When you roll toward the mouth of the Bay of Kotor at a certain time of day, you begin to feel that this long, fiord-like bay may not have an end. Jagged mountains, massifs of the Dinaric Alps, gird both shores, rising at a vertiginously sharp angle. The water is blue and dark and deep.
Countless villages clip by on both the port and starboard sides of our boat, little clusters of medieval stone clinging to the flanks. There are Dalmatian towns, crowned by Venetian towers and domed churches, and a forbidding-looking fortress here and there.
Now, I鈥檓 no flat-earther. But you do get the sense that around the next corner, your turn could, quite possibly, drop you right off the edge of the world.
This 28-kilometre-long bay has that historical patina unique to places shaped by the trade winds. It is filled with fishing boats and pleasure craft and tour vessels like ours.
Our skipper, Marko Borozan, makes a few stops. The first is at the postcard-perfect Our Lady of the Rocks, a man-made islet dating back to the 15th century and largely occupied by a Catholic church. Its equally photogenic neighbour is St. George, a natural islet with a Benedictine monastery. Next, we take a little sortie into a couple of imposing tunnels once used by the former Yugoslavia to hide military submarines.
St. George, one of the photogenic islets in the Bay of Kotor, near the town of Perast.
Secret Travel Guide/UnsplashAnd then, in a wholly unexpected event, we actually reach the end of the bay. Our stoic captain points out the main points of interest, before we all don bathing suits for a little swim in a cave. 鈥淭his line is the border between Croatia and Montenegro,鈥 Borozan says. 鈥淎nd if you head to the south, you鈥檒l find the Adriatic and Italy.鈥
is one of those little countries where worlds collide. Most recently, it was one of the republics that made up the former Yugoslavia. It鈥檚 about the size of the U.S. state of Connecticut and gained independence from Serbia, peacefully by referendum, in 2006.
Kotor is the country鈥檚 shining star. A perfect combination of land and sea, outdoorsy and indoorsy, the town has long been a bit overlooked, being a little off the beaten track (outside the E.U.). But those seeking more than sun on their beach holidays are now coming in numbers, especially as next-door Croatia becomes more crowded, and, with their move to the euro, more expensive.
Montenegro鈥檚 port town is also idyllic for late summer or fall travel. The warmth remains for a long time in this corner of Southern Europe, but any crowds clear quickly as the season cools.
A town of under 15,000 people, anchoring a region recognized as a UNESCO World Heritage site, Kotor has a history that spans many empires and civilizations. Illyrians and Romans, Byzantines and Bulgarians. Just walking the cobblestones of its Old Town or up on top of the fortification walls, you can feel it.
The Old Town of Kotor is part of a聽region recognized as a UNESCO World Heritage site.
Givaga/iStockIt鈥檚 full of that unique character you get along global fault lines, when east meets west. You can sense it while popping into churches, both Orthodox and Catholic. Listening to a smattering of Balkan languages being spoken on the street. Choosing from al fresco restaurants, Turkish or Southern Italian or Syrian or Moroccan. And enjoying Montenegrin barbecue just outside the city walls (the queue can be lengthy at Tanjga, but the wait is worth it).
My favourite stop in town, however, is also its quirkiest attraction: a cat museum. You see, I have a policy about cat museums. If one exists 鈥 well, then I must absolutely go. Let me be clear: I鈥檓 more of a dog person. But I鈥檝e never been disappointed with the strange and wonderful things (and people) you find within the walls of a museum dedicated wholly to the feline persuasion.
碍辞迟辞谤鈥檚 is no exception. The owner, a Venetian named Piero Pazzi, happens to be on site when I visit. He introduces me to his resident feline, Lola, and walks me through some of the finer points of his collection. He鈥檚 amassed enough to fill out a second, much more sizable cat museum in Budapest.
He guides me past oil paintings featuring felines. Coins, and German chocolate moulds, all cats. Stamps, too. His inspiration? His mother had a large collection, and he wanted to honour it by displaying her wares. Part of the price of admission goes toward feeding the numerous street cats, which have become darlings of social media, and part of the town鈥檚 identity. Associated with good luck and protection, cats have been roaming Kotor (historically called 鈥淐attaro鈥) for centuries.
One of 碍辞迟辞谤鈥檚 cats. The town is famous for its many free-roaming felines, which are associated with good luck.
Natalia Silyanov/iStockOn my last night in Kotor, I set out to experience another long-standing tradition: the wine culture. I climb high into the hills to visit Storia di Pietra, a winery almost 700 metres up the side of steep mountains. The many switchbacks, with no guardrails, are perhaps as terrifying as they are enlivening.
At the winery, owner Stefan Kascelan explains that the salty sea winds and mountain stone and cool evenings produce the perfect Vranac, or 鈥渂lack stallion,鈥 an indigenous red grape. His family has cultivated these lands for generations, originally commissioned by the King of Montenegro to defend these borderlands.
He remembers squishing grapes with bare feet and gathering with family at the cellar for music and fun. That spirit still infuses their wines. 鈥淵ou can feel the hands of the owners in each bottle,鈥 he says. 鈥淥f that, you can be sure.鈥
As the sun sets, and the water below us warms from blue to vibrant amber, I sip one more black stallion. No, this place isn鈥檛 the end of the world, not quite. Still, I can鈥檛 help but feel there鈥檚 a bit of fantasy mixed with the reality in tiny, beautiful Montenegro.
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