Paperwork

The amount of paperwork and the formalities required to arrive at or depart from a port or a country along here would be enough to make a person weep if time was important. And that it might be, if the passage is to be smooth before the heat of the sun has conjured up winds and swell to make the movement of a small vessel across the waters uncomfortable. Leaving before 6am is a way of grabbing calm, but that is more difficult if the Harbour Master, the Customs Official, the Chief of Police, and the Immigration Control Officer are - as is usually the case - unminded to be helpful. It's a powerful lesson in how beneficial it is to be in a customs union. Maybe here they are looking out for gun-runners or smugglers, but they take their roles very seriously, while at the same time using their considerable powers to sleep at their desks, go to lunch, or something - anything to be invisible while the time ticks past. Each of these officials usually operates from a different building. Yesterday, coming into the pretty bay of Bar - the principal port of beautiful Montenegro - with the help of the marinero - we tied up in the marina but he refused to let us land until we had a crew list. That meant unberthing, sailing right out of the marina and round to the police station on the far side of the port, and getting all our papers in the correct order. 
This took an hour, two hours.... Who knows? 
Eventually our captain got the papers, everything was in order, we could go back to the pontoon. 
But we would need to get the personal attention of the Police Chief, the Customs man, the Harbour Master and Uncle Tom Cobbleigh to be allowed to leave in the morning. It is - frankly - ridiculous.
It's not at all clear what is required at any one port or even within one country. Some ports require you to check in and out as if they were independent kingdoms. Some will be content with a blanket-pass, so within that country you can go in and out of neighbouring ports without formalities each time. Printed guides and navigation sources have differing opinions and these change according to (presumably) which Police Chief was on duty on any day.
It was baking hot. Fires burned in the rocky wastes above the town, smoke careening upwards in columns which created a great haze in the valley and actually generated proper little cumulus clouds above them.
The guide book warned that it would all be very crowded being August, but for whatever reason, the town was quiet, even when the evening crowds started to appear. 
We found wifi to conduct our business and socialising with friends and family back home, and walked to see the extraordinary Orthodox Church across the main road. This (I think) was rebuilt after the devastating earthquake of 1979, and us a huge gleaming edifice absolutely covered in modern icons and portraits of every saint that ever lived. It is gorgeous, with sculpted bronze doors, many domes, huge hanging circular candle-holders, opportunities to kiss the icons or their frames, and (yesterday afternoon) a big box of grapes for you to help yourself. 
We cruised round a circular supermarket which had more shelves of bottled drinks than a logistics centre in the West Midlands, and eventually found a restaurant with an Italian theme (one of dozens) where we had an excellent meal.
Many of the other restaurants are Russian, by the way, but also serve pizza and pasta. 
Getting back to the yacht in the soft night darkness, we saw the huge flames of the fires on the mountain high above. Only smoke is visible by day but this great chain of fire looked like a volcano in full eruption. No-one took any notice. The barmaid in the Yacht Club cafe - who once sailed to Ramsgate and had fond memories of the place - said the fires happen every summer. 


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