The night before I left Dubrovnik the eastern coast of the Adriatic was being pummeled by a powerful thunderstorm, and several hours before my bus was scheduled to leave another had slid off the road and down a short cliff, killing three and seriously wounding 18. Because of the accident, and because of the relentless storm, I was quite apprehensive at taking the bus to Kotor in Montenegro. Apparently so were many others, as the giant bus had just three other passengers aboard. But in reality this was a blessing in disguise, and allowed us to cruise through customs in a matter of seconds. In just a two hours time I had arrived in the tiny town of Kotor, which is situated at the head of Kotor Bay, the largest fjord in southern and eastern Europe. Kotor is very similar to Dubrovnik in the respect that its old town is surrounded by high stone walls, but immediately upon approaching I could see that Kotor was much more real, more authentic than its northern brother. In addition, it was much more beautiful. Puddling my way through the flooded squares I came upon old churches, bell towers, and clocks that had much more character to them than any place inside the famed walls of Dubrovnik. And outside the walls rivers and pools boiled with rainwater and snow melt, lending it a moat-like atmosphere.
The following day I took a short bus trip to another similar town, Budva, on the coast. Again a beautiful walled old town greeted my arrival. I was shocked, but glad, to learn that Dubrovnik is no pearl, no unique city, but for this stretch of coast is the norm. And compared to Kotor, Budva, and Sveti Stefan, it is terribly original. After exploring the alleys of Budva's city with a friend of mine, we rented a car in order to drive through and explore Montenegro's famous, but little traveled (especially by Americans, a good thing in some eyes) geography. In a short time, still in sight of Budva, we came upon Sveti Stefan, perhaps the most amazing and unique community to ever have been built. This very small island, just a stone's throw from the beach, is connected to the mainland by a thin white stone bridge. For hundreds of years this fishing community was untouched by the outside world, its locals content with nothing more than a pole, a boat, and two oars. But they could only resist for so long, and now the community is one big hotel, and during the summer one can rent a beautiful small villa for a paltry 200 euros a night. Eager to see more, we hopped back into our little Daewoo (yes, Daewoo. Gimme a break it's Europe) and drove further south to the port city of Bar. Bar is nothing more than a typical port town, covered in a thin film of oil, and so we spent almost no time in its center, but headed up the hills to Stari Bar (Old Bar) in order to see the thousand year old ruins of one of Montenegro's oldest communities. The first thing I noticed, rather surprisingly, was the abundance of mosques. The fall of the Turks in the 19th century and the previous Yugoslav war led to the destruction of hundreds of mosques in the area. But not here. Upon entering the crumbling gate one comes upon what was once a small walkway, lined by trees filled with singing birds and fruit, and further on an ancient square, with a fantastic view of the modern city and the sea below. In my earlier travels in Greece and Italy I had seen countless ruins, some well known and others not, but none had enchanted and captivated me as much as this hillside city above Bar.
Well into our afternoon, and a bit incredulous at the fact that we had already seen much of Montenegro's mountainous coast in a matter of hours, we headed inland for it's capital, Podgorica. Approaching the mountains that cut off mainland Montenegro from its coast, we entered a tunnel that stretched for miles, shooting its way straight through the rugged mountain range as it if were made of butter. Waiting for us on the other side was no less a grand sight, a giant lake filled with reeds and pelicans, and above the opposite shore yet another mountain range, this one even more kingly, topped with crowns of snow. And then we reached Podgorica.
Montenegro's capital, while bustling and appealing with modernity, was by far the ugliest part we had witnessed so far, so again we sped through and headed for the mountains that stood watch over Kotor. By sunset we had reached the top, and at this point I became aware that I have a very real fear of heights. Our beds were waiting for us in Kotor, and we could see the city slowly illuminate itself with the growing dark. Problem was, the city we were looking at was immediately below us, some five thousand feet at least (I'm not kidding) and in front of us stretched the Bay of Kotor. We could trace the outline of the fjord with our eyes as it zig-zagged its way out to sea, as if it were nothing more than a puzzle piece at our mercy. But the mercy was not ours, but the hills, as we blindingly switched back and forth on our cold, one way road bordered by nothing but small stones marking where the road ended and the plunge began.
