Kotor, Montenegro

Kotor, Montenegro

I am an absolute sucker for briefly crossing borders into nearby countries when I have a small window of opportunity to ‘tick off’ another state. I think it’s the thrill and the novelty of being in a new place, often with a new language and other distinctions that make it marginally (or sometimes significantly) different from its neighbours. In this way, I have visited Monaco, Liechtenstein, San Marino, Mexico and Sweden. In the case of the latter two, I do plan on returning to see them more thoroughly in the future, but wasn’t able to at the time. In 2009, I tried unsuccessfully to persuade my parents to drive across the Croatian border near Plitvice to the Bosnian town of Bihać for the same purposes. Today was to be another of those occasions.

I am not sure how I first came across Kotor, but when I saw pictures, I knew I had to go there. It is similar to Dubrovnik in the sense that it is a historic walled city belonging to a powerful and important maritime city-state, albeit where Dubrovnik was the capital of Ragusa, Kotor (Cattaro in Italian) was part of Venice. Beyond that, they are quite distinct. Dubrovnik’s walled city protrudes into the sea and is has a reasonably structured layout completely encircled by high walls. Kotor is a triangle with walls on two sides and is hemmed in by the base of an enormous mountain on the inland side. Its streets are a maze, each twist and turn leaving one shaking one’s head at being ejected from the narrow alleys into a completely different square to the one expected. It was designed this way deliberately, to confuse would-be invaders, but it seems to have backfired and apparently even locals struggle to negotiate the old city. Furthermore, unlike Dubrovnik, Kotor is set back from the coast and is situated within a deep inlet, the eponymous Bay of Kotor. It is sometimes even considered Europe’s most southerly fjord, which is technically a misnomer but for literary purposes, it does quite a good job of describing its remarkable location.

Mountains border the Bay of Kotor on all sides

Small villages dot the boundary between land and sea

The road into Kotor, between the bus station and the walled city

I woke up at 0600 and slipped out of the guest house – Andrew wasn’t joining me today – and headed down to Dubrovnik’s bus station. I left at 0700 and an hour later crossed into Montenegro, following a road that was obscured from the sea by a ridge to the right and traced a small river down to the entrance of the bay. This was all part of the disputed, formerly Bosnian, territory of Sutorina. Kotor was now just 15 miles away as the crow flies, but it took another hour to trace the shoreline of the bulbous bay, a beautiful but slow-going route from the town of Herceg Novi through a series of villages. All along this road were advertisements for holiday resorts and casinos, and it seemed Montenegro has a healthy gambling industry, possibly explaining why it was used in lieu of northern France as the setting for the pivotal scenes in Casino Royale, released in 2006, the year of the country’s independence from Serbia.

The bus stopped in Kotor at 0900 and I decided to take advantage of the bus station’s facilities before heading off. Having had only sublime views of the country’s rocky mountains and Kotor’s lovely bay, my initial impression once off the bus was much less welcome. The lavatory in the bus station had no light, seat, flush or lock, and cost 50 euro cents to enter. I beat a sensible retreat and headed for the old city.

The outer walls of the city's historic core are partially surrounded by a moat

Kotor's narrow streets close to the stairs leading to the fortifications

The view of the town and its bay from the bottom of the fortifications is already spectacular

The stairs close to the base of the fortifications

In places, the stairs give way to a stony path

The views changed constantly throughout the ascent

The most notable attraction of Kotor is its system of fortifications, which rise sharply and dramatically above the clusters of roofs in the town. As this was the major sight and as the sun can easily heat the exposed walls to over 30˚C later in the day, I decided to do this first. At 0930 it was comfortably warm at sea level, and would be scorching in a few hours’ time. Keeping the mountain on my right, I soon found the entrance to the city’s walls. Ascending the base of the steps, I saw a sign ahead stating that I had to pay €2 for access. The adjacent room, obviously a ticket office, turned out not to be a ticket office and the man inside, who apparently had nothing to do with the fortress, pointed me in the direction of a group of men sitting huddled over a plastic table in the square, smoking, drinking coffee and playing cards. Seeing me in my shorts and sunglasses and looking at him expectantly, one of the men’s tourist radar activated and he approached, and returned merrily to his game once I had handed him his coin. I later discovered on my way down that the whole system of walls can be accessed for free by following a discreet trail from the northern edge of the old town up the lower slopes of the mountain, and then in through a wide opening at the top, from where it is possible to see all the views coming down instead of climbing up.

