“He’s gaining on us!”
“I see his guitar wobbling”
“Faster, faster! Run faster!”
I was almost scared. We left before he did. Why was he so close to us? How could he be getting closer?
It had started out innocently enough. I had recognized him from the bus returning from Budva so I asked, “Did I see you on the bus yesterday?” That one statement led to the crazy events that followed and trust me when I say I regretted ever uttering those eight words.
As a side note, George is still stalking me. I think it’s karmic payback for taking those stalker photos of random strangers.
Back to the story:
“I can’t run down these steps any faster.”
“Watch out! There’s a step missing.”
“I need to rest a minute.”
“Ok, but only one. I see him coming.”
“He told me he was going to practice some.”
Pause.
“We’ve got to go! NOW!”
“All right, all right.”
A few more slippery steps and we would be there. We later told our feat to a guy from Singapore. He was impressed (or maybe he had thought that we were stupipd, but I‘m going with impressed here). He said that the 1,500 steps to the top of the fortress were slippery and he was shocked that we ran down them (without falling).
He didn’t have a singing guitar man chasing him.
Reflecting on the feat, we were pretty awesome. Some of the steps were out and the sun had set long ago, leaving only shadows and darkness.
And at least I wasn’t alone on that nighttime run. I had company, a friend from the hostel. She understood my plight and my apprehension.
The fortress itself was amazing.
Ruins covering the side of the mountain, most of which were climbable. And the views from the fortress were even better.
Sometimes I’m too nice. The guy asked if I would take his picture since he had forgotten his camera. I obliged. My faithful hostel buddy was on the other side of St. John’s fort (at the top of the fortress) and couldn’t see my distress.To thank me, he said he would sing me a Texas song (since I am from Texas). What could I say?
I said, “sure.”
And he proceeded to sing me a Texas song. Unfortunately, he didn’t remember the words or the chords and couldn’t reach that upper octave, but he tried. Fortunately, by that time, my hostel friend had realized that I needed assistance and was there to my rescue, pulling me away from the grips of this 40-year-old wannabe guitarist and down 1,500 steps to safety at the bottom.He must have run as well. He kept coming closer and closer. The faster we ran, the closer he edged. He could not possibly walk that fast. He must have been running, chasing, trying to get closer…. Oh the thought is numbingly scary.
Now, when I roam the streets of Kotor, I have to be very careful to not run into George OR Guitar Man. Fortunately, Guitar Man is going to Tivat tomorrow, so I won’t have to worry about him until the day after.
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