Durmitor

Tired from the routine life turns into when you live on a schedule for a while, I needed to stop planning ahead and let things happen. Like with any habit, breaking the routine is easier said than done, and we keep looking for chores to feed it and feel lost when there is nothing to get done. That probably explains why, after spending three days enjoying the scent of Adriatic Sea in Trpanj, on Peljesac peninsula in Croatia, I started craving to do something else. As luck would have it, one cannot really move anywhere around Peljesac without a car. There simply isn't enough tourists there to justify the cost of operating any kind of public transportation any more. On the other hand, as Trpanj stretches wide, you can walk and run till you drop dead, and that is how I moved around without ever leaving the town. In the end, I did manage to relax and take naps after lunch, and sleep for good eight hours at night. And somehow, when I relaxed, a thought of visiting Durmitor mountain started lingering about. Out of curiosity, I looked up the map of Montenegro and realized that Durmitor was within an arm's reach. Or so I thought...

My first morning after arriving to Sarajevo, I went running, then made a strong Bosnian coffee and parked myself by the computer to purposefully plan my Durmitor trip. I called a tour operator there to inquire about the River Tara rafting. He sounded like someone who was familiar with every tree and every stone in the area, and he told me that it was fine to simply drive over to the town in the centre of Durmitor, Zabljak, no reservation needed. And so I would, right the next day, if it wasn't for a terrible mountain weather that makes one feel the cold and the dampness in their bones. I wisely decided to wait for the break in clouds, and spent another four days in Sarajevo. While waiting, I caught up with friends there who mentioned that the main road from Bosnia to Montenegro was closed because a hill slid over it, and that, to get to Zabljak, I would need to take the longer way, over Romanija mountain, which would be advisable anyway in order to avoid steep cliff drops one encounters when driving through Piva canyon. Knowing that most Bosnians I know have either a fear of heights or of tight spaces (not surprising, considering they have lived squished between the mountains for centuries) I took all advices with a grain of salt.

And so I loaded my mom and my kids into fiat punto, and drove up Romanija Mountain, and over the beautiful plateau where, long long time ago, my dad used to bring us to excavate Bosnian medieval grave stones searching for treasure. This is also where Dixi, my childhood dog, first saw sheep, and immediately ran to quickly gather them around then proudly sat by their side and didn't let any walk away.

We then continued downhill to Gorazde, a town nicely spread in the valley where River Drina flows wide, then onto Cajnice, which, on the contrary is squeezed by the hills from all sides, so that one wishes to drive through it as fast as possible, as if gasping for air. Passing through, we found ourselves in a pine forest, and for an hour felt as if someone had put a cover over our eyes, until we suddenly came to a clearing with a tiny customs house on the border of Bosnia and Montenegro (Montenegro means 'black mountain',  which today sounded very suitable). There, we were stopped by a merry big-as-a-hill customs officer, who welcomed us nicely into his home country, and chatted with us for a while, he doesn't come across many cars here, especially not the ones all the way from Sarajevo. (Even though it took less than three hours to reach the border, even if the same language is spoken and the nature around looks the same, it has always been unusual for Bosnians to travel to Montenegro and vice versa. This has had a lot to do with the natural barrier that mountains, desolated canyons and forests create between the two countries, and after Yugoslavia fell apart the travel has been even more scarce).

Continuing on the road under construction, and slaloming around the patches with no asphalt, we slowly descended to Pljevlje where we embarked on a beautiful highway, quickly reaching Djurdjevica Tara, the pride of every Montenegrin, as I immediately noticed. I didn't admit this to anyone, but I also felt pride for the bridge that our ancestors had built (dad once mentioned that our great great great grandfather came to Bosnia from Pljevlje), as well as for the tectonic forces that had created the nature as beautiful as here. We enjoyed watching Tara, cold, turquoise and strong, working on carving out the canyon. We stopped to have coffee here and talk to the locals, hospitable and curious, they told us that the bridge was built in the nineteen thirties by pouring concrete into the wooden moulds. It is over 170 m high. As we were leaving, it got pretty crowded, cars bringing from tourists from all over Europe.

