" Suddenly everybody spoke English, and we
wondered into what sort of a fairy tale had we fallen.
It was lunch time so we did not stay for explanations, but hurried back
to the town with the weeping old Turk, gave him our small change, which
seemed to cure the pains in his feet, and hunted for the other hotel.
It was tucked away in a romantic back street. The bar room was tiny, but
it was very pleasant to sit round little tables under shady trees in the
courtyard.
"What have you for lunch?" we asked a solid-looking waiter boy.
"Nema Ruchak, bogami." We have no lunch. We looked at all the other
people absorbing meat and soup.
"Give us what you have."
"We have nothing, bogami."
"Have you soup?"
"Yes, bogami."
"And cheese?"
"Ima, ima, bogami."
"That will do for us."
He thereupon brought macaroni soup, boiled meat, roast meat, fried
potatoes, cheese, grapes, and coffee.
We never found out why in Montenegro they should make it a point of
honour to say they have nothing.
Pages:
159
160
161
162
163
164
165
166
167
168
169
170
171
172
173
174
175
176
177
178
179
180
181
182
183