Arrival in a new country is rarely seamless – but seldom this amusing either.
We made our approach into Bar, Montenegro, full of good intentions: top off the fuel, tie up, check in, relax. But the fuel dock had other plans – they were refueling themselves. Politely but firmly waved away, we rerouted to our assigned marina spot. A T-dock! What a treat after weeks of stern-to med mooring. Doug eased Kora in. Karen had the fenders lined up perfectly. Lines were tossed, cleats caught, nicely tied off. It felt like a mini triumph.
But… not so fast.
Although we had checked the protocol with the marina via the VHF radio before heading in, we were quickly informed, “You need to check in with Immigration first!” And of course, the Immigration dock was – literally – on the other side of the same pier.
Lines off. Engines on. A short spin around the corner brought us to the ferry dock, where instead of cleats or bollards, there were only stubborn old iron rings sunk into the concrete wall. Doug coolly guided Kora in while Karen scrambled to reposition fenders. As we gently kissed the pier, Doug leapt barefoot onto the rough concrete, knowing there was no time (or way) to lasso a ring from the boat. Bow secured, he then dashed to the stern, tied her off, and hopped back aboard. Smooth!
Karen stayed on Kora – just in case a ferry did arrive – while Doug disappeared into the Customs building. Thankfully, no ferry came. Thirty minutes later, we had ourselves a Montenegro cruising permit. And, as a bonus, we headed back to the marina and spotted another boat flying the Aussie flag. Port side spreader twins!
Back around the pier, we went to dock again, though by now the wind had decided to turn up. Karen nailed the fenders, mindful that we were up against a concrete dock and that Bar’s curious tides and currents had a habit of dropping the water out from under us. At a T-dock, that drop matters – fenders can wind up uselessly suspended above the edge, leaving your hull to slam straight into concrete. Proper spacing and staggering were essential. Electrical plugged in. Fans spinning. It was sweltering. But we didn’t care. The mission was complete. Our reward? A 3-hour coma-nap in a relatively motionless bed. It was bliss.
By 4pm, we were up and stretching our limbs when we noticed that the current had dropped the water even more. Our fenders were now floating above the dock (see the white fender in the below photo)! As Karen scrambled to fix them, a German sailor jogged over, asking for help. A boat was breaking free.
The little sailboat docked just in front of us, Agapie II, was in trouble. The bow line had snapped, and now only a flimsy stern line held her to the pier, straining under the gusting wind. The cleats were tiny. The dock lines were barely thicker than shoelaces. It was a recipe for disaster!
Our German neighbor grabbed a heavy-duty line from his own boat and tossed it over. Karen and Doug pulled hard on Agapie’s stanchions to haul her back toward the dock while he leapt aboard, barefoot and steady, quickly tying off to the bow cleat and tossing us the new line. Together, we wrestled the bow in and secured her safely (pic above shows Agapie II after we had successfully secured her). Later, three young guys – her crew – we’re guessing college students – returned and were wide-eyed with gratitude when they heard what had nearly happened. Probably their first summer voyage. Hopefully not their last.
The German sailor stayed to chat. He’d just bought his first boat – a 45-foot monohull – and was solo-sailing toward Italy and then Spain. Friendly, full of tips, and clearly in love with the life afloat. This is how it goes: stories are swapped, warnings shared, charts pointed at, and friendships formed. It’s the sailor’s code.
That evening, we strolled along Bar’s seaside promenade, the rocky coastline crowded with clever locals who’d brought camp mattresses to cushion their sunbathing. The backdrop of mountains framed it all perfectly. long the promenade stands the palace built in 1885 as the summer residence of Montenegro’s last king, Nikola I. We basked in the beauty of the gardens of King Nikola’s Palace as we ate dinner, then, recognizing that time had slipped away from us, we decided to keep this visit short and sweet and skip Stari Bar (the Old Town of Bar). Honestly, we were still wiped out. Gelato did the trick, and we called it a night.
Doug lingered outside chatting with our new German friend while the marina settled in for the evening. People stretched out on deck cushions, chasing whatever breeze they could find, all waiting for the rain and cool air predicted to come.
Tomorrow, we sail on. Just a short day in motion. After a string of long days on the water and overnight passages, we’re craving a different kind of calm – relaxation without the logistics. We’re ready for beach time, crystal-clear swims, lazy snorkeling, dinghy rides to shore for sunset drinks, and long dinners with our toes in the sand. Montenegro’s coastline is calling, and we’re ready to unwind.
