I ask three more people. One smiles and nods at me like he understands, and hope fills my blood like a drug. Turns out he is British but just as much of a tourist as me and doesn’t have service.
Just bloody wonderful!
Another woman refuses to help me. But the final person speaks English and sort of knows the way. His directions are unhelpfully detailed, but I take a shot at it, flying through the alleys and the long, cobbled steps, until finally there’s an opening which leads to the port. I break into a sprint.
The port is in sight!
The port where my ship is!
The very ship that is already sailing back out to sea.
Motherf—!
SevenCruise Location – At seaNext Port – DubrovnikTime of Arrival – 10:00 (GMT+1)
I’m ok. This is fine. What’s the worst that can happen?
I’m simply abandoned in a foreign city with little more than some random stuff in my bag, a dead phone, lip balm and a pair of sunglasses.
Shit.
I run my fingers through my hair as I pace towards the port office. I’m hoping they’ll be able to slingshot me back onto the boat. Or maybe they have one of those human Iron Man suits I could borrow to fly myself back over there. Hell, I’d hang on tight to a drone. I’ve seen crazier things.
I take a deep, controlled breath before stepping into the building. There’s a large man behind the desk, frowning at his computer screen.
“Hi, erm, sorry,” I say, hoping to get his attention. He doesn’t acknowledge me, so I wait like the naughty, abandoned passenger I am. After a good minute or so of me awkwardly pretending this isn’t awkward, he finally looks up.
“Ah, you missed the ship.”
Heat spreads through my face. I swallow. “I did.”
“You are Sara?”
“That’s me… How did you…?”
The man opens a passport to the picture page before handing it over. “The crew left your passport when you did not sign back in. You must go to next port,” he says. “They leave Dubrovnik at four p.m. tomorrow. You must not ignore messages.”
“My phone died,” I explain, trying to defend myself. “I wasn’tignoringmy messages.”
He levels me with a sharp stare. “Do not let that happen.”
“Well, obviously,” I say, rolling my eyes. He shakes his head, the sarcasm clearly lost in translation. “It wasn’t intentional,” I add, for clarification, fiddling with my hands.
He scrunches his face. “You said that was what you did.”
“Yes. But not onpurpose.”
“You charge phone better.”
This is getting painfully patronising. “Yes. Ok.” He nods as if the conversation is over. “Well, can you help me get there?”
“No.”
“No?I’m on my own then?!”
He shrugs. “You buy insurance?”
“Yes but—”
