We are having a short break here in Niksic. We have a  nice log cabin overlooking a calm lake and we are spending two nights in the peace and quiet.

We are situated close to a RV camp which is little more than a gravelled  space for half a dozen vehicles and a tin shed with two wash basins attached to the outside wall. We have had a few vehicles arrive yesterday and today and they all think we own the camp because our house stands above it. They troop up a steep flight of steps and knock on our door wanting to give us money. Tempting as it is we are doing the decent thing and shrugging our shoulders and tell the travellers we have no idea where the owner is. We have had Germans, Austrians and two mysterious Russians.

The Russians arrived in a brightly decorated minivan. Both men were quite young and spoke excellent English. After I had told them I had no idea where the camp owner was I thought I should show a bit of polite interest and asked them where they were from. There was a microsend longer of a pause than you would expect when asking such a mundane question. " Russia , but we live in Serbia."

They could see my mind trying to answer the obvious question, what were two young men of conscription age doing in a small van in a remote lakeside in Montenegro when they could be helping Mother Russia in its glorious fight to liberate Ukraine.  I never got to ask the question as they scuttled off abruptly.

Then as I shut the door, all the electricity in the house went off. This was not a development I had been expecting. I have no SIM card for Montenegro, no roaming package as we have been managing without one and no internet.  When I tried to phone the host directly at some horrendous rate in my NZ phone account a disembodied voice told me that I had no credit. Without internet I can't top up my credit. We are pickled totally.  

I wandered down to the camp asking if they had seen the owner. This was turning into a Godot moment. An old man wandered down the road carrying an armfull of thin branches and shouted at me in a language I did not understand. He disappeared behind a wall and I discovered that he had brought the branches to light a fire in a fire pit. I have no idea why or where he came from. Later the fire had turned to embers and the man was gone. Beckett couldn't have scripted it better.

When I returned to the house the electricity had mysteriously been restored. I'm beginning to think I have the bones of a good Netflix drama.