Makarovia! Yes, I Know Where That is! Sophomore Year - 45. Chapter 45

The Honeymoon

Dinner that night was spectacular. Oyster Fritters with a lemon/horseradish garnish. I was raised in the American South, knew about fritters, but nothing like this. And those were just the appetizer! Then we had Cognac Shrimp with Beurre Blanc Sauce. Whatever, it was delicious. It was French!

When Henri came out to see if we liked it. My obnoxious side surfaced.

“Henri,” I began sadly. “You can never cook for us again.”

Peter grinned. “I agree.”

Henri looked surprised. “You didn't like it!?”

“It was terrible,” I said. “The three bowls I had was just awful and those fritters. I hated every one.” I waved at the empty plate.

Peter nodded. “Me, too. The six I had...just revolting.”

Henri stood up straighter and let an “Oh, ho, ho,” he smiled, “you are making blague. A joke.”

I nodded. “We are.” I admitted. “But you maybe in trouble. If you keep this up, we might try to steal you from the Countess.”

Peter nodded. “It's a good thing there's a workout room on board. I'll probably gain twenty pounds!”

“Boris is a damned good chef,” I said, “but there is a saying about too many cooks in the kitchen spoiling the broth.” I nodded. “Boris would become jealous...”

“It could get ugly.” Peter added.

“You did an exceptional job.” I said.

Henri bowed. “Merci.”

“You're welcome.” Peter smiled.

We did arrive in Montenegro at night. Kotor to be precise. Podorica was not on the Adriatic Sea. It was on the coast of Lake Scutari, but didn't have access to the open water. Kotor did. It was the closet community to Podgorica with that access. The water access was twisted. You came into Kotor Bay between Rose, Montenegro and Dubronik to the Gulf of Kotor and and finally around Lepetani and hang a right before hitting Our Lady of the Rocks.

When we woke up, we looked out the window to the town of Kotor. Part of my youth was spent in a coastal city. Kotor was no coastal community I'd ever seen. Folly Beach was a town in Charleston on the beach. There were others, but Folly Beach was the one I knew best. These homes weren't wood, but brick and stone and more densely arranged. They had those pretty red roofs and were much closer together. It was old and very pretty. It was picture perfect. On the outside. This portion of the gulf was circled with mountains. No, they weren't like the ones in Makarovia or Asheville.

We showered and dressed and went to see what Henri made. He came out with steaming pan of something.

“Henri,” I grinned, “is this a casserole?”

Henri looked stunned. “Monsieur, I am a chef.” He said sounding almost offended. “We don't make casseroles.”

He almost had me until I saw the gleam in his eyes. “Come on,” I waved at the plate. “It's all in one dish you baked in an oven and are serving it from that pan.” I shrugged. “If it waddles and quacks, it's a duck! This is a casserole.”

“Oui, Monsieur,” He confessed. “It is unlike you've ever had. It has langostinos and scallops. It is filling.”

I looked at Peter. “I guess Boris will just have to adjust.”

Henri smiled and served us both. “Boris also told me you two have good appetites. I made plenty.”

After first bite, I shook my head. “We'll sneak you in somehow.” I used a fork for the next bite. “C'est deliceux.” I saw Henri's eyes light up. I held up a cautionary hand. “I just know a few words and phrases. Don't get all excited.”

Henri laughed. “Well, chefs often don't usually make casseroles, but this is my creation. I hope you enjoy it.”

We were moored to the dock. Disembarking was simple. Security led the way and came from behind us to the dock. It was just after nine when a man came up with several more people. I knew a news crew when I saw it now. The cameras two them carried was a give away, too. I had hoped they would do this. One camera had RTCG on it, the other said Prva TV. I smiled at Peter as we walked. The man I had contacted was in his forties now. He kept his hair very short but I could see the hairline was higher then probably was in his youth. It was late Spring. It was warm out. He was wearing a sport's blazer, shirt and tie. Peter and I dressed for the weather. Short sleeves and jeans. No t-shirts. Mom would murder us if we did that. Peter and I did what we almost always do. Peter took my hand.

