If you’re only going to go to one place in the Balkans, go to Montenegro. It’s just damned lovely. It’s also the place I had the hardest time convincing Americans was an actual country. When I told friends and family I was going to Montenegro, the most common response was “Have fun in Bosnia!”
No, it’s not a city in Bosnia, it’s a cou- “Watch out for the war!”
Consistently and without flaw, my phone always autocorrected “Montenegro” to “Nintendo.”
Annoying as this all was, I could kind of understand it because when I was younger and much-less-traveled, I used to joke that all the dialogue in old black and white movies was just pasty white guys saying things like “That was the last monkey in Montenegro!” And now here I was, the last monkey in Montenegro.
Anyway, Montenegro means “Black Mountain” and if you think your country has a cooler name than that, you are mistaken.
Flying into the capital city of Podgorica, I was immediately shunted into the “Ahhh American what are you doing here??” covid line, where I had to explain that I had not been in America in five months, at which point they were so confused they let me go.
After discovering that the train station was shut down due to covid, I had a taxi driver drop me off at my weird hidden hotel, which may or may not have sprung up overnight, since the driver had lived in this town his entire life and yet had never heard of the hotel and it was kind of behind everything. I’m 100% certain the staff of the hotel was only there because I had booked a room, likely the first person in months to do so.
There’s not a ton to see in Podgorica (“little hill,” that’s cute)...
But I was just there to catch a bus the next morning to Budva, an ancient town on the “Budva Riviera” along the Adriatic sea.
Stepping off the bus into Budva in the morning light...
...I was taken aback by the animals suddenly everywhere.
That rabbit’s eating a cactus! So cool!
Oh hey, an albino peacock! This bus station is amazing.
Budva greeted me with surprisingly good vegan food served to me by a sweet Montenegrin grandmother as I wandered through the little town.
I crossed the idyllic waterfront on my way toward the ancient Old Town, admiring the bizarre quarter rides lined up for the kids.
The Old Town was a charming medieval maze of narrow alleyways festooned with little shops, most of them attempting to sell me pizza.
It was too early to check into my apartment, so I wandered over and sat on the little wall dividing the town from the Adriatic sea beyond.
Wow. This is beautiful.
A classical guitarist set his case on the ground and began playing just for me, instrumental versions of old Beatles songs echoing gorgeously through the empty stone walkways of Budva.
I spent a long time taking in the sea and contemplating the beautiful little plants growing out of the stone wall I was sitting on, my feet dangling over the water. The sun shone down as the waves lapped gently against the stony shore. The weather was absolutely perfect. I can’t believe it’s November.
Dreamily taking in the sea, I suddenly remembered that it was election day back in the US. Huh, weird. I had voted by mail from Wales several weeks before and then promptly forgot that the United States existed. It felt strange to imagine how tense and crazy it must be back there in that same moment, as I sat here a world away, basking in the quiet November sun of Montenegro. I hope that’s all going okay for everyone.
Many, many acoustic guitar songs later I checked into the little apartment I was renting, which took a while because the owners seemed mostly annoyed that I had rented it, requiring them to find the keys and turn on the electricity. I could tell Budva was usually a tourist hotspot but it was clear I was the first tourist to show up in quite a while.
The apartment came with a bizarre kit for decorating bicycle bells, plus a lighter and a tube of krazy glue.
I wasn’t sure what I was supposed to MacGyver out of all of this, but I hoped there wasn’t a bomb timer ticking away somewhere in the apartment.
I was staying right in the thick of things, and it was a short walk to the town’s picturesque church.
What are you supposed to see in this town? The Budva Fortress? Let’s check it out.
Inside there was a small library with a bust of some surprised-looking dude in it.
A sign advertised a museum of old ships, which turned out to be a pitch black closet with three model ships in it.
There was a fantastic view of all of Budva from the top of the Fortress however, so my three euros were not wasted. Hundreds of birds swirled among the rooftops.