Kotor’s old walls are reminiscent of The Lord of the Rings in a couple of ways. For one thing, although they are considerably starker and less developed than depicted in the 2003 film, the concept of an extended defensive structure towering upwards over its centre is rather like the city of Minas Tirith. Secondly, the long and stepped stone path upwards is akin to the Stairs of Cirith Ungol, the secret passage that the deceitful Gollum leads protagonists Frodo and Sam up towards the end of their journey into Mordor. In places, the pathways widened, narrowed again, widened to allow a church or other stone structure to sit in a small flat terrace, and then became another steep flight disappearing upwards. 100 metres up, the Church of Our Lady of Remedy (Crkva Gospe od Zdravlja), built in 1518, sits perched atop the remains of Montenegro’s oldest building.

The Church of Our Lady of Remedy (Crkva Gospe od Zdravlja) commands a fantastic view of the bay

Stone steps wind back and forth across the mountainside

The ever-diminishing walled city is visibly triangular when seen from above

Nearing the summit, with the Fortress of St John a short distance above

I had noticed a large vessel anchored in the bay, and it appeared that a significant number of my fellow visitors to the fortifications had come ashore from the cruise ship. I presume their itinerary included various stops in Croatia, and perhaps also Italy and Greece, and at each port, they were guided to the shore and given pointers towards the most important sights to see. Those climbing the walls were mostly Americans, although I also heard some Italians, and it is quite possible that those were just the most vocal of the tourist nationalities. I admired the group’s sense of optimism, but as I made my way ever higher, there was a tiered effect, with the lowest paths littered with the panting forms of the most unfit and infirm, gradually thinning to make way for more athletic people and those who knew what they were in for. There were in fact plenty of people decades older than me who had made it to the top, but I observed that they were typically wearing walking boots or using hiking poles, unlike those in sandals who had given up partway.

The high point of the fortification system is the Fortress of St John, just shy of 300 metres above Kotor itself. From here, the views were wonderful, with the houses that line the bay tiny specks, and even the massive cruise ship dwarfed by the huge peaks on every side of the water. Aside from the modernity of some of the buildings in the city, and the ship, the view couldn’t have changed significantly in hundreds of years, during which time these walls had changed hands from the Byzantines to the Venetians, the Ottomans, the Italians, the French, and the Austrians, before being part of Yugoslavia either side of occupation by Nazi Germany. Most of these transfers were by treaties, but the fortress has been successfully besieged and breached too. Its biggest threat, though, is nature itself. Various earthquakes have afflicted the region, most recently in 1979 when many of Montenegro’s most culturally important sites were badly damaged. Kotor is one of two UNESCO World Heritage Sites in the country, and was initially placed on the list of endangered sites during efforts to repair its fortifications.

Several ruined buildings are found at the summit of the fortifications

Traces of the abandoned village of Špiljari are seen at the base of a zigzagging pathway up the mountain behind the fortress

The fortification walls climb this rocky outcrop at a sharp angle

Peering over the edge reveals a sinuous pathway leading up, and the walled city far below

It took me around fifty minutes to make the climb from the base to the Fortress of St John, and after catching my breath and sufficiently admiring the marvellous views, I started to descend. It was now getting uncomfortably warm to be out in the sun, and I was glad to be heading towards the shady streets below. As I went, I poked my nose into a few offshoots of the main route that I hadn’t seen on my way up, usually just old stone buildings or small ledges with viewpoints to the mountains or the bay. One of these, however, had a window that was easily wide enough for a person to fit through, and it led to a rough trail over scrubby ground towards a little church tucked behind the outcrop on which the highest levels of the fortifications sit. Behind, I could see a further trail zigzagging upwards in an endless series of switchbacks, offering potentially even greater views than before. I here abandoned my plans to return to sea level in favour of exploring, although this would mean another hour of hard, relentless climbing by the looks of it.