We came up to the leader of this group. I knew he was Zdravko Cimbaljevic .

“Welcome, your highness.” He said and bowed to both of us. “I am Zdravko Cimbaljevic.” He stuck his hand out to us.

“And we're...” I began.

“I certainly know who you are.” Zdravko nodded. He spoke English well with only the slightest accent. He turned to a chubby man beside him with white hair in his fifties. “This is the Mayor of Podgorica. Ivan Mugosa.”

The mayor smiled at first, but it sort of lost it's impact as his eyes traveled to our hands. What could he do? Especially since the two cameras were pointing at us. He did stick his hand out and shook ours. “Welcome to Montenegro.”

“Thank you.” Peter said tightening his hold of my hand.

“We didn't know you were coming,” Mayor Mugosa said.

“It was really only decided yesterday morning.” I said casually. “We're going further South, but this was on the way. I was told you were seeking tourism. So, here we are.” I looked around the bay as other boats were berthed and the sound of water lapping the shores and boats. “It is lovely here.”

“We also looked you up on the computer.” Peter said. “Like Makarovia, you had a struggle. You go back to the fourteenth century.”

The Mayor nodded. “We do.”

“I bet there is plenty to see.” I grinned. “I will love to put this as a place to visit on our website.” I hate being coy or hedge around a subject. “I'll be honest. Did you see the wedding?” I held Peter's hand up. “Our wedding?”

The mayor's eyes widened. “Not the whole thing.”

“I have been told and I have read accounts of Montenegro's two different sides. Especially with people like Peter and me.” I held up my right hand to stop him from interrupting. “You took strides to outlaw hate and violence to those like us. Yet, I also heard and read about violence against us from your own people and your authorities.” I held up the hand that Peter still had. “Are we going to be arrested?”

The mayor bowed his head a little. “No. You are married.”

Peter nodded. “But no one here can do that, can they?”

The mayor was getting angrier. I could see it in his eyes and on his face. “They can be together. It's not against the law.”

“You aren't alone in this.” I assured. “It was world wide for a long time.”

Peter bounced. “Not in Makarovia.”

I patted Peter on the arm. “That's right. The United States had huge issues with it. As you probably know, we had it approved state by state before it became legal for everyone nationwide. It's still dangerous to travel some places because of violence. Makarovia was nearly attacked Saturday. That explosion in Turkey? It was meant for Makarovia.” I motioned between Peter and myself. “To kill us.”

Peter nodded. “And the year before someone wanted to get a car bomb into the palace. No one's claiming innocence.”

“We're taught the Bible tells us it's wrong.” The Mayor defended.

I nodded. “It does. It also says a lot of things we do is wrong, but we do it anyway, but what did God say about it? He gave us rules to live by. The ten commandments? If our salvation is determined by who we have sex with and when, wouldn't he tell us in those commandments?” I held my finger up. “He warned about killing, stealing and adultery. How many couples can say they were both virgins when they married? Many in the Bible can't claim that either.”

Peter pointed out. “It was the Jewish people that told us about all those other rules. Everything has rules or laws. Even what we eat.”

I nodded. “What's kosher and what's not. Even kosher meats have to come from a particular area of the animal.”

“They never have rump roast and seafood!” Peter shook his head. “I love it. We had prawns last night. They have to have scales and fins to be kosher.”

I thumbed behind us to the Duchess. “What had an hour or so ago wasn't kosher either.”

“We aren't attacking you,” Peter said to assure the Mayor. “We're not blaming you. You want to be a part of the world? There are people who won't agree with you for their own reasons. You just should accept that and let it go.”

“You're Human.” I shrugged. “We don't do well with change.”

The Mayor said. “You are asking us to not believe the Bible.”

“No, I'm not.” I said and tried another tactic. “How old is the Earth?”

“Millions...no, billions of years.” He said matter-of-fact. It was common knowledge.

“Now you're not believing the Bible.” I smiled. “According to the scriptures it's only a few thousand years old. The Bible has the linage of descendants to Jesus Christ who died two thousand years ago. Just going by the ages they lived tells us it's not that old.”

