Montenegro Kills Ben and Em's Car*

*to be sung to the tune of "Video Killed the Radio Star"

Sweeping down from the peaks of Mount Lovćen towards the majestic Boka Kotorska - the magnificent fjord that is more or less the first major sight you’ll see when crossing the border into Monte from Dubrovnik – we were in a sunny mood. After the four days of grey and drizzle that began our friend Jim’s week-long flying visit, we had been keen to show off to him some of Montenegro’s non-Skadar sights. Despite indifferent weather we had been back to the bat-filled Obod Cave and the nearby waterfalls and rockpools we had discovered the previous week with Jess. We had been for a memorable wine-tasting evening at local award-winning vintner Ivo Ukšanović, on the invitation of the bellowing raconteur Novak (he of castle-building/bonking of our lawyer fame). We had travelled back to Murići beach and met the garrulous Hassan, whose quaint log cabins had inspired us to ditch the spiral stairs part of our house plan in favour of something cheaper and more practical. We had tried once again to register with the local Inspektor Stranice (the chap responsible for issuing residency visas) and had received another pile of forms to fill out, which was at least better than being palmed off to another bureau for the fifth time. We had even dragged a protesting Jim (!) along to Voda u Kršu, the local restaurant whose speciality is serving ridiculously large plates of meat (Jim made a valiant effort, half starving himself during the day in preparation, but even he was defeated by the 500g Njeguški Stek).

Despite our builder taking a while to get back to us with the final “final” quote, it had been a good week. We’d even noticed an improvment in the rumbustuous Tuzi’s feline behaviour...

…which was why it was no surprise to be brought rudely back down to earth just as we were driving Jim to the Herceg Novi bus station to catch his transport back to Dubrovnik. 25km from Kotor Old Town, with the 21 serpentines of Cattero’s ladder still in front of us – a 1500m descent – there was a sudden groan from underneath the car. Then there was a shake. Then a rattle. There may even have been a roll, but by then the sudden, violent clunking and crashing beneath the floor was indication enough that something was very, very wrong.

“Ben, pull over!” Emma cried, alarmed at the massive drop facing us should the problem be anything brake-related. I hit the anchors and was relieved to find a passing point on the narrow road, just the right size for a Honda CRV.
“Shit, mate, that does not sound good,” added Jim.

Those of you who read this blog regularly (all three of you) will know that we gave the rear differential a bit of a tw*tting in Romania a month or so ago, cracking the diff so badly that it had temporarily disabled the 4WD system. Ever since our return to Monte, there had been a very disconcerting graunching noise whenever we lifted the clutch in 1st, a result of the on-board computer’s habit of engaging the rear wheels at low speeds. With no fluid to smooth the driveshaft’s connection with the diff, the metal had been audibly complaining for weeks, but with new diffs at €500 or so, we’d been putting off the repair as we’d not been able to afford being a week without a car.

I hopped out and took a look underneath. It made for alarming viewing. The diff, we found, was not merely complaining about losing its lubricating fluid, but had been given such an almighty crack by that rogue Romanian rock that the twin rods connecting it to the chassis had snapped clean through, probably as a result of an ever-worsening fracture. The diff now hung bouncing around the underneath of the car, fouling the driveshaft and the exhaust as well as making sporadic contact with the asphalt below it. In layman’s terms, it was f***ed.

We all reacted to this setback in different ways. Jim laughed nervously. I grimaced and was secretly thankful that it wasn’t the clutch. Emma swore a lot.

Fortunately, the downhill stretch meant that we were able – slowly – to make it down into Kotor Bay and find a garage able to help. My theory was that while the whole gubbins might well be screwed, the diff and driveshaft could both removed and we’d be able to continue, albeit with a front-drive only car. I just never thought I’d be able to convey that in Serbo-Croat – but somehow I did. And I’ll say this for Montenegrins – they know how to fix stuff, and fast. Emma’s self-inflicted stab wound from the previous week took 15 minutes and €38 to “repair”; the lads at Jug Mechanics took an hour and a half to get us back on the road again, removing the offending – and outstandingly broken – items for only €2 more than it had cost to stitch up Emma’s leg.

"Mislim da differencial je jebano..."

All in all, it was a bit of a let-off. Jim got to catch his bus to Dubrovnik and like a small child going to the dentist for the first time, we even got to keep the objects of our misfortune (we stashed them in the boot).

Yes, that is the driveshaft

Oh – and that 8th October start date for the build? Well, it was given to us by a Montenegrin. We’re now planning to get underway some time between now and the end of November…