From Tara up to Zabljak took less than half an hour drive along the beautiful, wide road with a big sign announcing Durmitor National Park. There I remembered that I haven't planned anything passed getting here, and so I slowed down when we reached the first motels, to see if we can find a place to sleep. And so the chance had it that the first place we saw was very nice, and even though I drove around to check out few more places, in the end we came back and checked ourselves into a big black book at the reception and got warmly greeted by the hotel staff. My mom and kids, happy to have gotten rid of the tiny car and have a real roof over their heads, ran inside, while I stayed mesmerized on the top of the stairs leading to our apartment to admire the mountain tops that filled the horizon, and there I took a deep breath and fell in love with Durmitor.

And, just as after falling in love with someone, you typically then want to get to know them better, so did I, while breathing out, decide it was time to take a walk to Black Lake.

And there, we found a beautiful mountain lake that depending on the time of the year, when the water level is low, splits into two lakes, and around it, a picturesque forest cradled by the rocky peaks of Durmitor.  Around the lake is a supervised recreational area, consisting of hiking and mountain biking paths, a beach where few kids were eagerly eyeballing the water wishing for warmer weather, and across the lake, a zip line! The kids were surprised when I agreed that we all go, and my mom was absolutely terrified as she watched us walk the rope bridge to get to the first platform and then zip-line across the lake and back.

In the morning, I wanted to hike with the kids to the highest peak in Durmitor, Bobotov Kuk, and so we drove to the mountain pass called the Saddle, stopping million times to try and capture the beauty around us with our cameras. Durmitor, massive and wide, is suitably masculine in the local language contrary to the majority of mountains in the Balkans, which are a feminine gender. The whole plateau of Durmitor, that Zabljak lies on, is comprised of green rolling hills, divided by the ring of the evergreens from the central peaks that cut straight into the sky. The name Durmitor is probably Roman and means 'sleeping', although some think it may come from Celtic 'drumitor', which means 'water from the mountain'.

From the Saddle a path leads up the side of the mountain towards a wett wall of rock, that one would need to scramble through, not really suitable for my children. Just as we were approaching the wall and I started assessing the situation, a Montenegrin emerged carefully stepping of the last rock and screaming 'where are you going, you misery, with those children?' I found the situation funny, not him, he was angry, he must have had few close calls up there on the wall, and so he continued to scold me all the way back down to our car. There, he advised that we hike to 'Skricka Lakes' instead, 'just drive a bit farther down where the other cars are parked and then walk to the right', he said.

And so it was, I found a sign and few cars around it, so I parallel parked there along the side of the road, making it even narrower. We found the hiking mark, leading us easily up the green slope, around us total silence broken only by the sheep bells. Soon, I noticed that we are walking towards Bobotov Kuk again and the hikers we met confirmed it. They also recommended that we continued hiking to the pass under the top. Kids were happy that these people didn't scold them as well, they didn't like it when the other guy prevented them from conquering mountain peaks.

Just under the pass, we ran into Ana and Batric, and immediately became friends. Batric is the mountain guide, one of those that, at the first sight, instills trust and you just know that you would follow him anywhere. He invited us to the Durmitor Fair and wouldn't stop talking, I should have called him, there is 300 people on the top today because it is the Montenegro Day, but it is also the anniversary of the death of one of their famous mountaineers. He then looked up into the clouds that started coming in and ordered 'gather those children and head down!'. Instead, we walked few more minutes to reach our own goal for the day, a pass underneath Bobotov Kuk. Children were happy, as if they have summited the top of Durmitor, and so was I, for having the best kids in the world! I knew though I would come back to climb this peak that so nicely posed in my picture.

Then, Batric shouted from below, 'the rain is coming, head down!', and so we did, walking fast to reach our car just as the first drops of rain were starting. We agreed to drive to pick up my mom and then head to the fair. And so we did, except that on the way my car overheated, but Batric solved that problem too by pouring many litres of water into it.

