We’d just settled down to lunch halfway up a hill in Montenegro when we were joined by a lycra-clad cyclist. He introduced himself as Tiho “that means ‘the quiet’ in Montenegran” before loudly proclaiming “I am the best artist in the world!”.
Whilst he donned more clothing for the cold descent back to his town of Cetinje he handed us a book of his work that he just so happened to be carrying around with him.
It soon became apparent what Tiho’s inspiration was. The Breast.
We flicked through pages of single breasts, pairs of breasts, flying breasts, breasts disguised as droplets… There were a few bums thrown in for good measure, but it was pretty clear that Tiho was definitely a breast man.
(If any of you have been wondering how to fill that blank wall-space, or are simply curious, we’re sure all your breast-art needs will be satisfied at www.tiho.me )

As Haz dodged our landlord’s kisses and embraces later that evening in Kotor, it did cross our mind’s that all Montenegran men were perverts.

After a wander round the picturesque old walled town of Kotor, which was still fun despite being swamped by tourists and so lacking in atmosphere we felt like we were on a film set, we headed up the Dalmatian coast to another much-hyped old town, Dubrovnik. There we rested a day (mostly watching Beverly Hills 90210 in our apartment) before deciding we’d had enough of the tourists, the 5GBP an hour internet and the flat coast and headed inland to Bosnia.