Montenegro Morning

The humidity is palpable and the heat of the day has yet to abate even though it is 1am. I am wide awake. Jet lag. I barely got used to the time in Colorado before I took off again and now here I am, thousands of miles away in any direction from all those other homes; insomnolent.

By 5am the daylight starts creeping into the gleaming cleanliness of my new apartment. I open my eyes yet again and wish away the day so that I might just get some sleep. As the room turns light blue then pink with the sunrise, I give in and stand up. At the window I see the masts of the sailboats on the harbor, lightly rocking to-and-fro. It's an image so far from those Himalayan villages I just left. 

I take a towel and walk out through my front door, pass the lone sentinel palm tree on the driveway, and in thirty seconds I can dip my toes into the water. A minute more down the coast and I have a stony beach to myself. The vacation crowds are still asleep, their singed bodies snoring away in buildings that line the coast. There are only a few people out this early: the street sweeper, a zaftig elderly woman walking her havanese, a Speedoed Russian cooling off on his hotel balcony.

The few clouds above that have brought in the day are orange and pink. I look into the water and pebbles are filtered in transparent turquoise, a cuttlefish meanders against the dock. The water is cool. I immerse into it as an introduction. The Adriatic covers me from toe to head. I swim out to where my feet can no longer find the bottom and then I begin to swim laps parallel to the beach. My strokes are awkward and my breathing labored – I have only swum in the sea once or twice in my life before. I can taste the saltwater and after only one lap I tire and have to switch to a backstroke. The water over my ears muffles out the world and I can hear only the murmur of my strokes, my labored breaths and my heart beating. I cut through the water with each stroke and am weightless, like a dream.

The clouds now are white and the sky as blue as one could hope for. The sun has finally climbed over the mountains, crept over the terracotta rooftops of the village houses, and now pours down onto the water. I swim back to the shore and dry off. I can smell the sea on my towel and on me. My introduction to the Adriatic is complete.

This jet lag has been persistent. Each morning when I find myself awake at dawn, I no longer try to force sleep. I put on my swim trunks, throw a towel over my bare shoulder, and step outside to the Montenegro morning, welcoming it, knowing that it has welcomed me.