-boots-with-simple-dresses Laura, black-kid-adopted-into-a-white-family Laura, dark-skinned-long-kinky-hair-in-an-afro-brown-eyed Laura, hourglass-shaped-body Laura, short-and-chubby-but-the-weight-is-distributed-evenly-so-it’s-not-a-problem Laura, unnaturally-strong Laura, actually-really-honestly-panromantic-and-demisexual Laura, shame-of-the-family Laura, you’re-odder-than-we-thought Laura, punished-every-time-she-instinctively-did-something-that-didn’t-align-with-family-values Laura, naturally-flexible Laura, behave-like-a-proper-lady Laura, likes-the-outdoors-and-the-heat Laura, are-you-sure-she’s-not-one-of-them Laura, she-experienced-and-heard-and-saw-something-that-no-one-else-did Laura, she-hit-the-top-of-her-head-against-the-door-but-that’s-impossible-because-she’s-not-that-tall Laura, are-you-sure-she-doesn’t-have-a-fever Laura, constantly-running-hot Laura, (mis)diagnosed-with-schizophrenia Laura, put-on-antipsychotic-medication Laura, never-ever-left-alone Laura, always-being-watched Laura, never-had-privacy Laura, weird-ass-brat Laura, oh-so-that’s-why-that-happened Laura, not-schizophrenic-and-taken-off-the-antipsychotics Laura, constantly-dismissed Laura, mentally-ill-with-an-anxiety-disorder Laura, she-needs-to-be-tamed-and-molded-so-she-shines Laura, friendless-because-of-her-weirdness Laura, don’t-come-here-again-she’s-not-something-to-gawk-at Laura, takes-antidepressants-to-manage-her-anxiety-disorder Laura, here’s-something-so-you-can-stim-covertly Laura, don’t-do-that-honey-someone-will-hurt-you-do-this-instead Laura, nearly-18-with-little-independence Laura - 

Okay, so she didn’t want to stay with her family anymore. There would be no one to stop her from leaving; everyone in the building sans the three of them were frozen, after all. She was a senior in high school; she was set to go to college in several months’ time. (If anyone asked, she had graduated early.) Some out-of-state colleges and universities had already accepted her, but the start of the autumn semester was several months away and she had yet to decide on where she was going. And she didn’t have any relatives outside of this house. So where would she go?

...oh, right. Illierus had offered to give her a place to stay - ”to bring you home” she had signed. But where was Illierus’s home? Laura would never fit in there. Because there was no way Laura was a Laipougsa; she was completely human, if a little strange.

...right?

Oh, who was she kidding? Laura being a Laipougsa sounded more plausible than her being human. That was probably the reason she never fit in.