Duck bridge

My whole life has passed in the Bar. I took the first step here, and I will take the last step, whenever that happens. Judging by how long Vujovići from Ljubotinje lasts, three quarters of my life is behind me (if, in the meantime, some corona or something similar doesn't shorten the destined length of the bar path).

I always admire this city after the first autumn rain when, together with the sun, it emerges airy and rejuvenated. When it smells fresh and when it is about to speak and send the most beautiful possible message: "It's good."

My daughters, they say, most often materialize their hometown in their minds through sunsets. And they cannot understand, just like their father, that unusual play of the sun, that walk from Volujica to Crni rt, his plunge into the sea, always in a different place and in a different way, but always with a sumptuous accompaniment in the form of countless shades of red .

Every day I sprint from five to ten kilometers, counting several times the 96 stairs in my building. I have two dedicated routes – to the lighthouse and to the Duck Bridge. Someone from Komunalno was really inspired when he named that bridge on the Railway. Those ducks at the mouth of Željeznica into the sea are a striking childhood memory of many Barans. There is no parent who did not proudly take their toddler to "feed the ducks": so that he and his heir or heiress could join the numerous family of those who fed the ducks. Tons and tons of bread were thrown from the railing of the bridge into the Railway. In the beginning, the ducks tear at every thrown crumb, then they waddle, and a little later, when they are full, they don't turn their heads. The children first throw the bread piece by piece while their parents admire them and shout "well done", but very quickly they lose patience, so they rush the whole loaf into the water and leave the bridge disinterested.

And so for years. New ducks and new kids are coming...

* * *

The first autumn rain really revives Bar, soaks the thirsty land, refreshes the greenery and washes the streets and has a therapeutic effect on people, but already the second, especially if it is abundant like the one from October 15th, brings a lot of trouble.

We are not prepared for any natural disaster, not even for a downpour, even if it only lasts an hour.

* * *

The mandate holder has a difficult task to form the government. Because, many people would like to make sacrifices and make themselves bad as ministers or ministers in the next four years for the good of all of us. Nowhere is this urge to sacrifice, just to make others better off, more pronounced than in Montenegro.

* * *

As the years go by, the man softens, in every way.

If I were that age, I would answer the mundane and mocking question that often follows when people see me with a mask: "Are you afraid of the corona virus?" - "Only cattle aren't afraid."

Like this, I say resignedly: "Ah, what are you going to..."

* * *

After the strong hand of the NKT at the beginning of the corona epidemic, citizens were let down the river, true, with a warning to wear a mask, keep a distance and wash their hands. But, as there is something masochistic and gambling in our people, so many secretly want to measure themselves against corona and throw it on their shoulders, so very quickly we became a "corona-free" destination, the most infected country per hundred thousand inhabitants in Europe.

* * *

Those who swore their love and eternal loyalty to Montenegro seem to have lost their energy. They are doing everything to, in this vacuum, bring the wrong people to some important places for the future of Montenegro, especially where the young generations are brought up and learn. And they know very well that in those places they already work, although not permanently, better than their staff.

Admittedly, they may already be thinking about the next election, but rather I would say that their role model is Louis XV, who shouted back in the 18th century: "After me, the flood!"

* * *

Thanks to a Frenchman, I once again said goodbye to my dear cousin Dr. Vasko Kopitović (92), whom I haven't seen or heard from since some long-ago funerals in Cetinje.

François-Guillaume Loren wrote the book "You must be related?" in which he searches for the mysterious Jovan (Žan) Kopitović, whose name he noticed on a memorial plaque placed a few steps from the Sorbonne. The plaque is inscribed: "Zan Kopitović, a Yugoslav patriot, fell here, mowed down by German bullets, on March 11, 1943." Its installation in 1948 was attended by the famous René Cassin, winner of the Nobel Peace Prize and founder of the Charter of Human Rights.

In order to find out what made Kopitović deserve such an honor, Guillaume visited "half" of the Balkans, and he also stayed in Crmnica's Brčeli, where the Kopitovićs are from, as well as in Cetinje. There he met my uncle Vasko, my mother's brother from my aunt, otherwise the nephew of Jovan (Žan) Kopitović.

Guillaume managed to write an interesting, readable book, which was declared the best of contemporary French history in 2019. This year it was translated into Serbian, in the luxurious edition of "Vaganar" from Belgrade.

* * *

We closed the swimming season on October 10 at Velika plaža. I don't feel as free anywhere as in that space, especially in autumn when there is no one around. As I step on that soft, fine and warm sand, I feel like I could take off, just run.