Unique Property Blog: Montenegro

Montenegro: Part 2

I turn back, and take a bumpy narrow road up the mountains towards the interior. There is a large field full of big yellow pumpkins, and a rusty metal bear.

I drive up and up towards Ostros. I am almost in a different country. The roads are tiny, so are the fields. There are squat trees and hedges covered in old man's beard. I could be driving thru English countryside, maybe on the borders. And then, over a hedge is an orchard of blood red pomegranites.

I go thru small hamlets. Women, thick and solid in bundles of long dresses of various colours, with white headscarves stand chatting by the roadside. A saddle of white cloud sits astride the moutain ridge ahead of me. The view back down across the coastal area is magnificent.

And then I turn thru a gap in the ridge and start the long decline to the shores of Lake Shkoder. I stop and take in the view. A sharp wind is blowing the cloud all around me like thin headscarves escaping over the rocks. An old advertising hoarding rattles noisily in the wind.

Rocks have fallen down across the road, some quite large, and I have to drive round them. A group of donkeys is waiting for the bus, sheltering from the sharp chill of the wind. The temperature has dropped drastically as I have climbed up the mountain.

There is a cafe behind me. One or two buildings are scattered down the mountain-side, and a couple of villages can be seen right down at the bottom. A few sheep are grazing on the verges, the odd cow is grazing in someone's back garden. Another garden is full of witches to scare the birds away.

A van drives up, and pulls in to park on the corner. Out comes a tressle table, and there is a mobile shop. Another car comes up the hill. I noticed in Ulcinj that about one car in ten had no number plate. Up here in the wilds it is the other way round, maybe one in ten has, but the rest dont bother. Another van pulls up, and out get the schoolkids, back home for lunch.

Somewhere over the other side of these mountains is the capital city of Podgorica. If I keep on driving. I guess I'll get there somehow.

The road is appalling. There are holes and dents in it. It is narrow, and when a truck comes towards me we both hover on the edge, me worrying about the boulders ahead which seem to stick out just a little more than I would have liked. We twist around, and I am beginning to wonder whether I should have made this detour, which takes me up the side of a hill, and then round thru a deserted forest. For miles I see nothing but twisted trees, and sudden outcrops of grass and rock. We are going up and down, and round and round. Suddenly a couple of houses apear. Then a couple more, and on the side of a hill I can see a small white village. Fifteen minutes later I wonder where it went.

At last I drive into Niksic. The roads are wide. There is a large square filled with what looks like a fair. On a hill is a large church. Beyond that is another large square with only half the street lights working. I wander round the fairground, then walk up to the church where a service is in progress. There are odd pews around the walls. The central nave is clear. Here and there stand the congregation. Each person stands in his own little area. There are about twenty of us. They are the cantors and the choir, who, between them, entone the office. To start with we cant see them. The service is one long incantation. There is much rushing off to one side where people disappear behind a curtain. The rest of us stand anywhere, or maybe in front of their lucky fairy, or icon. Then the screen is opened and we can see the cantors. The priest comes out and juggles his incense at all of us. He goes from worshipper to worshipper, shaking this smoking jug at each of us in turn. Then he swings it back and forth and the scented smoke carries the good vibrations to all of us. Then he disappears behind the screen. The chanting continues with much genuflexion. After twenty minutes I think I have seen enough and decide to leave this secretive and desperate magic and re-enter the dull but real world.

I drive back down to Podgorica. It is a pleasant town. I stop in the market to look at the produce. There are clothes, tools, the usual piles of interesting things mixed with rubbish, but there is a stall stacked out with buckets of cheese.