At the fair, there was more cars than in front of the largest shopping center in Toronto, and I had to ask if the entire country had showed up (Montenegro has less than half million people). Tents, music, grilled minced meat, tug of a war, and in the end, horse races of the mountain, mixed and Arabian horses. Montenegrins truly are the tallest people in the world, I haven't seen so many six-feeters in a lump in my life! The weather didn't let us see the Arabian horses, cold mountain wind and rain started hitting us to the bones, and we wisely drove back to our motel, Zlatni Bor, to drink Quince 'rakija', and eat 'meze' - Durmitor cheeses and salads, and get to know each other better. And there, while listening to old Yugoslavian pop music, that at times got overpowered by the folk songs sang by the merry gathering outside on veranda, it came to my mind that the new bothers are only fictional as we all share the same traditions and mentality, and we got along perfectly! And as everything that is perfect has to come to an end, so came the time for Ana to drive back to Herceg Novi, and I still wanted to see Curevac. As luck would have it, our guide at the table explained to us how to get there without getting lost along the 6 km road, just drive towards village Tepca and stop at the end of the paved section, and try to stay on the main road wherever it branches into two.

It must be the relaxed mind one transcends into after drinking Quince 'rakija', that helped me find the tiny road from the first try and follow it for 15 minutes to Curevac (yes, the time in the Balkans slows down and it does take 15 mins to get over a 6 km winding road stretch). From the parking at the end of the road, a sign led us for 50m to the spot where Durmitor seizes and there we stood speechless overlooking the Tara Canyon.  And I felt proud of this canyon that is not only the second deepest in the world, but also cuts through one of the world's most beautiful mountains and is created by one of the most beautiful and cleanest rivers. There I remembered how, thirteen or so years ago, I stood on the rim of Colorado Canyon trying to grasp its size and depth. Now I knew better, it is pointless trying to do that, it suffices to be happy for the opportunity to see this natural beauty.

In the morning, we left early to descent from Durmitor down to Piva Lake and via Scepan Polje to reach the starting point of our whitewater rafting trip. The day was clear and beautiful, Durmitor around us, not easy to leave, breath in, breath out, you cannot help but stop few more times to soak it all in.

Past the Saddle that we visited yesterday, we drove through the heart of the mountain to the western slopes where we were treated with a breathtaking view across a gap that I knew was Piva Canyon, onto the tallest peaks in Bosnia-Herzegovina, Maglic and Volujak, and maybe a few of Zelengora's peaks far behind. So beautiful everything was, that one stops paying attention to the narrow winding two-way road, so that, even when you meet a car coming from the opposite direction, you simply slow down and somehow always find enough space to bypass each other, as we humans always should.

Then, the road started getting steeper, and windier, taking us into the forest, and through many tunnels cut in a live rock, until we finally emerged to the side of Piva Lake.

Contrary to what my friends told me, the road through Piva Canyon is completely normal, with wide lanes, one for each direction, suitable for 80-90km/h driving and to us this looked like the best highway after the small mountain road that we have just spent over two hours on. There I drove faster to make up for time we lost soaking in Durmitor, and we reached Scepan Polje, and the border with Bosnia-Herzegovina, in less than half hour, and then took another ten minutes to reach the rafting camp, by River Drina.

There, everyone was relaxed and playing a game of soccer while waiting for the tourists to gather. So we slowed down as well and switched gears into this new reality. My mom stayed at the camp while children and I got neoprene suits, booties and life jackets, and were then asked to board a minivan with few other people, the guide and the driver, with the raft on the roof. There, we all got introduced to each other, one couple from Croatia, and another from Slovenia, both vacationing here because they love nature, especially the untouched one. Soon we reached the border with Montenegro again, to check in so we can freely float down Tara, where one wouldn't know which drop of water belongs to Montenegro and which one to Bosnia-Herzegovina. There I had enough of the borders and said how how it made me sad to see them, and everyone agreed, and then, as I've heard so many times before, they added how life was better back in old Yugoslavia.

