Match Day. Things can only get wetter.
Up at the crack of noon, we dress in our finest replica shirts and bucket hats, so there’s no mistaking us for ordinary tourists. Although I’m not sure if any tourists would want to come to Podgorica.
We hit the pub next to our apartment and immediately get stares from the locals. We order a delicious vegetable omelette, washed down with cider. Vegetarian food is definitely a novel concept in this part of the world.
The waiter asks if we are going to the game and we explain we have no tickets. Shortly after we are offered tickets in the home end for 100 Euros. Do we look like Oasis fans?
We won’t be doing touristy stuff today. It’s all about football today. And drinking. There’s a pre-match party taking place in the Welder Bar, the other side of town, so we head in that general direction. En route, we decide to stop off in our old favourite, the Library Bar.
We spot a couple of friendly looking faces from North Wales. (Spoiler alert, we end up spending the whole day with them. Hello Clive, Martin and Bryn). They are Bangor City fans and we are soon exchanging stories of previous trips. They had been staying in Kotor for four nights before the game, so we pick up some tips on what to do there.
The Library Bar is under a huge bridge, with the Rvir Ribinicia next to the bar. The river features in many tourist guides as a route for walking, because for most of the year it is bone dry, exposing the stony riverbed. As indeed it is now.
Then it starts to rain. The sky lights up with fork lightning, followed by the inevitable cracks of thunder. At first we thought we would be OK under the huge bridge, but it is soon blowing through and we head indoors.
The bar has three floors, we head to the top and sit looking out at the dry river. We decide to make ourselves comfortable till it eases off, then head for the Welder Bar.
As we sit there, we witness the dry river bed becoming a raging torrent of water. It doesn’t trickle, gradually getting bigger, it is literally like a dam had burst and all the water was gushing down the valley.
On the banks of the river I can see a big beardy bloke herding animals into his boat, two by two.
We sit in wonderment, marvelling at the sight before us, but soon decide that this rain is not going to ease up any time soon. Zipping up our coats, we strut purposefully towards the Welder Bar.
Eleven minutes later, soaked through, we arrive. It’s right opposite the stadium that the game should be getting played in, but it’s not. We can spot the pub a mile off because of the presence of bored looking police outside.
You have to give it to European police, they look the part. Fit, bulging in the right places and mean looking. They don’t really need a gun to complete the ‘don’t even think about it look’, but they carry them anyway.
We step into the cavernous pub, rammed with red shirts and bucket hats. Out back there is a DJ playing tunes only people too young to know what good music is could appreciate.
We find a table and spend an hour trying to work out what the system is. Some say it’s bar service, but when you go to the bar, they tell you it’s waiter service. When you sit at the table, waiters are conspicuous by their absence. The only table service we get is Billy the Badge coming around selling, well, badges.
Corky, Keiron and Vince from the Football Supporters Association arrive and announce that the free busses that have been laid on for fans to take them to the fifty miles to the stadium where the game is being played, have arrived.
Corky seems to think with the Wonky Sheep flights cancelled, loads of people staying in other towns unable to get through because of road conditions, and flights being diverted today due to weather, there might be a lot of empty seats. But the situation is evolving so rapidly it’s impossible for the FAW to keep up with the resale of tickets.
Even though the pub has thinned out, the waiter service is still poor, and when we do get served, the beer is crap. So we head out into the monsoon, in the direction of an Indian restaurant that appears in just about every guide book. Masala Art.
The decor is luxurious, the waiters are incredibly friendly and helpful, explaining all the dishes on the menu. This is by far the widest selection of vegetarian and vegan food we have seen so far.
We opt for the Vegetarian Set Meal for two. I can’t tell you what it was, because none of it bore any resemblance to the British version of Indian food. There were seven different dishes, all of them amazing. But the dumplings in a sweet creamy sauce were double amazing.
We pity the poor souls with tickets standing in the rain waiting for kick off. If it happens in this rain.
Eventually, several Euros lighter, and several pounds heavier, we head for a pub that the Bangor City Culture Vulture Firm have taken a shine to. It’s called Bogarts and, as you would imagine, has loads of photos of the Hollywood gangster on the wall. However, it’s actually a Russian owned pub with Russian bar staff. But more importantly, they have a variety of French ciders.
I had been expecting to be taken to a pub with a large screen and loads of ticketless Wales fans. But apart from us and a handful of guys from Cardiff and Abertwswg, there’s no one else there. Which is just as well because it’s only a small pub. We are shown upstairs where a selection of armchairs and sofas circle a television. It’s like watching the game at home. It’s warm, dry and comfortable. It has cider and no queues at the bar (or the toilet). I can’t think of a better way to watch the game.
Wales bang in two goals in the first three minutes, so spirits are high. But the conditions in the stadium are not as comfortable as the pub: it’s absolutely lashing it down and the pitch is cutting up as players slide all over the place.
The game finally ends with Wales winning 2-1. Not a bad start to Craig Bellamy’s stint as head coach. He’s a good fella, but needs an umbrella.
We look outside and see it is still persistently raining, so have more cider. But eventually we have to bite the bullet and walk home. It was an uneventful walk, but memorable due to the constant lashing of rain. Thirty minutes later, when we arrive home, we are as wet as we would have been if we had jumped in that river. But we have towels, dry clothes for tomorrow, have ticked off the Indian restaurant we wanted to visit, had loads of cider and made new friends up north.
And Wales had three points.
Not a bad day.