Marvelling at Montenegro

Sue: The name has a wild, romantic, almost lawless ring to it. Montenegro, a foothold of land in the south-west corner of the Balkans: proud, fierce and, these days, independent. Legend has it that, when God made the world, he had a bag of boulders left over and tipped them into this little area by the Adriatic. Hence its name – the land of the black mountain.

Hugh: Montenegro’s last stab at existing on its own, 130 years ago, was celebrated by Tennyson: ‘O smallest among peoples! Rough rock-throne/Of Freedom!’ But, by the First World War, it had been absorbed back into the Balkan territorial porridge, squabbled over, fought for and generally governed in the interests of somebody else. Then, three years ago, Montenegro voted for independence from Serbia. Now, it has its sights set on becoming one of the smallest nations in the EU.

Sue: There’s nothing lawless about the place we’re staying in. The Villa Milocer was built in the 1930s, as the summer residence of the king of Yugoslavia. But nationalist rebels assassinated him in Marseilles before he was able to enjoy it. It then became Marshall Tito’s hideaway. An elderly waiter serving there today remembers sneaking the old dictator an extra glass of whisky (Chivas Regal) when his doctor wasn’t looking. Now, it’s been restored by Amanresorts, which is also developing the nearby island of Sveti Stefan. In Tito’s day, this place drew the rich and famous – including Marilyn Monroe, Kirk Douglas and Sophia Loren – but war and neglect drove it into decline.
The villa itself is a two-storey stone lodge set in an elegant park overlooking the sea. It whispers perfection. It has the sort of taste that’s almost no taste at all – limestone floors, heavy wooden doors, minimal but beautiful furnishings, cared for by staff who don’t arrive, but materialise instinctively like the mysterious retinue of a marvellous palace. A French chef turns Balkan ingredients into a cuisine to remember. If this is Montenegro, I want to be a part of it. But we can’t just lounge sybaritically by a private beach – well, we can, but we shouldn’t – so we decide to explore.

Hugh: Some 600,000 people inhabit this land of mountains, forests and lakes, which is fringed by a coastline that has one of the natural wonders of Europe – the Bay of Kotor. On a gloriously clear day, we drive round this great fjord. A grey curtain of mountains is drawn across the head of the valley, a protecting wall for the ancient towns that stand between it and the water at their feet.
Two of these towns – Perast and Kotor – have extraordinary histories. The smaller one, Perast, guards the channel at the neck of the fjord. In the 16th century, its people built a fleet as strong as any in these parts and defended themselves against mighty enemies from Venice and Turkey. The miniature city they built is a bit faded now, but its strength can still be felt in the gently crumbling fabric, around which its modern citizens lounge in the late-summer sun. Kotor is altogether grander. Defended by strong walls, it’s better preserved, with a mixture of architectural styles. In a small square of newer buildings, a tiny 12th-century Serbian Orthodox church looks for all the world like a child’s toy left behind in the smartest room in the house.

Sue: Another trip leads us to Lake Skadar, a vast expanse of water that would take us, eventually, to the Albanian border that runs across it. We settle for a gentle cruise round its marshy fringes, where flocks of water birds rise skywards at our arrival. And everywhere there are the mountains – glaring at us as if we were intruders. For lunch, we sit on the vine-covered veranda of a local hotel, local herbs scenting the midday air, and eat lake-fish soup and a Montenegrin plate of cured ham, fish, cheese, tomatoes and olives accompanied by a glass or two of light local white wine – no less splendid than the refinements we left behind at the seaside.
But the seaside of Montenegro is in danger: its beauty is a magnet for investors anxious to profit from the resurrection of this neglected part of the Adriatic coast. The old fishing port of Budva is already a garish pleasure ground, where hotels and apartment blocks of little architectural merit obscure the beauty of its historic past. Some are only half-finished, starved children of the recession, their gaping masonry pleading like hungry mouths for further investment. Everyone wants the new Montenegro to prosper, but at what price? It needs thoughtful planning if its rare and natural attractions are not to be bulldozed away.

Hugh: It’s time to head north across the border into Croatia, to Dubrovnik, a place that’s finally opened its gates to the invaders. The walled city on the Adriatic that withstood the power of Venice, the might of the Ottoman Empire and, within living memory, the aggression of Serbia, has succumbed. It’s unable to resist the world’s modern armada – the cruise ships. Hardly a summer’s day passes but some bulky liner moors outside its ancient walls, disgorging passengers by the thousand to tramp through its narrow streets. Dubrovnik is a touristic spider’s web: a thing of beauty, wonderfully made, suffocating under the prey it’s attracted to its heart. We shouldn’t complain. We’re all tourists now. This is a place of astonishing delights. Its appeal lies in its scale. Squeezed within walls just over a mile round is a maze of small streets, terraces and squares either side of a main street that links the two city gates. You can walk from one to the other in less than 10 minutes. But take longer, and absorb the hundreds of years of history through which the street passes.

Sue: Am I naturally mean, or is parsimony the necessary luggage of the beleaguered Brit abroad? Dubrovnik is unquestionably beautiful – but undeniably expensive. A glass of Croatian plonk costs more than a decent glass of claret at home, often served with a matter-of-factness that makes its price tag even more difficult to take. And, please, could someone turn the music down? There isn’t a bar or restaurant that operates without loud background noise. Grumbles apart, the Pucic Palace, our hotel – the only one in Dubrovnik’s old town – is a treat. It’s a nobleman’s house that’s been restored after its roof collapsed during the siege of 1991/2. You step from its front door straight out into the narrow street. Heritage is always more enjoyable if it’s only a short walk away.

Hugh: No shortage of heritage in Dubrovnik. Every street has something worth seeing: palaces, churches, ramparts. The two monasteries – Franciscan at one gate, Dominican at the other – are islands of elegant seclusion in a busy city. To appreciate Dubrovnik, stand at one end of the main street as night falls. The limestone of the buildings shimmers in the lamplight and the smooth pavement between them glows like marble.

Sue: We return to London replete. We’ve hardly touched the extraordinary delights of the Balkans, and already we feel full. This is a part of Europe on whose pleasures we must feast some more.

Travel information: a five-night trip with Original Travel (020 7978 7333, originaltravel.co.uk) costs from £1,370 pp with return flights to Dubrovnik, car hire, two nights in the Pucic Palace and three at Villa Milocer.