a green grasshopper

It happens: you don’t like some cities without any reason. Even if you’ve never been there. For example I didn’t like Barcelona, maybe because everybody liked it. But I changed my mind when I visited it. I felt something like this about Budva. This sunny friendly city didn’t do something special but I’ve fallen in love with it.
When we went there it was 8 o’clock. I love the time when a city wakes up and puts itself in order. Half of the shops aren’t opened yet and the Old city is empty. The waiters are setting the chairs on the café terraces, yardmen are sweeping the streets and changing the burned-out bulbs of the lamps. And you can come to the Citadel right at the opening and be the first one who enjoys all of these amazing views. You can touch the stone plate representing two fish, take a photo of a fig tree or read something in the library. You also can go to the Archaeological museum to review all of these wonderful imperfect glass vials, the bronze Illyrian helmet from 5th century BC and the funeral urns. And after that just stroll along the streets and get dizzy from the wisteria’s sent for the umpteenth time.
Everybody knows it’s not right to live in memories. But you can want to go back to some of them again and again. Every trip gives me these types of memories. There were a lot of good things in my last journey when I went to Montenegro. But most of all I remember one moment.
Midday in Budva. We’re sitting on the beach. The sea is in a front of us. The sun is sparkling on its surface. It’s so warm and I feel so good so I want to spend here all my life. Somewhere on a café terrace a flutist is playing some of Joe Dassin’s melodies. I don’t want to go anywhere. Nothing is happening and that’s why it’s so hard to write about it – it seems like I’ll never be able to express even a part of that quiet happiness which that moment was full of.
Other people are passing by and they are looking as relaxed as you. And you’re also getting up and going to the sea. You’re putting down your hands in the cold water and all of this looks like a kind of a meditation. It seems that you’ve someway known what happiness is. This happiness is quiet, calm and… endless.
Anyway I left Budva in an excellent mood. I had enough time to go to the post-office and to send home my postcards. Honestly it was something special to get these postcards at home. Because every word in that short message said: someone who wrote it was very-very happy. And this happy person was me!