“Did we evolve? Or were we created? What about Homo Erectus and the other stages of Human Evolution? Which were Adam and Eve?” Peter asked and saw the Mayor was getting annoyed. “Our point is, people pick and choose from the Bible what they think is right all the time.”

The mayor was getting frustrated, but he was a politician. People were watching or would be watching it when it was broadcast. “I don't think this is the place for this sort of discussion.”

I nodded. “Okay, where is the correct place? Or when?”

“You are using the titles you have for political purposes.” The Mayor ground out.

I shrugged and held my hands out helplessly. “Of course, we are. That's what they're for.”

The mayor was now turning red. “I don't believe it should be allowed.”

Peter nodded and said calmly. “We knew that when you approached. We saw it on your face.”

Zdravko was hiding a growing smile with his hand and looked away. This was very familiar territory for him.

“You have the right to believe whatever you want.” I said simply. “I don't agree with you. I think you're wrong.”

Peter nodded. “I do, too.”

Zdravko removed his hand when the Mayor looked at him and with a simple gesture said. “You know I'm with them.”

The mayor turned and walked away in a slight huff.

Zdravko turned and smiled at us. “He's been a problem for years. He tries to block everything we try to do.”

“I know.” I said. “We had people in front of our home in Boston protesting.”

“Until the mayor, governor and president told them to stop.” Peter added.

“Some would love to beat the gay out of us.” I said. “Even kill us.”

Zdravko nodded. “I got...and still get, death threats.”

“But you stay.” Peter said.

Zdravko nodded. “It's my home.” He said sadly with mixed emotions.

“I understand that.” I smiled.

“I go to Canada often.” Zdravko smiled again. “They love me there. Is it true that almost half of the people in Makarovia are gay?”

Peter shrugged. “With the influx of people from the United States and Great Britain that maybe off by now.”

“It doesn't matter.” I said. “We can walk together through the streets and new tunnels with no problem or harassment. It's not even considered by anyone to do so.”

Zdravko smiled at that. “Oh, I would love that here.”

Peter smiled back. “Maybe you should come to Makarovia.” He shrugged. “Just to visit.”

Zdravko nodded. “I should.” Then he nodded once firmly. “I will.”

I reached out and touched his arm. “Do it during the Spring or Summer. It's pretty frozen during the Winter.”

Peter looked at me surprised. “Drew and Wayne came during the Winter.”

I nodded. “Yes, they did.” I looked at Zdravko. “They used a military transport to land in Skoal. Do you know of any military transports coming from anywhere around here?”

“No.” Peter shook his head.

I threw my hands out in frustration. “Do we have a railroad?”

“Of course! We have to get freight and goods to us. There are some truckers that deliver, too. I said we prepared? Remember? We buy in bulk.”

I waved at Zdravko. “But he can't even take a bus!”

Peter reacted as I did. “No one wanted to come to Makarovia! It was no problem.”

“Now they will!”

Zdravko was now laughing at us. “Gentlemen, I can drive there. I have a car.”

Peter nodded. “The tunnel for the train and roads are shutdown in October and doesn't open again until April because of the snow and ice.”

“He shouldn't have drive it.” I said. “That's...” I tried to think, “I don't know, but it's a long way!”

“It's just a few hundred kilometers.” Zdravko chuckled. “I driven from Toronto to Vancouver. That was a lot farther.”

“Just because you can doesn't mean you should.” I corrected.

“They're working on the airport in Skoal.” Peter shrugged. “Who knows?”

Zdravko nodded. “We'll work it out.” He pointed with his thumb over his shoulder. “Do you still want to see it?”

“Absolutely.” I answered and then stopped. I pointed at our security. “They have to come, too.”

Zdravko looked behind Peter and me. “Sure,” he said, “I thought there would be some.” He looked at Mikell who had the classic stone like stare they perfected with the dark glasses. “Are they all that big in Makarovia?”

I shook my head. “Not all of them.” I kissed Peter quickly. “There are a few.”

