The peculiar thing about the border town at the crossing
between Montenegro and Bosnia Herzegovina was that it wasn’t a few kilometres
away on either side as is usually the case, but instead it literally straddled
the imaginary line dissecting Tara River. So we entered Šćepan Polje, a small resort village set
up for the popular water and mountaineering activities in the area, and found
the border post lodged bizarrely amidst the houses and restaurants.
Our passports were checked and stamped, our insurance documents
for which we had paid €15 for one day were completely ignored and we were sent
onwards towards our next destination. This no man’s land was peculiar; the only
time that we’ve crossed one side of a border, entered no man’s land, and found
ourselves in a town. It must be quite amusing for anyone who has chosen to stay
in Šćepan Polje as a launching pad for the plethora of outdoor activities, and
find yourself crossing either border to travel in any direction. It was all the
odder for us because in winter of course, it becomes a ghost town.
We followed the road down to the river where a rickety bridge
welcomed us to Bosnia Herzegovina. On the other side of the river we were waved
down by a confused looking border guard, and we noticed that there was no
insurance building – a good sign, which we were becoming accustomed to looking
for. The usual documents were taken aside (passports, registration, Carnet de
Passage and insurance), and we waited patiently to find out our fate (whether
we had to buy insurance or not).
Of course the old green card question was raised, and we responded
with our usual array of responses: “no green card, in Australia we don’t have
green card, we have insurance though, valid for the whole world, etc.” But no,
we were required to either have a green card, or purchase insurance at the
border. But where were we supposed to buy it from? There was nothing there
except a small hut with three guards, a welcome to Herzegovina sign, a river
and a bunch of trees. Well to add insult to injury, we were pointed back
towards Montenegro and told that we had to re-trace our steps and buy insurance
from Montenegro, for a price they had no idea of, then come back and show it to
these guards.
So back over the rickety bridge we went, past the “Thanks for
visiting Bosnia Herzegovina” and “Welcome to Montenegro” signs, up the slippery
hill, and to the opposite side of the original building we were stopped at. Ben
took our documents to the nearby cafe which doubled as an insurance broker,
where he found two men drinking beer and chain-smoking whilst enjoying a
European handball match on their retro television set. He established that
insurance was what he was looking for, and waited while one of them retrieved
an ancient piece of paper from a drawer and then ran his fingers along the axes
of the table printed on said paper. For the first time we were offered a
minimum of three days of insurance (ironically for the only country we were
planning to spend more than two days in since Greece). Unfortunately it was
still more expensive than 15 days in Montenegro had been. Three days would cost
us €26, and five days would be €50. Ben made an executive decision to go with
three days, made the payment, and waited for the paperwork to be filled in.
Back down the hill, across the bridge, farewell Montenegro, hello
Bosnia, and to the Bosnian guards. This time we were approved and with a smile
and a wave, were allowed to pass into the country.
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