The car rental had been by far the best experience I have had during my six weeks in Europe, and it amazed me as to why such a beautiful place was not filled with tourists every day of the year. But there it was again, that shadow of fear and doubt that was evident in Sarajevo and Mostar, but only a spirit here. The war. Many people have heard of Montenegro, but shuddered at the thought of going. In fact, the place has only become more of a household name after the new James Bond film, Casino Royale, which is based here (but never filmed here, regrettably). But still the area is associated with both conflict (it shares a border with Kosovo) and it's former union with Serbia. But it appears that Montenegro's obscurity is rapidly decreasing. On the bus ride from Dubrovnik I spoke with a local from Tivat, a town near Kotor, about the recent vote that had taken place in Montenegro, the vote for independence. "I think it is good", he said, "many people, Russian, German, English, now buy property. It brings us money to build schools and hospitals. All of this happened after the vote." Many travel agents agree, as they claimed that growth in the tourist industry has jumped by more than 25 percent since the vote for independence. Despite the obvious benefits, the vote passed by only a narrow margin, nearly one percent. After conversations with many other locals it is clear that fond memories of Tito and Communism still exist, and many are apprehensive about the indecisiveness that can result from a burgeoning democracy. "You need a strong person to make strong decisions. Countries, democracies, can not spring up on their own. Not anymore. Tito was good for us." While political debate may be somewhat prominent here, the beauty of it is that there is debate. So while Montenegro may be in a transitional phase, it is clearly headed for bright horizons, and in order to beat the inflated prices and loss of culture that accompanies any influx of tourists, I would strongly suggest to anyone, everyone, that they cancel their plans, any plans, and find a little time for the true pearl of the Adriatic, Montenegro.
Rediscovering my high that had been missing since Sarajevo has been intoxicating, and as soon as I had arrived in coastal Montenegro I left it, but only to discover more of this fascinating country. I am now in a tiny ski village where no one speaks English and where I am once again victim to a dial-up connection. But I love it. Never have I felt so immersed in a country as now, though it wasn't easy. Last night I took the only bus from Podgorica to the town I am now in, Zabljak (pronounced Jabyak, with a soft J). But the bus itself was more of a minivan, and because of its nimble size our driver felt as if doing 90 mph on a one way, ice covered road, with the occasional oncoming traffic, was as perfectly normal and acceptable as peeing standing up. But these risks are worth it. After all, a part of travel, and being a traveller (not a tourist) is taking risks. And once you take risks, even if it is only a bus ride, its one more step towards
discovery and self-creation. And without these risks I would not be able to look forward to tomorrow, which I will spend enjoying a foot of new snow on a pair of skis in this small Montenegran community, even if i do have to hike 6 km to get there.
The following day I took a short bus trip to another similar town, Budva, on the coast. Again a beautiful walled old town greeted my arrival. I was shocked, but glad, to learn that Dubrovnik is no pearl, no unique city, but for this stretch of coast is the norm. And compared to Kotor, Budva, and Sveti Stefan, it is terribly original. After exploring the alleys of Budva's city with a friend of mine, we rented a car in order to drive through and explore Montenegro's famous, but little traveled (especially by Americans, a good thing in some eyes) geography. In a short time, still in sight of Budva, we came upon Sveti Stefan, perhaps the most amazing and unique community to ever have been built. This very small island, just a stone's throw from the beach, is connected to the mainland by a thin white stone bridge. For hundreds of years this fishing community was untouched by the outside world, its locals content with nothing more than a pole, a boat, and two oars. But they could only resist for so long, and now the community is one big hotel, and during the summer one can rent a beautiful small villa for a paltry 200 euros a night. Eager to see more, we hopped back into our little Daewoo (yes, Daewoo. Gimme a break it's Europe) and drove further south to the port city of Bar. Bar is nothing more than a typical port town, covered in a thin film of oil, and so we spent almost no time in its center, but headed up the hills to Stari Bar (Old Bar) in order to see the thousand year old ruins of one of Montenegro's oldest communities. The first thing I noticed, rather surprisingly, was the abundance of mosques. The fall of the Turks in the 19th century and the previous Yugoslav war led to the destruction of hundreds of mosques in the area. But not here. Upon entering the crumbling gate one comes upon what was once a small walkway, lined by trees filled with singing birds and fruit, and further on an ancient square, with a fantastic view of the modern city and the sea below. In my earlier travels in Greece and Italy I had seen countless ruins, some well known and others not, but none had enchanted and captivated me as much as this hillside city above Bar.
