Next stop: Montenegro

Two furgons, two buses, and one taxi later, I was in Kotor, Montenegro.

The “Black Mountain”: Coastal Montenegro

Monte-what? Referred to time and time again as the “Black Mountain,” Montenegro is a tick-tack sized country squeezed smack dab in the middle of the Adriatic bordering states. Just a thumbtack on the map of Europe, but full to the brim with exquisite landscapes, Montenegro leaves you wondering how this tall drink of water is often overlooked when discussing Europe’s Fave Five.

First mentioned in the 9^th century as a Byzantine vassal, the country has spent its entire existence shuffling from one umbrella’d wing to another. But Montenegro managed to remain unsullied goods through times of war and bloodshed, plague, and decimating earthquakes. In 2006 it was granted independence from Serbia, becoming the Republic of Montenegro. But because of this shared dominance between the Balkan states throughout history, Montenegro has grown into the flourishing multi-cultural haven we know and love today.

Mary, the American Doctor I bounced around the Balkans with.

But let’s fast forward to what you’ve all been waiting for; coastal Montenegro. It’s characterized by its rocky beaches and unparalleled sapphire waters, warm and sub-tropical climate, and tiny shore hugging villages. The Bay of Kotor, named one of the world’s most beautiful bays, is agreeably one of the country’s most cherished jewels. As the dwelling place for Montenegro’s most squandered and romantic treasures, the Kotor Bay dazzles the eye and captures the soul of the Montenegrin people. Confused with being a fjord, this naturally submerged river canyon looks as though it was hollowed out with a deep spoon, filled with dripping emerald waters, and then sealed together by a U-shaped wall of shrub covered mountains.

Kept polished and pristine, the Bay of Kotor is home to the picturesque towns of Risan, Persast, and Kotor. UNESCO recognized heritage site, Kotor remains the highlight of any trip to the Bay. Settled in 168 BC by ancient Romans, it was ultimately chosen due to its advantageous military position along the coast in protecting the Montenegrin people from pirates and other invaders.

Built into the face of the treacherous cliffs that surround the city is St.John’s fortress. Having seen many a day, the strong hold is a compilation of Kotor’s history, but its Byzantine influence is undeniable. The city walls that surrounds the Old Town were built in the 14^th century by the Republic of Venice and much of Kotor’s architecture depicts a Venetian influence.

Within the city walls is the St.Tryphon Cathedral, rebuilt in 1124, which harbours a unique collection of important relics and artefacts that tell the all too enticing story of the city’s history. But let’s not shy away from Kotor’s involvement in the arts. Playing host to various Montenegrin festivals and celebrations each year, Kotor’s managed to captivate artists from around Europe and give fuel to the fire by providing continuous inspiration.

Although the city of Kotor has experienced an influx of tourists, it has yet to be purged of its elegant and somewhat smouldering charm. Sophisticated bars and cafes string along the criss-crossing paths of the city’s Old Town and dip into the coastline that runs outside the city’s walls. Past the souvenir vendors and gelati windows lies the glistening calm water of the Bay that for some reason or another you won’t be able to take your eyes off of.

Crna Gora, monte nero, the Black Mountain, Mali i Zi, Montenegro; known in a thousand different tongues and dialects, but remembered just the same, this golden nugget of a country with its illustriously narrow coastal strip paralleled by dark dramatic mountain peaks is sure to stir the curiosity and passion of even the most bashful of crowds.

Near Misses: Leaving Albania #1

One of the hardest things to get used to while in Albania was the transportation system; or I should say lack there of. While most countries choose the organized route with bus timetables and working bus stops, Albania's managed to take a much more rocky approach to the whole getting its people around and has scraped the whole timetable and bus stop idea. Instead, the country's replaced the Western World's idea of civilized travelling with beaten up white mini vans that may or may not make you feel like you're being kidnapped, gathering places for the vans that seems to change on a daily basis, and of course there's the issue of the unpaved roads. But what is traveling if you don't come home a little shaken up? So here's my story of the two day excursion to Montenegro.

The sun was already creeping its way onto my aching back when I managed to climb over the last of the crumbling steps. Ahead of me lay a last look at the beautiful town of Berat; an Ottoman city tiered into the mountainshide, white houses with brown roofs stacked neatly ontop of each other. I crossed the suspention bridge one last time before turning right down the main street to where the furgons were to meet that day. Greeted excitedly by one furgon owner I was told that the next bus was due to leave. So I lugged my pack into the back of the van, squeezed behind the seats, and plopped myself next to the only open window that allowed for a small breeze. When my bottom made contact with the seat, the cushions sank in and the entire seat bobbed on its spring. I ducked down between my legs for a closer look at the seat and found line after line of duct tape holding the seat to the rest of the van.

Slowly the furgon began to fill up with local Albanians and in no time the driver turned the key, awakening the gurgling, chugging, grinding monster under the hood. We were off to a rough start. As we left the city limits of Berat our poor little engine that could, couldn't. The engine huffed as the driver forced the pedal into the floor, swerving into oncoming traffic as to pass slower vehicles, parked cars, and bikers. Once we hit the "highway" I began to question whether or not the hot wheels tires that kept this beast rolling would hold out as the road ahead seemed unfinished. I guess in this case unfinished is a bit of an understatement; chunks of the highway had been ripped out or unfinished and as such, the driver became a game of cat and mouse with oncoming traffic.

By this point my stomach had already begun twisting and knotting itself thanks to my bobble head seat that sent me flying at every swerve, and the smell of sickly sweat was so dense I took to pressing my cheek against the only open window to breathe in another other than BO. Just as I began to drift asleep, a pinging noise shook me awake. SMACK, PING, SMACK. It had begun to hail and chucks of ice the size of golf balls were hitting the rusty white van at all angles. The rain added to the storm; the poor little van was taking quite a beating. Being the only foreigner on the bus, I was the only one in panic. The van was pelted left right and centre, pot holes the size of Texas were strewn throughout the highway, and to top it all off the front window was fogging up and the driver took to sticking his head out the window in the rain to keep us from drifting off course. Looking around at the other passengers I noticed a dark haired man in a worn suit picking at his nails, an elderly woman riffling through her purse, and a couple jabbering on about God knows what. No one seemed nearly as bothered as I was.

The rain conitnued for nearly an hour until we broke through the mountain pass and were nearly in Tirane, the capital of Albania. The land outside the city was shockingly the opposite of the Berat I had fallen in love with. Half raised concrete buildings littered the flat bare lands, heaps of garbage ran alongside the highway, and community watering holes ran clean water into the ditch all day long. For the first time in this country, I felt a sense of guilt. I was no longer seeing the beautiful oasis of Berat's back country or hiking through its historical mountains. What I was seeing now was what a photographer would turn his back on. But something about the people walking along the road put me at ease. They weren't starving and they weren't begging at the van's window. They were simply living. This was life; without highrise apartment suites, 5-star restaurants, and shopping malls. And for some reason or another, I was okay with it.