The raft took off slowly, Jan decided to hold the paddle, he is a big boy, while Ena decided to sit next to the skipper, she knew where the safest place was, both happy and excited to finally live through this adventure. Reaching the first rapids, Tara gave us a good kick and a shower, the children started laughing to cover up the fear, Ena admitted to it much later on the plane, and Jan never would. This time of the year, in early July, Tara loses most of her depth and power, and in-between the rapids, it becomes slow and timid. It is so clean and clear that one can easily see the bottom even when it is deeper than 10 meters. After twenty kilometres, Tara and Piva merge together to make Drina. There it got much cooler because of Piva water that flows through the dam from the bottom of Piva Lake and has the temperature of about 4C. Luckily, we reached the camp in no time, and there waiting for us, was beer, hearty soup, veal roast with baked potatoes, salads and to top it all up, a sweet desert, called 'tulumba'.

What to say in the end, except that beautiful things happen when you let universe bring you to Durmitor and take you down Tara.

Durmitor

Having visited Croatia, Bosnia and Montenegro this summer, I felt impelled to write in my native language. The translation in English will follow shortly.

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Umorna od niza obaveza na koje se svede zivot kad malo prestanes da obracas paznju, nije bilo druge nego prestati planirati i pustiti da se stvari dese same od sebe. To je lakse reci nego uciniti, jer su nama u zapadnom svijetu mozgovi istrenirani da stalno nesto planiraju, bar ugrubo. Valjda sam zato u Trpnju nakon tri dana mirisanja Jadranskog mora pocela da razmisljam sta bi dalje sa sobom. Sreca pa tamo ne mozes bas puno uciniti bez auta, ali Trpanj je onako razvucen pa zato mozes trcati i hodati do iznemoglosti i malo zavarati mozak da misli da se tu nesto stvarno desava. Elem, u neko doba sam se opustila, pa sam lijepo spavala svaki dan poslije rucka, i onda jos uredno osam sati svaku noc, i tako sam zaboravila na vrijeme. Tu negdje, dok nisam nista planirala, nekako mi je u zraku oko mene zalebdjela misao da odem na Durmitor. I nije me pustala, pa sam u kafani uhvatila internet signal i nasla kartu Crne Gore, da vidim o kojim se to razdaljinama radi, kad ono, to je sve na dohvat ruke, ili se tako meni cinilo poslije kanadskih razdaljina.

Prvo jutro u Sarajevu sam se istrcala, popila jaku bosansku kafu i sjela za kompjuter da sad sa svrhom planiram taj Durmitor. Nasla sam i Zabljak i Taru, nazvala jedan broj gdje mi je neki sto je zvucao kao da tu zna svaki kamen rekao da samo zapucam i da nista ne rezervisem. Zapucala bih ja jos sutra, ali opet mi se ne dade nigdje zuriti, valjalo je cekati jos cetri dana da prodje planinski kijamet i da se na prognozi Durmitora ukaze bar malo sunca. Sad, nije bas da sam sjedila i cekala, druzila sam sa prijateljima u Sarajevu, koji mi rekose da se na putu prema Foci obrusilo pola brda i da do Zabljaka moram preko Romanije. A svakako je to bolje, jer osta mi je voziti uz Pivsko jezero i sve gledati kako cu sa autom sletiti sa ceste i dole upasti (digresija, u Bosni nekako svi imaju strah ili od visine, ili od skucenog prostora, a kako i ne bi od onolikih brda sto pritiscu vijekovima gdje god pogledas).

I tako sam potrpala u fiat punto i mamu i djecu, te smo krenuli uz Romaniju, preko one lijepe visoravni gdje smo nekad isli na izlet i iskopavali stecke, i gdje je moj Dixi, madjarski puli, prvi put vidio ovce i u roku minute ih satjerao u stado, pa sjeo pored njih da mu se svi divimo.

Onda smo nastavili nizbrdo do Gorazda, prava varos, lijepo usidrena u dolini gdje Drina nije skucena. Pa zatim dalje do Cajnica, koje je opet toliko skuceno da covjek pozeli da tu samo protutnji i sto prije se dokopa have. Umjesto have dokopali smo se duboke borove sume, pa nastavili kao da nam je neko stavio maramu preko ociju sve dok najednom nismo izbili na granicu sa Crnom Gorom (e, bas joj ime pristaje!), prava karaula i na njoj nasmijan, ko od brda odvaljen Crnogorac koji nas je lijepo primio u svoju mu drzavu i fino se s nama ljudski ispricao, ne prolaze mu tu cesto auti, a pogotovo ne voze Sarajlije.