A nearby middle-aged American couple from the cruise ship were also entertaining the idea. The woman wasn’t so sure, and declared that she would sit by the window and wait for her husband. He took a long swig of the can of lager in his hand, adding further to his prominent beer belly, adjusted his John Deere baseball cap, and boldly announced that he would conquer the mountain. Edmund Hillary set off close behind me, but soon lagged significantly, and I lost sight of him for good five minutes into my hike. Since the round trip up and back took me two hours, I estimate that he would have taken three or four, although I sincerely doubt he made it more than another hundred metres up. I have visions of his loyal wife still sitting patiently by the window of the fortress like the vigilant widow of an old mariner lost at sea, anticipating his eventual return.

The Fortress of St John seen from below

The abandoned church of Špiljari

The church's interior must once have been elegantly decorated

Wedged between the fortifications and the mountain was a quaint little stone church, nothing inside but flecks of old paint and what may once have been a tiny altar. The mountain was home to a village called Špiljari, now abandoned and destroyed, and this church may once have been central to a small and relatively isolated community living up here. Pushing on, I no longer had the luxury of stone walls and the shadows they cast, and was out on the sunbaked flanks of the mountain, mustering all my energy for a punishing slog. Each hairpin bend became my goal, and I lost count of the number of times I traversed the slope as I toiled inexorably upwards. I was dripping with sweat now, and trying to ration the contents of my water bottle to ensure I had enough to last me back down to the town far below. I kept my eyes peeled for snakes, as I had no intention of being bitten, but the only life I saw was in the shape of a few hardy goats, who happily scrambled up and down clusters of boulders as I meandered back and forth around their vertiginous playgrounds.

The path up the mountain was a rugged and slightly overgrown stony trail

Water is precious on these slopes, especially in the 30˚C temperatures

Goats are perfectly at home on these slopes

The switchbacks cut neatly and evenly across the mountainside

It was utterly exhausting, but so worth it. At the top, I batted away the microscopic flies that decided my perspiring brow was a succulent meal for them, and caught my breath in a small grove of trees on the plateau. Much higher mountains still rose all around me, and my route continued on towards a lofty pass, eventually to emerge in the national park of Lovćen. These mountains were inspiring, and in cooler weather, probably in April or October, would be incredible for hiking and camping. The Bosnian mountains had similarly caught my attention but the danger of landmines is an obvious deterrent. Today, though, I had no time to push on even further upwards, nor did I have much food or water left, never having intended to reach this far up. Besides, I had achieved the goal I had set for myself when looking out from the fortifications.

Seen from over 600 metres up, Kotor was a minute wedge of brown and orange, and the bay contained only white dots where before were sizeable boats. The mountains that cut Kotor off from the more westerly arm of the bay were now low enough that I could see higher peaks beyond. I could see the sea, which is impossible further down because the bay is completely encircled by mountains. Some distance out, there was some sort of mirage effect, a low green-grey haze appearing to be another piece of land beyond the shores of Montenegro. However, unlike Croatia, Montenegro has no large islands and the nearest land in that direction was the heel of Italy’s boot, 120 miles across the Adriatic, definitely much too far away to be visible from here.

Kotor's newer developments sit at the southern edge of the bay, and the sea and further peninsulas are visible beyond

The view from the mountain was well worth the arduous grind to get up there

There was a near-vertical drop close to the summit

A happy hiker! 

I sat in absolute peace at this false summit of the much higher peak behind me and took in this majestic scene, a spectacle of nature, complemented by the manmade fortifications, an impressive decoration on one rocky pinnacle but paling into insignificance by the scale of the giant natural fortifications around it. I had been utterly alone on the way up, and went on to pass only one or two fellow hikers on the descent. Everyone else was in the fortress system.

