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With no cabins available, we passed a fitful night on our sheepskin ground-mats and the seats of the Pullman chairs, which all the Tunisians rip off the seats to act as mattresses, and which we copied. Bleary eyed and disappointed our planed route was in tatters we watched as the cliffs of Palermo hove into view, and the pitched roofs and Church domes comforted our weary soles.

Eager not to hang around in the Euro zone for any longer than we had to we set off for Messina and the next ferry across to the mainland. It was sad to be missing out on Sicily, with its peaks and rugged interior. The road north east was spectacular; more tunnel than open road, we passed under mountains and over valleys on a suspended black ribbon of perfection, with minimal damage to the local environment as possible. What a shame the British government won’t follow this example, and still insist on cutting huge clefts through our precious chalk downs.

We reached Messina, had one of the best sandwiches ever, and found ourselves on our eighth ferry. Soon we were twisting up into the hills, as the main highway was closed for repair. With dusk beginning to settle, our nerves somewhat frayed, our eyelids beginning to droop we hit reality with a wallop and a discounted hotel room at €40. Boy was this visit to Italy gonna have to be swift…

Whizzing along the cliffs and then up the motorway to Bari on the east coast, as if rubbing salt into the wound, we were suddenly hit by a gargantuan stormy rain cloud. With another night on another ferry ahead of us we weren’t keen to get wet. So, balanced carefully on the central reservation of the motorway we both stripped to our knickers – much to the amusement and tooting of passing Italian traffic – and popped our waterproof liners on. Finally screeching into Bari, we managed to buy a ticket at the desk with none of the same charade as Tunisia, gulped a final pizza and boarded the rather miserable, dimly lit boat.

As rowdy youths settled in for a night at the bar, and girls in tight short skirts appeared, my imagination ran riot. After the stifling modesty of North Africa, I felt unprepared for what Eastern Europe might bring…

Our luck certainly changed on landing at Bar, Montenegro. Friends of Flora’s, notified by an ever concerned mother, has tipped the wink to their Montenegrin housekeeper, and within an hour of disembarking we found ourselves ensconced in a fabulous villa, with spectacular views, a swimming pool and a washing machine! What luxury was this?? Many thanks to the Monkton family.

Using the villa as a base we explored the coastline, and ventured into the tree bedecked mountains. On one morning, looking for the small winding back road to the double bay of Kotor, we found ourselves ten miles down a West Country style narrow lane, where it just came to an end above a village. Only just managing a U-turn we then took another ‘wrong turn’, and began to follow a dirt road. Occasional glimpses through the trees, as we climbed higher up the track, showed a cross. Then to our delight the gates of a monastery appeared, and we drove in as if approaching a border crossing. The locals had blown the place up when it had been sold to the Austro-Hungarians in the 1860;’s but there was a very special church at the site which had not been damaged, and so four monks were slowly setting about repairing the complex. They made candles for the faithful to light in Orthodox churches and sold them widely, and relied on donations from the devout. The monastery clung to the mountain side, shrouded in cloud, as if knocking on Heaven’s gate.

As we dismounted a shrouded medieval figure loomed through a doorway; a long straggly black beard and pony tail topped heavy black robes. We were shown into the exquisite little stone church with a barrel ceiling and left alone with the glowing icons. Mystified and hushed we walked out again to be greeted by Vladimir, a Serb and distinctly modern man in amongst this time capsule. With 4 others, he helped the monks make candles and spoke a little English. He explained the life he’d had before coming to the monastery had been filled with “things you see in films” and that now he was much happier.

We were offered their home brew raki but declined in favour of a tamer coffee, as we had the dirt track to negotiate downhill. He invited us back for the Ascension Day celebrations on Sunday, something not to be missed we were told, and we pottered back down the track.

Abandoning the back route to Kotor, we hit the road to Cetinje, the old capital city where we were swept into a pub by welcoming locals. Less able to decline offers of home brewed raki since it was (we later discovered) Independence Day, we spent a dizzying afternoon putting the world to rights with our new found friends. Not quite the cultural day of museums we’d planned but, we decided, just as enlightening.

Only a little worse for wear, having declined more drinks than accepted, we set off for a quite night in and a home-cooked supper of fresh vegetables, which had been sorely missing in our diet, and for which we were longing. Endless nights in endless restaurants make you realise the the luxury of homecooked food.

The following day we took the main road to Kotor. Perched at the end of a double bay this medieval walled town lies guarded by an impossibly perched fortress, the walls of which rise vertically above it. Having climbed the vertiginous steps to the pinnacle the ruined stronghold balances atop the mountain, showing the evidence of armies from the 11th to 20th centuries.

This part of Montenegro, occupied by Venetians, Italians and Ottomans bears all the hall marks of ancient fortified towns, many still in excellent repair. Also in the Bay of Kotor was Perast, another sublime Medieval / Venetian town, hugging the edge of the bay, and opposite two 14th Century churches apparently floating in the middle of the bay. It had once been a rich and important town, with 30 trading ships, and an important timber export industry.

We could go on about beautiful Montenegro for a while: Lake Skada with its epic scenery and quiet vineyards, feast day celebrations at the monastery, turquoise sea, white boulders and the nudist beach. All enhanced by the great luxury of having a house to ourselves + washing machine! We must have been the cleanest people around, relishing our crisp sunshine dried laundry! Many many thanks to the Monkton family for their generosity.

Tearing ourselves away from our new found home, we hit the road again this time heading north for the Kosovan boarder. A good few days in one place had allowed us to get our maps out and plot the next leg of the journey. Curious about the “newest country in Europe” and lured by the foreboding FCO website description we decided to give the boarder a go. If it all looked too hairy we could always turn back, right?!…