Dalje smo se po izbusenom putu laganim slalomom spustili u Pljevlje, gdje sinu crnogorski autoput, lijep, sve se sunce po njemu presijava. Dovede nas taj put do Djurdjevica Tare, ponosa svakog Crnogorca, vidjeh ja to odmah. Ne priznadoh, ali i u meni se tu stvorio neki ponos na most sto su ga nekad nasi preci sagradili, a i na ko zna koje tektonske sile, sto ovakvu prirodnu ljepotu napravise. Nagledasmo se Tare sa mosta, zeleni se ispod nas i krci i dalje kanjon. Stadosmo tu da kafenisemo i ispricamo se sa ljudima, svi fini i radoznali, sve nam objasnise, i kako je most sagradjen tridesetih godina proslog vijeka, i kako je cement izlivan u drvenoj konstrukciji, sto se sad vise ne radi, i kako je visok preko 170 metara. Osim nas, tu se citava guzva napravila, ne znam ni ja od kud toliko turista najednom izroni.

Od Tare uzbrdo do Zabljaka ni pola sata, a cesta jos ljepsa i sira, milina jedna, cak prodjosmo tablu Nacionalni Park Durmitor, nije sala. U to se ja sjetih da sam ja ovo samo ugrubo isplanirala, pa usporih kod prvih motela da vidim mozemo li tu negdje prespavati. I odmah nadjosmo fin apartman u jednoj vikendici, ali ne mozes uzeti prvo sto vidis, pa se jos malo provozasmo po Zabljaku i udjosmo u jos jedan-dva hotela, prije nego sto ja skontah da je onaj prvi apartman dobar, ne moze biti bolji, te se vratismo i upisasmo u tefter na recepciji, i tu nas svi sto tu rade ispozdravljase. Mama i djeca sretni sto ce imati krov nad glavom i sto su se rijesili onog malog auta ustrcase prvi, a ja zadnja stadoh da se divim vrhovima Durmitora sa vrha stepenica. Ispod oblaka svih boja, ostro ispunili pogled, i tu ja udahnuh i zavolih Durmitor.

I kako nakon sto nesto zavolis obicno pozelis to bolje upoznati, tako i ja izdahnuh i odlucih da je vrijeme za setnju do Crnog Jezera.

A tamo, priroda pitoma, jezero kao ogledalo, ima cak i plazu da se moze gazati, a iznad proviruju stjenoviti vrhovi. Nasli smo i mali zip line preko jezera (veliki preko Djurdjevica Tare cu da probam iduci put, kad mama ne bude gledala), ne zna se ko se vise iznenadio, djeca sto sam odmah pristala da idemo sve troje, ili moja mama sto smo sve rekorde hrabrosti po njenim mjerilima oborili.

Ujutro sam naumila da se penjem sa djecom na vrh Durmitora, Bobotov Kuk, pa smo autom krenuli put Sedla i usput zastali milion puta da pokusam kamerom uhvatiti svu ljepotu oko nas. Durmitor, ovako sirok i masivan, je s pravom muskog roda. Plato Durmitora, na kome je i Zabljak, je valovita, jarko zelena visoravan, iznad koje se prvo dize pojas crnogoricne sume, a onda dalje more bijelih i stjenovitih vrhova, koji ostro rezu plavo nebo. Ime Durmitor je vjerovatno romanskog projekla i znaci 'uspavani', a postoji mogucnost i da potice od keltskog drumitor, sto znaci 'voda sa planine'.

Sa Sedla je staza krenula koso uzbrdo prema vlaznoj stijeni preko koje bi se valjalo verati, a to za djecu bas i nije povoljna situacija. Tek sto pomislih da se vratim sa vrha stijene se ukaza Crnogorac i povika 'a gdje si ti nesreco krenula sa tom djecom?', bas me lijepo nasmija, pa nastavi, sav ljut, mora da se prepao da ce pasti gore na stijeni, da me ruzi sve dok se nismo spustili do auta. Tu nam on preporuci da odemo do nekih jezera, samo malo nize autom, pa udesno.

