Montenegro was the first trip after being grounded by the pandemic. I joined a walking group and while I liked the country, I didn’t love it. Some of the walking was spectacular as we went into the dark mountains that in some places tumble into the Adriatic. But culturally it was bit flat. A lot of effort has been made to attract sun-loving tourists who like coastal resorts. It’s one of those places where the beaches are described as ‘stunning’ but really no more stunning than anywhere else with beaches – including some parts of the UK. The food was generally awful and a lot of the ‘friendliest people in Europe’ looked annoyed about our presence.
The primary objective to going was to walk in the interior. I very much enjoyed this part although I wasn’t nearly as fit as everyone else in my group. I erroneously believed that time spent ambling the South Downs (max altitude 271m) was good enough preparation for hiking mountains (average altitude over 2000m). It wasn’t.
I landed in Dubrovnik and took a bus down to Budva. Thanks to brexit, my passport now had to be stamped in and out of Croatia, and into Montenegro, and the same when I went back. I ended up with six stamps in my passport for a short European break.
The coastline consists of bays and inlets and promontories which meant a meandering journey to get somewhere that probably wasn’t geographically that far. At one point we went over a bay on a ferry and I got a great view of the black, forested mountains that give the country its Venetian name.
Budva is one of the oldest Adriatic settlements occupied by the usual suspects: the Greeks, the Romans, the Byzantines, even the Saracens at one point. The walled old town is charming and ‘The Venetians Were Here’ was evident by the occasional lion symbol.
I was hoping for a little pensione style hotel inside the walls, so I was disappointed to find we were staying in a vast, vulgar hotel complex with over 1200 rooms and zero character, and irritatingly too far for a quick escape to the town centre.
There’s nothing worse for me than being stuck in a tourist resort. Everyone seems so competitive, even slightly rapacious in their pursuit of getting to the pool, the beach, the restaurant. I realise I am as much a tourist as anyone else, but at least I take an interest in where I’m going, and try and do some research first. Fortunately it was only one night and the experience was mitigated by a reasonably good, if a little meat-heavy meal in a tiny pavement restaurant in the old town. Back at the hotel, against the odds, I slept well.
Montenegrins have a reputation for laziness. I’m not sure if that’s true but they definitely don’t believe in early starts which I found frustrating as someone who likes taking photographs in the quiet emptiness of the morning. Eventually we set off to the country’s interior.
On the way we stopped to look at the Sveti Stafan peninsula. Even from far away it’s an impressive spot on a tiny peninsula with lots of red-roofed buildings on it. The politics of the area has meant ownership disputes between developers and government and so it now sits in the water like a white elephant.
At Lake Skadar we had to take a boat to our lunch restaurant which was very pleasant, at one point gliding through leafy tunnels full of kingfishers and egrets and even a bittern. It was 3.30 by the time we stopped for lunch and we were starving. I had river carp which was pleasant enough, if a little difficult to eat.
A short walk afterwards uphill to Zabljak Crnojevica, a hill-top fort which was once a capital of one of the dynasties and had 300 houses. It was very impressive, and had views worth walking up the hill For the first time since I had landed there was total silence.
Our hotel in Virparzar looked a bit of a shambles with lots of different buildings scattered around but actually my room was really quite nice (in hindsight the best of the trip) with good views and a clean bathroom. Dinner was in a strange pirate-style galleon that had been converted to a restaurant. The wind picked up and I knew it was going to rain and sure enough it suddenly poured down which meant we had to cut the meal short. I remember nothing about what I ate other than a broth-like soup which was delicious – I drank mine straight from the bowl.
Early the next morning I had a quiet walk following what looked like an ancient pathway of some kind. I was looking forward to a good breakfast but people coming out warned me it wasn’t good. I usually am unfussy about food when I travel, and get bored of people who complain all the time about local food but the complaints about this breakfast were entirely justified. It was all off: the fried eggs stunk, the bacon was just a blob of grease and whatever cooking oil was being used was rancid. I grabbed a dry bread roll for sustenance and left the rest. How does this happen? I suspect they are trying to give tourists what they think they want to eat and doing it badly. What do the Montenegrins eat for breakfast? Why can’t we have that?
We went to Podgorica (pronounced Pod-go-reezah) station which was tiny considering this is the capital city but quite pretty in its own way. I quite liked the communist-style architecture. The Belgrade train was an old one with old-fashioned compartments and luggage racks. I managed to secure myself a window seat facing forwards as a poor lady was turfed out by the guard for having the wrong ticket (I felt sorry for her as she was so adamant she was right). I think I was the only one with any interest in this train journey and I sat like a child pointing things out through the window to an indifferent audience.
We were very high up overlooking the Moraca Gorge and there were lots of bridges and tunnels. At one point we crossed by an old iron bridge, the Mala Rijeka viaduct, apparently the highest in Europe. We got off at Kolasin, a well-known Montenegrin ski centre, and headed up to the summer pasture farms known as ‘katun’ where we had a very hearty lunch of beef stew with carrots and potatoes – just like my Grandma used to make.
