Nothing symbolises Western society – particularly, its notion of time as a commodity for sale – better than the taxi driver’s meter. As a child, I watched them with a morbid fascination. Seeing the price rise before my eyes with each passing moment was anxiety-inducing, painful almost, but I couldn’t take my eyes away from…
Touch down in Podgorica Airport. The chill of Eastern European air encourages the hairs on my arm to stand in formation. Small pools of sweat slowly form underneath my black polar-fleece turtleneck after lugging my suitcase across the European continent. We’ve flown from Zurich to Podgorica, the capital of Montenegro, and the sleek Swiss charm…