Well into our afternoon, and a bit incredulous at the fact that we had already seen much of Montenegro's mountainous coast in a matter of hours, we headed inland for it's capital, Podgorica. Approaching the mountains that cut off mainland Montenegro from its coast, we entered a tunnel that stretched for miles, shooting its way straight through the rugged mountain range as it if were made of butter. Waiting for us on the other side was no less a grand sight, a giant lake filled with reeds and pelicans, and above the opposite shore yet another mountain range, this one even more kingly, topped with crowns of snow. And then we reached Podgorica.
Montenegro's capital, while bustling and appealing with modernity, was by far the ugliest part we had witnessed so far, so again we sped through and headed for the mountains that stood watch over Kotor. By sunset we had reached the top, and at this point I became aware that I have a very real fear of heights. Our beds were waiting for us in Kotor, and we could see the city slowly illuminate itself with the growing dark. Problem was, the city we were looking at was immediately below us, some five thousand feet at least (I'm not kidding) and in front of us stretched the Bay of Kotor. We could trace the outline of the fjord with our eyes as it zig-zagged its way out to sea, as if it were nothing more than a puzzle piece at our mercy. But the mercy was not ours, but the hills, as we blindingly switched back and forth on our cold, one way road bordered by nothing but small stones marking where the road ended and the plunge began.
The car rental had been by far the best experience I have had during my six weeks in Europe, and it amazed me as to why such a beautiful place was not filled with tourists every day of the year. But there it was again, that shadow of fear and doubt that was evident in Sarajevo and Mostar, but only a spirit here. The war. Many people have heard of Montenegro, but shuddered at the thought of going. In fact, the place has only become more of a household name after the new James Bond film, Casino Royale, which is based here (but never filmed here, regrettably). But still the area is associated with both conflict (it shares a border with Kosovo) and it's former union with Serbia. But it appears that Montenegro's obscurity is rapidly decreasing. On the bus ride from Dubrovnik I spoke with a local from Tivat, a town near Kotor, about the recent vote that had taken place in Montenegro, the vote for independence. "I think it is good", he said, "many people, Russian, German, English, now buy property. It brings us money to build schools and hospitals. All of this happened after the vote." Many travel agents agree, as they claimed that growth in the tourist industry has jumped by more than 25 percent since the vote for independence. Despite the obvious benefits, the vote passed by only a narrow margin, nearly one percent. After conversations with many other locals it is clear that fond memories of Tito and Communism still exist, and many are apprehensive about the indecisiveness that can result from a burgeoning democracy. "You need a strong person to make strong decisions. Countries, democracies, can not spring up on their own. Not anymore. Tito was good for us." While political debate may be somewhat prominent here, the beauty of it is that there is debate. So while Montenegro may be in a transitional phase, it is clearly headed for bright horizons, and in order to beat the inflated prices and loss of culture that accompanies any influx of tourists, I would strongly suggest to anyone, everyone, that they cancel their plans, any plans, and find a little time for the true pearl of the Adriatic, Montenegro.
Rediscovering my high that had been missing since Sarajevo has been intoxicating, and as soon as I had arrived in coastal Montenegro I left it, but only to discover more of this fascinating country. I am now in a tiny ski village where no one speaks English and where I am once again victim to a dial-up connection. But I love it. Never have I felt so immersed in a country as now, though it wasn't easy. Last night I took the only bus from Podgorica to the town I am now in, Zabljak (pronounced Jabyak, with a soft J). But the bus itself was more of a minivan, and because of its nimble size our driver felt as if doing 90 mph on a one way, ice covered road, with the occasional oncoming traffic, was as perfectly normal and acceptable as peeing standing up. But these risks are worth it. After all, a part of travel, and being a traveller (not a tourist) is taking risks. And once you take risks, even if it is only a bus ride, its one more step towards
discovery and self-creation. And without these risks I would not be able to look forward to tomorrow, which I will spend enjoying a foot of new snow on a pair of skis in this small Montenegran community, even if i do have to hike 6 km to get there.
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