And so the hiking began. Our walking guide was Serbian and resembled Novak Djokovic – narrow eyes, athletic, arrogant. I knew, and he knew, I was taking too long to walk up the hills, and I could sense his impatience. I disliked him intensely by the end of the walking days, but I loved the rest of the little group. One lady, Audrey, in her seventies, was fitter than the rest of us and was always the first to arrive anywhere.
We then set off on a long hike through the Biogradska Gora NP to Katun Goles where we were staying. The hike took us up a very steep slope and I was the last to get to the top obviously. We descended through a field of shaggy parasols to Katun Goles which was very prettily situated in a dell with little huts, gingham curtains and cows with bells.
The accommodation was incredibly basic – five of us together in a barn with no window and one single light bulb in the vast cavernous interior. We had food in the main cabin with a lovely old stove – it gets very cold at night here. I thought the food was spectacular: very tender lamb, risotto and some home-made cows milk cheese. The woman who runs this place does most of it on her own including making the cheese. We had to leave early as she had another party coming in and, as we couldn’t really do anything in our ‘barn’, we went to bed. I didn’t sleep that well thanks to some kind of gnawing bug. But outside the air was clean, it was peaceful and the starry skies were breathtaking. This was the highlight of the week for me – I was well-fed and at peace.
The next day it was time to walk down into the valley. Most of the walks on this trip were up steep mountains, and I watched the others in the party sprint past me like they were mountain goats and then sit at the top and wait for me. But that day was the only time I triumphed. We were walking down a very steep, muddy mountainside through forest. Walking poles were useless and most of the group tumbled over at various points. My tactic was to grab onto the trees as we descended and Andrey (obviously) and I were the only one who didn’t fall. It gave me great joy to watch Djokovic slide passed me on his backside.
Two hours later we made it down to the bottom to Lake Biograd and our bus. We had a lovely drive through the Sinjajevina highlands before coming to the Tara canyon in the Durmitor NP, and the famous Durdevica bridge that crosses it. After lunch we walked across it. It had been blown up during the second world war to stop the fascists using it. It’s a spectacular canyon and it felt a bit of a shame that we were only passing through the tourist bits.
Afterwards we had a long, but scenic, drive to a flat area that was a kind of graveyard, the Bara Zugica, with its medieval ‘stecci’ or standing stones some of which were very beautifully decorated with a mixture of pagan and Christian symbols. Our guide told us they were Roman. He’s useless. I found it quite an atmospheric spot and there was nobody else around.
Eventually we arrived at Ethno Village Nevidio near Poscenje village in the Durmitor NP. where we are staying for a couple of nights. There were a series of alpine style cottages and we had to share them. My room was very nice but if I needed the toilet in the night I had to walk through someone else’s bedroom. Dinner was good and I had some Croatian rose. Slept well although I did wake up in the night. I had the best view of the stars from my bedroom window.
The next day was to be our most challenging walk of the week and, although I knew it would be beautiful, I opted to stay at the hotel with two Texans I had befriended. We walked along the river to the Nevidio Canyon which is the longest and deepest in Europe. We could only go as far as the entrance, you need wetsuits, helmets and presumably someone who knows what they’re doing to lead you. I stuck my foot in the water though and it was icy cold.
I spent the afternoon reading but had a late walk to a small church in Poscenje. Inside it had a beautiful rood screen and some of the icon paintings. outside in the graveyard were some more medieval stecci some of which are built into the walls of the church. There is history here if you know what you’re looking for.
The next day we went to Cetinje, a lovely city situated on a karst plain and a former royal capital of the country. I wandered around quite easily, for some reason there seems to be no traffic here. The day was spoilt for me by not feeling great (the food?) and an argument with Novak. I skipped the afternoon plan and took a taxi down into Kotor. My driver knew very little English but kept saying ‘Queen’. When I got to the hotel and switched on the news I found out that the Queen had died.
Much to my relief, the hotel was situated in the old medieval part of the town but I could see dark clouds approaching. I spent two days in this sweet little town and it rained incessantly, water from broken gutter pipes cascaded down the steps of the hotel. I tried and failed to find a guide book that would tell me more about the the place so I wandered in and out of gloomy churches, and drank strong coffee that I don’t like in an attempt to avoid drawing attention to myself by asking for tea. By the end I was feeling something I have never really felt while travelling – homesick. Time to go.
My experience of Montenegro was below average by my standards. I love my history and culture but there was not enough of it on the itinerary I was doing. I also love my food but this had been largely disappointing. I was not fit enough for hiking the black mountains and I had not chosen wisely. But it was good to go to a new place in order to try fresh things and find out more about what you do and don’t like. From that perspective, it had been a worthwhile trip.