OK so this is clearly more of a wander around and chill kind of town, at least during covid times. I can dig it. I made my way along the beach and found a walkway that hugged the rocky cliffs.
The walk took you by a statue of a nude dancer out in the water, the medieval city framed picturesquely behind her.
I took a nap on the little beach at the end of the trail, and then propped my laptop on my lap and got a little work done as the sun warmed the pebbles rolling in the surf. I remembered some past version of myself sitting in an office every day for years on end, and this seemed very strange to me. Don’t tell anyone, but the trackpad on my work laptop still crunches when you click it, from the sand that somehow got inside while I was chilling on the Budva Riviera.
That night I wandered among the yachts of Budva’s mini-Monaco along the port.
The next morning, thoroughly refreshed, it was time for me to head to Montenegro’s other tourist Mecca, the also-medieval town of Kotor. I wandered through Budva’s residential neighborhoods on my way to the bus station, admiring their wood.
My rabbit friends were waiting by the bus station to give me a kiss goodbye.
Kotor could be mistaken for Budva if you weren’t paying close attention, but of course it did have its own unique charms. After a walk downhill from the bus station to the Old City, a dozen stealthy cats followed me through the massive city walls.
Kotor’s pretty old buildings benefited from a quilted sky of clouds behind them and a complete lack of other tourists. Movie posters in the shop windows advertised Brendan Fraser in “Sasava Druzina” (Looney Tunes: Back in Action) and Mark Wahlberg in “Pretnja” (Pretend Ninja wait no I mean Threat. Wait, what the fuck movie is... oh The Happening). I will point out gently here that neither of those movies came out in the last ten years.
I will also point out that the apartment I rented in Kotor was both inexpensive and absolutely the nicest place I have ever stated in my entire life. This made no sense at all and was surely some kind of “no one has come to this town in six months” covid quirk, but I wished I could have stayed much longer just to enjoy being Montenegro rich.
The main thing to do in Kotor is to hike up to St John Fortress (oh you men and your fortresses!) to take in the view of the fjord below. An inhuman number of stairs leading to an uncertain destination? Sign me up!
The hike began innocently enough, climbing up above the rooftops and offering occasional arrow-shooting windows to shoot pictures of the town through.
Pretty cypress trees lined the path. Ah, this is nice.
Hey! More stairs!
Wooh, getting up here now.
The stairs just kept going up but the sun was on its own program. It went down instead.
Things began to get sketchy, as the stairs were getting crumbly and the retaining wall holding back the yawning abyss was there until it wasn’t. Hmmmm. Maybe this isn’t a great- Nah, I made it this far, I’ve got to see what the sunset looks like from up top.
I turned and peered into an ominously dark cave. Did… did something just move in there? Do they have bears in Montenegro? I balled up my fist around my apartment keys. God I hope I don’t have to fight a bear.
Oh hey, more stairs!
I wobbled up these treacherously steep steps, trying not to come away with a handful of snakes every time I had to grab the wall to keep from falling down the stairs.
Whew. More coming up ahead!
Suddenly there was a sign warning me that the trail was dangerous up ahead. Oh NOW it’s gonna be dangerous?? What was that back there?
♫Causeway to the increased risk zoooooone!♫
Eventually I reached the top of the trail, which ended abruptly at an open door. It was pitch, pitch black inside- Did I just see something move in there? A… an arm? Probably witches. I’m not going in there.
Instead I turned and took in the glorious sunset happening all around me.
Sweet! I made my way back down the mountain in the twilight, as the lights of the town came on below me.
Thus began an entirely fruitless search for a Kotor restaurant that 1) Was open and 2) Served anything even remotely vegan, but I can’t complain because it led me to this cat store.
The long traipse through town ended at the grocery store, where I was finally able to replace my old hobo.
Thanks Montenegro. You were lovely and full of cats and rabbits, and I will tell all my friends you fully live up to your tourism slogan, Montenegro: Now You're Playing With Power!