July 25th: Borderline
Cavtat
We always knew getting Jax into non-EU countries could be tricky, but we didn’t expect the real storm to come from our vehicle. Our four-month rental contract with Hertz in Portugal, which we thought covered all of Europe, turned out to have some serious blind spots.
Last night was rough. We were tired, hungry, disappointed—and facing the possibility that not only could Jax be denied entry into Montenegro, but we might not even have a car to continue. We crashed hoping that morning would bring better energy. It did.
After breakfast, we sat down and mapped out our options:
Christina would drive the long way around through the EU countries of Croatia, Hungary, Romania, Bulgaria—while I took the shortcut, solo, that went through Montenegro, Kosovo, North Macedonia to Bulgaria, where we’d reunite 500km later. Jax would stay in the EU, avoiding the non-EU paperwork.
Find a new car that was authorized for the non-EU countries, but Jax might still be denied entry.
Redefine success. Pack it in with 2,000 miles done.
Option 1 had appeal, but when we plotted it, the route was remote and dangerous: few hotels, fewer markets, and extreme heat. I’d have to carry everything in a hydration vest and with the dehydration nightmare from Day 65, I knew the consequences. We turned to Option 2. For hours, we searched every site for a car with clearance to Albania, North Macedonia, Montenegro—and maybe even Turkey. Zero. Some allowed one country but not another. None allowed Turkey. No consistency at all.
And then, a break. At 11:45 a.m.—just 15 minutes before hotel checkout—Hertz had a cancellation. The car was perfect: mid-sized, five-door, and available for 28 days. Better yet, the agent Christina had worked with the day before gave us a great rate and agreed. As a bonus, they agreed to hold our existing car until we got back since we need to return it to Portugal.
Problem #1: solved.
By 2 p.m. we had swapped cars and were driving south back to the Montenegrin border, stomachs twisted in anticipation of what might happen with Jax. Yesterday, when I crossed the border on foot, I watched the agents carefully inspecting every car—opening back windows, getting out of their booths to check inside, combing through documents. We were anxious. Christina called a few contacts she’d made to line up dog-sitting options, just in case.
As we approached the Croatian side, we saw a tour van ahead of us get turned around after a ten-minute delay. Faces of the passengers said it all—confused, deflated. “That’s it,” I said. “We’re done.”
Christina shook her head. “I think it’ll be okay.”
We pulled up. Handed over passports. Rental contract. Thirty seconds.
STAMP. STAMP.
We were through.
“That was the easy one,” I told her.
At the Montenegro border, there was only one lane. The car ahead stopped, the driver walking his documents over to the booth.
“Same strategy,” I told Christina. “Pull up, jump out.”
She was out fast, handed over everything. Meanwhile, Jax stayed low in the backseat, head down. The agent looked at her. Looked at the papers.
“Go,” he said, not even a stamp.
Back in the car, we didn’t say a word. Just drove a few hundred meters in silence. And then let it out. Hollers. Fists in the air. Laughs.
Jax was in.
We’re back in Herceg Novi and ready for a three-day push to Albania, with tomorrow likely to be the hottest day yet. But we’re back in the game. The run goes on.
Thanks for following along—and for all the support.
Cheers,
David.
