Quamped = Disappointed, downhearted. Derives from an old English dialect word, quamp, meaning “to dampen someone’s spirits.”
My planning was perfect. I had been to the central train station – Beograd Centar – to carry our a recce, find the right buses to take and to check which platform I needed. The following day I left 1:30hrs to make a 30 min journey taking number 37 and 38L (38Л). I wheeled my 29kg wheelie case and carried my little rucksack through the dark quiet streets to the bus stop near my accommodation and quickly got on the 37. It was very full – unbearable with a thick coat on and sweating from the effort of pulling and pushing my heavy case with my left arm.
The Mostar stop is under a big flyover on a very busy multi-lane slip road. Lots of people including me, got off. Here I waited patiently for the 38L. Not only had I checked Google maps but I had also seen the 38L bus stop at the Beograd Centar station. I was confident. I had an hour to go 1km to the overnight train which was waiting to take me to Montenegro. Then 38L whizzed past without stopping.
Furious, I asked the man in the ticket booth and he told me I had to cross two slip roads and wait at the other bus stop for the 38L. The option was to climb the steps up to the pedestrian bridge. I could not do this with 28Kg and a shoulder which is only 8 weeks out from a big operation. So I bade my time for a small gap in the stream of fast-moving traffic and dashed across the road. Then I had to do it again – another near death experience to get to the new bus stop.
Another 38L flew past and I was beginning to wonder whether I was at the right stop. Was there still time to walk with my heavy case? I am notoriously bad at directions so I did not risk it and I had no money for a taxi. I had only 20 minutes before the train left without me but then a 38L stopped and I quickly boarded.
the bus then went straight past the turning for the train station and headed out of town. I sat down and gave up. When you know you’ve lost the battle at least you stop stressing. I was resigned to the fact that I would not be in Bar the following morning. I wondered whether I would be able to change my ticket (yes) and sleeping cabin (no).
By the time I had made it back to the centre of Belgrade it was around 10:30pm and pulling and pushing by big bag over the cobbled streets, I eventually found a hotel with a room available (apparently there were very rooms left because of the tourist fair and another event going on over this period).
When you travel independently making it up as you go along, using public transport in a place where English is not common and the alphabet is Cyrillic, the opportunities for disaster are great. But it’s the times when things go wrong that you remember about a trip and so this is just the latest in a long list of travel hiccups I have experienced. And it’s not as bad as getting on the wrong bus at Zagreb and ending up in the wrong country. That has to take the prize – that was in the 1990’s. I have become wiser since then but still, even though I have done detailed planning, I end up feeling quamped.
The train turned out to be most basic I have ever taken. Not only no dining carriage but not even hot water or paper in the toilets. No flush and no soap just a sense of Soviet utilitarian misery.
(Pictures are from the actual journey the following day.)