The drive to Podgorica was pretty. The mountains here were older. I'll explain. The Alps and Himalayan Mountains were newer. A few few million years younger than the Appalachian Mountains. They have been worn down with time. Colliding plates, continental drift and all that. The mountains here were nice. There were Alps, the Albanian Alps to the North and East of Montenegro. Even the name of the country meant Black Mountain. I know, you might not care. The majority of Montenegro were Christian. About seventy percent. Twenty percent are Islamic. It was a mix of ethnicity. Most from the surrounding Balkan countries.

“We've got a long way to go in Montenegro.” Zdravko confessed as we rode. “I will give Montenegro this, they are more accepting than Croatia or Serbia. The problem is that sexuality is not even mentioned in Montenegrin Law. It's assumed all rights cover the minorities, too.”

“What about gay bashing? I read about some on the Internet.” I asked. “Aren't there laws against that?”

Zdravko nodded. “When the victim comes forward and files charges. Most of them are too ashamed to admit they were are attacked for being gay.” He sighed as he looked out the window. “There is no venue for gays here. No clubs or bars. The gay population here has been terrified to come out. Most people in Montenegro still think it's a sickness.” He tapped his forehead to show where the sickness was. “People are just...” he stopped as he thought, “so binary.”

Peter and I were both looking at Zdravko not understanding what he meant.

“You know,” Zdravko insisted. “ones and zeros? I'm in finance, I do numbers.” He grinned. “By binary, I mean they just see two choices. Left or right. On and off. Black or white. Male and female. Right and wrong. Get it?”

We nodded and I grinned. “Yes.”

“This stop may not help.” Peter admitted.

“It will!” Zdravko said quickly. “Those in leadership rolls try to block programs that have any gay content.” He chuckled. “I know there are thousands of gays, lesbians and bisexuals here. I also know, with the satellite feed from Italy and other sources, people like Ivan Mugosa were fascinated by the wedding and watched it.”

“That's a little odd.” Peter said. “To watch something you think is disgusting...it's kind of morbid.”

“But they watched!” Zdravko said happily. “They watched a king, a leader of millions, and a queen marry two men for love. You.” He got excited a little. “Your brother and mother were at that wedding. Queen Alla's and King Olek's words were heard about the fact that they not only approved of the marriage, but thought it was a good thing!” He was shaking his head. “If you just get some here to even consider what they know is wrong might not be that wrong. That's a victory!”

Peter and I nodded.

“That's why all those news stations were there.” Peter grinned.

“The truth is,” I began, “our marriage was not that big a deal...”

“It was a big deal!” Zdravko suddenly stated firmly.

“Why?” Peter asked. “The world has a few royal families in the world. The last big wedding that captured everyone's attention was Prince William and Kate.” He held his hand up. “Harry and Megan was, too. When the king of Spain married or Sweden, there wasn't the coverage we had. What made our wedding so important?”

“It's never been done!” Zdravko blurted. “Not only the king and queen were favor of the marriage, but all of Makarovia were in favor of it!”

I nodded. “Exactly. It has never been done. It was that novelty that drew everyone's attention. It was that unfathomable fascination that made everyone want to see it to believe it.”

“Eric has told me, I am naive.” Peter smiled at me. “The reason I am naive is because I've always seen it and never was told it was wrong.”

“That's what we're trying to do.” I said. “If they see it enough, they won't be so shocked.” I smiled at Zdravko. “We'll get them to see there is more than black and white. The world is full of colors and textures.”

Zdravko smiled. “I can't wait., but it will be a hard, uphill battle.”

Peter shrugged. “And?”

I chuckled looking out the window. “It's really beautiful in Montenegro. I look forward to being shown around by a real Montenegrin.”

Zdravko was proud of Montenegro. He should be. It was his home in spite of how the others here treated him. That was the source of his mixed emotions.

“There are no clubs for us to visit.” Zdravko admitted. “Cruising is done after dark in public parks. Some don't even know who they had sex with. Normally we have parties at someone's private home.”

“Are they using safe sex?” I asked and Zdravko shrugged. “How does a young man or young woman find out about these parties?” I asked. “I know when I realized I was gay, I had access to others to help me.”

“And your Grandmother.” Peter chuckled.

