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Surviving Montenegro with the help of the Serbians - Serbia
by Charlie Inglefield | Date >
2006-01-02 | Country : Serbia | City : Petrovac
| Area : Montenegro |
Montenegro is opening up rapidly with its’ own identity after years of turbulence and war. On the travelling grapevine no longer is Croatia the only jewel to be found in this corner of the Balkans. Montenegro’s dramatic terrain and rugged coastline once described by Lord Byron as ‘the most beautiful encounter between the land and the sea’ is luring travellers as easily as it deterred invaders.
I struck out to the famed string of sandy beaches stretching from the Croatian frontier to the Albanian border. I was interested by the prospect of turning down Montenegro’s fun in the sun Riveria resorts of Budva and Bar, I first favoured a few days at Petrovac, a quiet fishing village neatly tucked away between its more hedonistic neighbours further down the coastal road.
On the first evening I settled back with a glass of Vranac, the highly agreeable red wine of these parts allowing myself to soak up the panoramic setting unfolding in front of me. The Hotel Danica’s balcony provided me with the idyllic sun-setting view of the harbour and the 16th century fortress Kastel Lavsta. Petrovac is a traditional fishing village dating back to the 8th century and still surrounded by olive trees and pine forests despite the increasing presence of tour operators and hotels.
Ivana, the friendly assistant manager of Danica recommended a scenic walk on the hills behind Petrovac to get my bearings. The route began behind the hotel and snaked its way through the pine forest onto a dusty track. There, at the top and in all its shimmering glory, was a stunning view of the Adriatic Sea. My leisurely stroll was blighted somewhat on having to negotiate a pitch black passage through the darkest of tunnels before finally catching a tiny speck of light which eventually acted as a very welcome guide through to the exit.
The tunnel had been hastily built to cater for the army of trucks delivering machinery and construction materials to the Hotel ‘As’ which loomed impressively out of the cliff face as I emerged from the tunnel. Shame they didn’t leave a token emergency light on their way out as I looked down at my rapidly swelling big toe.
The building is now a mass of twisted metal, broken glass and decay of what was once a place of splendour. Ivana later told me it was owned by the Russian Mafia, who ploughed huge amounts of rubbles into the complex with the intention of making it the premier hotel of the Montenegrin Riveria and then made a quick exit due to money shortages and the infamous KGB on their tales. However there is an excellent pebble beach to be found at the end of the pathway, mercifully away from the hordes of Serbian tourists packed onto the popular Lucice beach in Petrovac.
I spent many an idle hour basking in the Mediterranean sun, wondering why people would want to fight for a grain of sand in the more fashionable Budva resort down the road.
My last evening Ivana and her friends invited me to experience with them Petrovac’s colourful nightlife. I walked down to the harbour with a mixture of 80’s ballads and Bob Marley reggae blasting out along the sea front; it was sure to be an entertaining night. Through Ivana’s excellent English I was introduced to her friends including Bzgi, who sold donuts on the beach. Alexsander when not serving up pancakes was honing up on his karate skills, Natasha and Millica (Ivana’s younger sister) who were there on holiday.
As the evening wore on I gained an insight into Serbian life at the time of the Yugoslav war. Ivana and Millica’s family live on the borders of Serbia and Bulgaria, her eldest brother was arrested and executed as a Serbian infiltrator in Croatia and the general opinion I got from the group was life was better under Slobodan Milosevic, the Serbian leader during the civil war than it is now. I was to hear that trade sanctions had been enforced to a degree which makes daily life a struggle and any thoughts on applying for visas to work and travel overseas were extremely difficult to obtain.
After riding the gauntlet of being serenaded by Celine Dion and Michael Bolton look-alikes in a number of bars over the course of the night we ended up in Kastel nightclub, the hot spot of town and housed in the glamorous surroundings of the fortress. The Serbian hospitality and generosity was overwhelming as we toasted (‘Ziveli’ meaning ‘cheers’ in Serbian) Rock bands, general independence and Mateja Kezman (the ex Chelsea football player and cult hero status in these parts) many times over and there was still the dancing to follow.
Feeling somewhat the worse for wear I made my way back to the hotel pausing for a moment to look behind me and the sunrise serenely making its effortless move over the harbour. Petrovac was now pleasantly quiet with only the fishing boats bobbing gently up and down offering a murmur. The fortress was now restored to its accustomed role as protector of town. For the next few hours at least, it would no longer be home to the Spice Girls and alike.
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