I stvarno, nadjoh ja neki putokaz i gomilicu auta, te se i ja tu uvukoh, e ovo je hrabrost, voziti po ovoj dvosmjernoj cestici sirine jedne trake, od koje se onda sa jedne strane jos malo oduzme za parkiranje, a sa druge se obrusava brdo pa joj se bas i ne priblizavas do kraja. Nadjosmo tu odmah marku i planinarsku stazu kako se lagano penje uz pasnjake, tisinu razbijaju samo zvonca ovaca. Uskoro ja primijetih da se mi opet penjemo prema nekom vrhu pa mi neki tu planinari pojasnise da je to vrh Durmitora, nikako da me popusti, i uz to nam preporucise da nastavimo do prevoja ispod Kuka. Djeca se ozarise sto ih ovi nisu ruzili, nije im se svidjelo kad im onaj ciko nije dao da vrhove osvajaju.

Bas ispod prevoja u susret nam dodjose Ana i Batric i odmah se sprijateljismo. Batric je vodic, jedan od onih u koje na prvi pogled odlucis da imas povjerenje i da ih pratis gdje god da te vode. Pozva on nas odmah na Durmitorski Vasar i isprica jos svasta nesto, da sam ga trebala zvati, da je taj dan 300 ljudi na vrhu, jer je dan drzavnosti Crne Gore, a uz to je i godisnjica smrti nekog poznatog planinara. Pa onda pogleda u oblake sto se navlace i povika 'ajde skupi tu djecu pa silazi'. A mi se uspesmo jos samo malo, da osvojimo mali vrh pored prevoja, djeca sretna, kao da su na pravom vrhu, a i ja s njima, iako znam da se moram nekad vratiti i popeti na Bobotov Kuk, jer nije on tu da se slika, nego da se na njemu stoji.

Tu Batric odozdo zaurla, 'kisa ce, silazite', te mi krenusmo nazad brzim korakom i dokopasmo se auta taman kad udarise prve kapi. Dogovorismo se da svratimo po mamu i onda put vasara. I tako i bi, samo sto meni i mami auto usput prokljuca, ali Batric sve to skontao, ulio neke silne litre vode i sredio nam taj problem.

Na vasaru vise auta nego ispred najveceg shopping centra u Torontu, te ja upitah je li cijela Crna Gora tu dosla. Te satori, te muzika, te cevapcici, te potezanje konopca, i na kraju konjske trke i brdsko-planinskih i arapskih konja. A Crnogorci zaista jesu najvisi narod na svijetu, toliko dvometrasa po kvadratu nisam nikad vidjela. Vrijeme nam ne dozvoli da docekamo arapske konje, navuce se kijamet i zima sto se u kosti uvlaci, pa se mi mudro povukosmo nazad do Zlatnog Bora gdje smo odsjeli, da se uz dunju, durmitorske sireve i salate, na miru upoznamo. I tu uz pricu i staru jugo muziku koju je povremeno nadjacala crnogorska pjesma drustva sa terase, ja shvatih da su granice samo reda radi, jer se mi savrseno razumijemo. Iskreno se nadam da cu opet doci tu, i da cemo zajedno planinariti. I kao sto svemu lijepom mora doci kraj, tako dodje vrijeme da Ana vozi nazad u Herceg Novi, a ja pozelih da jos vidim Curevac. Sreca pa imasmo vodica za stolom, koji nam objasni kako da se ne izgubimo u 6 km do tamo, samo prema selu Tepca, na racvanjima ostati na glavnom putu i voziti do kraja asfalta.

