Let me get this out of my system from the very beginning: travel is not a story that ends softly to reassure you that all loose ends find their rightful places. This is a reality, my reality, and it is not always perfect, pretty or fair. You do not need to know who I was before I got to the Balkans, how I became such a shell of a person – that story will leave you with a bitter taste in your mouth – the only thing you need to know is that I have been reborn somehow. I have been reanimated.
I have been struggling to put Kotor into words. The two or so months prior that I had spent in the Balkans I had written home regularly. It was exhausting. I am a writer, sure, but I always feel as though I’m writing for other people. So, I stopped writing, and it was freeing. What I was feeling seemed too indescribable to me anyway. How on earth could I appropriately describe Kaitlin or Jake? How could I ever capture Danilo, Vlado or Moco in even the best formed sentences? Impossible.
I could certainly have described the beauty of the town, the mountains, the bay of Kotor. I could have created a detailed representation of Old Town Hostel, a place and people who I grew to love on such a grand scale. It was another home for me, another family, one who taught me how to have fun again and let people in more than I had before. I often say I don’t believe in love, but Kotor I believed in. It was a crazy, messy, kind of love. It was easy and awkward at the same time and I got addicted to it.
While I know the party goes on in every place after you move on, walking out on this one hurt more somehow. I mean, I have done all the things I did in Kotor in other places sure, but there it was different and I know the answer to that riddle lies with the people I spent my time with. I honestly can’t picture my life clearly before my Montenegrin month. Obviously it existed, but my slate has been wiped clean. Thank fucking goodness.
There are people I don’t feel like I got a proper goodbye with. There are friends I know that I’ll need to see again one day to feel complete. I’m so lucky my return to Germany reunited me with my running gear and armed me with a nostalgic music playlist to keep me both distracted and motivated or else I’d go mental. This way I can take care of myself and stay real for the people around me here. I remember the ugly tears, but now I can smile at the flashbacks as they hit me, hoping there’ll be another round.