Noticing an alternate path down, and enjoying following my instincts, I continued down by this route rather than re-entering the fortifications at the window. In this way, I discovered that I could have seen everything so far without having paid the €2. It’s a lesson for the next visit. I emerged at the bottom of a further series of switchbacks beside the small Scurda river, and after rounding a corner, I crossed a low bridge and entered through the city’s northern gate.

Part of the way down, the angle at which the fortifications' walls rise is clearly visible

The little river Scurda melds with the moat at the base of the old city walls; the fortifications can be seen rising up the mountain behind

As mentioned already, Kotor’s old town is a labyrinth. It isn’t hugely extensive so I was able to cover almost all its narrow streets, and saw a few neat churches. One of these was adorned with the flag of the Serbian Orthodox Church, indicating that I had crossed a divide along the short journey from Catholic Croatia this morning. This was not as lavishly painted as Orthodox churches tend to be, but had an ornate iconostasis – a screen separating the holiest part of the church, where the altar is and which only priests may access, from the nave – decorated with the images of saints. There is, however, also a Catholic church in Kotor, the Cathedral of St Tryphon (Katedrala Svetog Tripuna), which is commemorating its 850^th anniversary this year.

The Serbian Orthodox Church of St Nicholas (Crkva Svetog Nikole)

St Nicholas' interior

Kotor's old town is full of small squares; on this one is the Church of St Luke (Crkva Svetog Luke)

Another small square in Kotor's old town

Narrow lanes lead to dead ends filled with rustic dwellings

The Cathedral of St Tryphon (Katedrala Svetog Tripuna), celebrating its 850th anniversary

Luxury yachts look much bigger from here than from the mountain

The Montenegrin mountains dwarf the city and its harbour

Local children enjoy leaping from this jetty into the bay, in the shadow of the mountains

After a thorough exploration of the old town’s streets, I made the short journey back to the bus station and on the way back to Dubrovnik, dozed off in the soporific sun. Andrew sent a message explaining that he had found a better beach than yesterday’s, so I headed off to meet him. This one, Lapad, was in a wide cove between twin headlands of a peninsula extending from the west of the city. I immediately took a dip in the mild waters, which left me feeling thoroughly cleansed after sweating so much during my sweltering walk up the mountain in Montenegro. When I had come out, Andrew told me a little of his day. Our host had had to evict us from our room in the morning because we needed an extra night and she didn’t have space. Instead, she had arranged for us to take a room in a friend’s house a few minutes down the road, and he had then whiled away a few hours relaxing in their company before heading to the beach.

Sveti Vlaho (St Blaise), 'the first battleship of the Croatian Navy Task Force Dubrovnik, the symbol of resistance during the aggression of Serbia and Montenegro on our town'; this is a reference to the eight-month siege of Dubrovnik in 1991-1992, in which this vessel was sunk whilst serving as a blockade runner

Neither of us wanting to walk further than necessary, we chose to eat at the family-run restaurant overlooking the beach, which seemed like a good idea until the wrong orders were delivered. This would have been forgivable but we were almost the only people eating there, apart from a Portuguese woman and her Australian fiancé at the adjacent table, so the excuse of being overworked could not be used. Neither could our meal have been described as anything better than ‘generic’; it wasn’t the worst meal I’ve ever eaten but it wasn’t commendable. Following this disappointing end to our stay in Dubrovnik, Andrew led the way to our new overnight lodgings. As we walked, we commented upon the city’s extremely large feline population. Far more than anywhere else I can remember, Dubrovnik’s neighbourhoods are bursting with cats, and on every street we saw cats meowing, licking themselves contentedly, resting upon stone ledges, or softly prowling through the night. In contrast, the house we were bound for owned a dog (named Titus), a powerful beast of a hound who stood sentinel on the outdoor patio. Andrew explained that he had a track record of attacking intruders, but had no ability to discriminate between burglars and legitimate visitors to the house. Thankfully, he had met Andrew earlier in the day and allowed us in, though he was clearly sceptical of our right to be there. Inside, we went over the plan for the morning – a bus back north to Split, sightseeing there, and then the overnight ferry to Ancona in Italy – and then I fell sound asleep.

Dubrovnik's swansong was this blaze of fire across the summer sky as the sun set