June 09 2009:
There is nothing quite like being escorted at breakneck speed along narrow winding mountain roads in a motor coach with police cars forcing the plebes off to the side of the road. With lights flashing, paddle waving and horns blaring our escort emphatically signalled to the unlucky montenegrins that a bus load of somewhat important persons was hammering down on them and that any time – NOW! – would be a good time to get off the road. That might sound just a titch unsympathetic and just a bit aristocratic, but really who wouldn’t enjoy this? The locals I suppose.
Of course, nature being in balance and all that, action counteraction etc etc, it does get a little dicey when the local cement truck decides to challenge the right of way being implemented by the local gendarmes. Bit of toss up who would have won that, but I would have given it to the cement truck on points.
But then again no risk, no reward right?
Admit it. You know that in the darkest corner of your hearts you harbour a longing for an unimpeded route, swept along at high speed with countless locals figuratively bowing before your presence. It awakens the inner dictator in all of us.