I nodded. “Sure. Grandma knew about gays from her past. She accepted and helped me. And the internet had help to offer, too.”

Zdravko smiled. “Almost everyone knows someone they think is gay and they win their trust.” He shrugged and chuckled. “They all know I am. I get emails all the time from young people that are questioning. I am careful of who I email back. There are some cases that are that are just to blackmail someone. I use a careful screening process, especially for someone under fourteen.”

“Fourteen!?” Peter balked.

Zdravko nodded. “That's the age of consent in Montenegro. At these parties, someone brings a new person who is asking for answers or even a boyfriend.”

I shook my head. “That has to be tough.”

Zdravko chuckled. “It is.”

“The love that dare not speak its name,” I smiled remembering those words.

Peter looked surprised at me. “What?”

“It's from a poem,” I admitted with a sad smile. “That was in 1892. It was used at Oscar Wilde's indecency trial. “ I looked at Peter and Zdravko. “Though he denied it, that was euphemism for Wilde's homosexuality.”

“You never told me that.” Peter said mockingly irritated.

“I'm always speaking Makarovian with you.” I shot back. “I didn't think about it until now.” I moved back a little from Peter. “My Grandmother didn't think about telling me she knew Anderson Cooper! It must be a family trait.”

Peter nodded. “It must be.”

Zdravko was laughing again. “You two get along so well!”

Peter and I nodded. “We're each others' best friend.” I said simply.

Zdravko shook his head. “I would love that! I bet you two are fun.”

“We invite you to find out.” Peter grinned wiggling his eyebrows up and down.

Podgorica was a large city. There were smaller clusters people around Montenegro certainly. Several on the coast. Podgorica was bigger then Skoal or Stryia. However, it was really just that one city. Montenegro was smaller than Makarovia. Another difference was the countries development. Makarovia was isolated and cut off from the world a good part of the year. Montenegro was not. They had traffic. I mean cars as people drove to where they needed to be. There was the “old world” charm that was mixed with the modern world. Multi story buildings for apartments and business were there. Hotels in the city and along the shores. I saw Ramada and Hilton had hotels here. There were the abundance of churches and a few mosques. There were monasteries naturally. I appreciated the age and architecture of them. I liked the scenery.

Another difference were the private homes. These were in small clusters. Spacing was pretty tight.

The people were from many countries around Montenegro. From the South came those who were Islamic, from the North were Christians.

We did make a few stops to admire some sites, but Peter and I didn't let go of each other. Our security was right with us. People were now gathering on the sidewalks to see us. No one dared to bother us.

We were taken to the Lanterna Podgorica. A restaurant. We were told by Zdravko it was the best in Montenegro. He had us try some local dishes. Let's be fair. A different food source really didn't exist. Fish is fish, chicken is chicken and so on. You cook whatever, but how you cooked it could be different. What spices you use and any condiment or sauce you use, that's the difference. Some dishes were from the neighboring countries. We had something called Buzara. It was a Shrimp Scampi from Croatia. This scampi had raisins in it! It had a very unique taste. Savory and sweet. I loved our seafood honeymoon! This dish was very good, but new for me. We also had Skadar Lake Carp. The lake I said Podgorica bordered? Remember? When the waitress came over, glancing at the security we had nearby, she hesitantly asked in Montenegrin something.

“Do you speak English?” Zdravko asked her.

She was still looking at Peter and me. “I can.”

“Prince Pedro and Prince Eric can't speak Montenegrin,” Zdravko said. “There some languages they speak, but not ours.”

Peter reached over taking my hand. He loved me, but this was a challenge to Montenegrins here.

Zdravko ordered the buzara, but recommended the carp. Montenegrin is written using the Cyrillic alphabet, but I couldn't read it. They had enough guests from English speaking countries to have the English translation there. The food was good!

Since it was around noon and we were seen. A woman was rapidly approaching us at our table. She had blonde hair that touched her shoulders and wore a business suit for women in blue. A man followed her with yet another camera. She had a microphone in her hand.

I grinned as Mikell stepped in front of her, blocking her way. Two others joined Mikell and stopped the man with the camera.