Bice da je do opustenosti, koju dunja izazove, ja iz prve nadjoh sumsku cestu koja nas u petnaestak minuta dovede do Curevca. Od auta, strijelicom pedesetak metara prohodasmo do mjesta gdje se Durmitor zavrsava i tu stadosmo bez rijeci i treptaja nad kanjonom Tare. I opet se u meni probudi ponos na kanjon sto ne samo da je drugi najdublji na svijetu, nego sijece i jednu od najljepsih planina, a napravila ga je jedna od najljepsih i najcistijih rijeka. Sjetih se kako sam prije trinaestak godina ovako stajala na rubu kanjona Kolorada i pokusavala da pojmim dubinu i daljinu. Sad znam da to ne treba ni pokusavati, samo treba biti sretan sto si tu da to vidis.

Ujutro smo poranili da se spustimo sa Durmitora do Pivskog Jezera, pa preko Scepan Polja da idemo na rafting na Tari, da ju malo vidimo izbliza. Dan cist kao suza, Durmitor kao na dlanu, ne moze se lako ni ostaviti, udahni, izdahni, moras zastati i upiti svaki pogled.

Poslije Sedla, gdje smo juce prosli, vozili smo jos malo srcem planine do zapadnih obronaka, odakle se pruzio predivan pogled preko usjeka za koji sam znala da je kanjon Pive, na navise  Bosanske vrhove, Maglic i Volujak, a mozda i koji Zelengorin vrh. Toliko je sve lijepo da i ne obracas paznju na usku cestu sto vijuga niz planinu, i kad i naidje auto iz suprotnog pravca, samo se fino mimoidjes, kao sto ljudima i pristaje.

Onda cesta postade strmija, i serpentina sve vise, pa nas na kraju sprovede kroz puno u stijeni probijenih tunela, i onda najednom izletismo na Pivsko Jezero.

Suprotno onome sto mi prijatelji rekose, cesta uz Pivu je, sa normalnim trakama gdje se vozi 80-90km/sat, izgledala kao autoput poslije puteljka kojim smo dosli. Tu smo pozurili da malo nadoknadimo vrijeme sto je otislo u gledanje, te smo za manje od pola sata stigli do Scepan Polja, i granice sa Bosnom, i onda nakon jos desetak minuta voznje stigosmo na zbornu tacku raftinga, uz obalu Drine.

A tamo, svi lezerni, polako se pripremaju, pa i mi fino usporismo da se sad malo prebacimo u ovaj dogadjaj. Mama ostade tu da odmara, a djeca i ja dobismo neoprenska odjela, cizmice i prsluke za spasavanje, te se ukrcasmo u kombi sa jos nekim ljudima, vozacem i vodicem, a na krovu camac. U kombiju se upoznah, jedan par iz Virovitice, a drugi iz Slovenije (ne sjecam se tacno odakle), putuju ovim krajevima, vole prirodu, pogotovo neiskvarenu. Ubrzo stigosmo opet do granice sa Crnom Gorom, da se upisemo pa da mozemo slobodno niz Taru, gdje se ne zna koja je kap u kojoj drzavi. Meni tu vise bi dosta granica pa rekoh kako je to sve smijesno, da ne kazem tuzno, i tu se cijeli kombi sa mnom slozi, i onda naravno poce poznata prica o tome kako nam je nekad bilo bolje...

U camcu krenusmo lagano, Jan odluci da i on vesla kao veliki, a Ena sjede pored skipera, zna ona gdje je najsigurnije, oboje ozarenih lica sto se konacno i ova avantura ostvaruje. Na prvim brzacima nas Tara dobro zapljusnu i zaljulja, te se moja djeca malo i strecnuse, i nasmijase, Ena mi je tek u avionu priznala da ju je bilo malo strah, a Jan ne bi to nikad priznao. U ovo doba godine, pocetkom jula, Tara izgubi svoju dubinu i snagu, pa je izmedju brzaka mirna i tiha. Poslije dvadesetak kilometara, Tara i Piva se spajaju i prave Drinu, tu je hladnije od svjezine Pive sto se ispusta sa dna Pivskog Jezera, ali taman uskoro stigosmo nazad do kampa, a tamo piva, corba, teletina ispod saca, krompiri i salata, i na kraju, tulumbe.

I sta reci za kraj, osim da se nekad divne stvari dese kad pustis da te zivot sam dovede do Durmitora i spusti niz Taru.