“All I want is some answers to some questions.” She said in English to Mikell.

Mikell nodded. “As least have the courtesy to let them finish their meal. I will relay your request to his highness.”

We did slow things down. Yes, it was to punish the press. That was mean.

Finally, we rose from the table and she was coming toward us.

“Can we do this outside?” Peter asked her. “This is a business.”

Once outside in a little park, she asked us her questions. “I'm Inez Burgan with RTCG News. You were married on Saturday. Are spending your honeymoon here?”

I chuckled. “In a country that doesn't like us!? No.”

Peter nodded. “Your country makes these huge steps forward in words and then by action steps back.”

I added. “We were alarmed by the number of accounts of brutality on some of your own people.” I raised Peter's and my hands were joined again. “People like us.”

“We were taught it was wrong.” She said calmly, but her eyes almost twinkled. “It is against nature, but you don't see it that way.”

“I think it's very natural.” I said. “We are social creatures. Our very bodies were designed to have sex. Our brains are wired to have sex. As I said to your Mayor. The Bible tells us it's wrong, but it says other things are wrong that we choose to ignore.”

“There are millions of us in the world!” Peter claimed. “Thousands here in Montenegro.”

“You don't think it's a mental illness?” She challenged.

“It's not.” I shook my head. “Some learned minds, doctors and scientists with a lot of education, removed homosexuality from the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Illnesses in the 1970's that's used by doctors around the world.”

Peter said, “The next time someone says that it is a mental illness, I'd demand I to see their credentials. Let me see the evidence. Who told you and what training they had to say that.”

“What you believe might be in error.” I added. “And who cares what you believe. What do you know? There are parts of the Bible I can not agree with. Homosexuality is one.”

“There is a large percentage of us in Makarovia.” Peter said. “At one time it was almost half of our population.”

I agreed. “Never take someone's word, have them show you where it came from. Then verify that yourself.”

“There are people who believe the world is flat.” Peter chuckled. “We all been shown its round. That tells us that belief its flat is wrong.”

“You're using a portion of your honeymoon time to further your agenda?” She asked.

“There is no agenda. We don't recruit.” I stressed. “We stopped here because this beautiful country is a paradox. Equal rights for everyone? Not for us.” I again used my hands. “You say one thing,” I raised my right hand, “but do the other.” The left hand went up and the right one came down.

“Makarovia is Eastern Orthodox, right?” She asked. “Do you believe in God?”

I smiled and pointed at scenery, the green grass, flowers around us. “Oh, yes.” I shook my head. “How can you look at the world with its complexity and not believe? This took billions of years to get what we often take for granted. We see more and more all the time. This wasn't just chance. Yes, I believe it was formed by something that can't be understood.”
Peter was nodding in agreement. “I've been shown images and had explained to me the complexity of what we know is in space.” Peter smiled. “Just like the complexity of life is here, it's just as complex out there.” Peter pointed toward the sky. “It just causes me to see myself as so small. Hell, I'm not even a speck to what's out there.”

“Eastern Orthodox formed because they didn't agree with how the Catholic Church was forming and went in another direction.” I added and shook my head. “My point is...they didn't agree. We don't agree. You have rights to believe whatever you think is right. Respect others who don't.”

“Just respect others.” Peter said.

She turned from us and spoke to the camera and spoke the country's language. Before she left, she smiled as Peter and me. “I agree with you. What you two did is going to have a rippling affect.”

Zdravko nodded his head. “I hope so.”

We parted with Zdravko as we bordered the Duchess. We exchanged email addresses. We told him we were coming back in twelve or thirteen days and asked if he could, go with us to Makarovia. That plane I knew was going and could fly him home. He would email his answer.

Peter looked at Kotor. He sighed. “Montenegro is more progressive than Makarovia.”

I smiled at him. “Makarovia is isolated much of the year. That will change. Those mountains protected more than Makarovia, but the Makarovians. They were too busy during the warm weather to prepare for Winter. Those mountains protected their innocence.”

Peter grinned. “You see it as a good thing?”

“I do.”