Badges? We Don’t Need No Stinking Badges.

Montenegro and Peja, Kosovo 

The struggle to leave Sarajevo was real. The Google not only suggested that we go down a street that didn’t exist, it also insisted that we go back that way (the wrong way on one-way streets) once we had decided to remain on the roads rather than drive through a building. So we had to continue on one-way streets in the wrong direction for about a mile before we could finally turn around and head in the correct direction. But we made it out eventually. The problem is that four would-be navigators each had their phone out giving our one poor driver, Michelle, four different sets of directions in an attempt to help. This does not help. We are, as a group, working on quelling our instincts and trusting the one appointed navigator in the passenger seat. It is a work in progress. Thank you Quincy, for not adding a fifth voice to the chaos and for staying above the fray… 

Leaving Sarajevo, you can see how quickly you hit the mountains.

But Sarajevo was eventually in the rear-view mirror and the Bosnian mountain roads brought new adventures. Curves. Lots of curves. Some sheep. Some cows. Plenty of haystacks. Never would I have guessed that haystacks would bring Carol such joy. But we seemingly have to point out every one to her as we go, as, God forbid, she might miss one. “Ooh, look at the size of that one!” The drive was mostly hairpin turns. We averaged less than 30km/hr for over four hours. In Croatia, they just build tunnels so that you can actually get from here to there. But not in Bosnia, nor in Montenegro, which was our next stop. We flew through the border crossing and continued to seemingly make no progress. It poured rain for most of the day, but we didn’t much care as we were warm and dry in the car. We weren’t going to go any faster even if the roads were drier. So let it rain. 

A very rare straight portion of the road to Montenegro

Told you the road is curvy.

One why-not-stop was a middle-of-nowhere coffee shop in the rain where we drank the local coffee and got into conversation with a random local guy who talked our ears off for a good twenty minutes about local politics and such. It was incredible. He had an evil belly laugh that cracked us all up. When we finally told him that we simply had to move on, and we got back in the car, we all wondered aloud “what had just happened?” Who the hell was that guy? And wasn’t that awesome? Yes, yes it was. Awesome indeed. We learned more about Montenegro in those twenty minutes than we did the rest of our stay in the country. Though, full disclosure, that did only mean two days. We will, however, be back in Montenegro again, when we drive back up the coast to complete our loop of the peninsula. 

The next short stop along the way was the Durdevica Bridge that spans the Tara River, over 170 meters above it. At 365 meters in length, this bridge was no joke. We got out and walked back over it to take a bunch of pictures. We watched the zip-liners with envy and/or disbelief depending on who you asked in the van. For me personally, it was envy. We marveled at the view. Then we hopped back aboard Luka and continued on our way.

Can't see the bottom of the bridge, but you can see how long it is.

Nice views from that bridge. Carol had to wear my hat to keep her hair out of her face for the photo.

Not much farther on, we finally reached our destination, a cute little ski-town named Zabljak. The Z is pronounced “zh” which is like the sound the “si” makes in the middle of the word “vision”. The “j” always has the “y” vowel sound before the "y" consonant sound, when in the Balkans, not much different than “ee”, but with a “y” consonant sound at the end of it. So “ZHAB-lee-yok” is about the best our western tongues can muster. Everything in Montenegro is written in Cyrillic. The only words we know are “hvala” (thank you) and “pivo” (beer). We learned those back in Croatia. And they haven’t changed from country to country, and language to language. At least not until we hit Kosovo. But I am getting ahead of myself. Other than those two words, we pantomime and smile. But the locals are quite friendly, mostly. They don’t expect foreigners to know their language. Why would someone from California know Montenegrin? They are patient and kind and forthcoming. Well, not that one parking attendant (FOOL! FOOL!) but pretty much everyone else. Our landlord in the rental house was super friendly, once he got past being shy about greeting us. He was an older gentleman with great intentions and very little English. He shook our hands vigorously and earnestly at every encounter, and there were many such occasions. Loved that guy! When we were departing, he wanted to make sure that our route out of town was a good one, concerned that we might get stuck in road construction or something. An over-the-top sweet gesture.

Here's what much of Zabljak looked like.

But wait, you say. Enough about the friendly guy, tell us more about the parking dude! If you insist. On our one full day in Zabljak, we went to Durmitor National Park, which is what you do when in Zabljak in the summertime. The most popular part of the park is a double alpine lake, separated only by a mini-isthmus, one-meter-or-so wide, called Black Lake(s). A gorgeous three hour hike around the lake(s) was preceded by a need to park the van in the proper parking area. We bought a parking pass (an actual piece of paper) from a perfectly lovely attendant who then told us to drive on ahead a few hundred meters to find a spot in the lot. About a hundred meters of very narrow road beyond, we were stopped by a second attendant. This guy was not having it. The pass would not do, no matter how it was presented. He yelled at us to go back. The lot was full. No room for Luka. Of course he communicated this only with one word (FULL!) repeated over and over again combined with wild gesticulating. It sounded much more like (FOOL!) but we got the idea. He was definitely an official parking attendant, sporting the vest and the badge, so that wasn’t the problem. The problem was that there was absolutely no way of turning the van around on that road. And we couldn’t put it in reverse and back up the hundred meters either, as there were cars behind us. We had no choice but to continue on and find a place to turn around if that is what was called for. But communication was not happening, and this guy seemed pissed at us, and unwilling to let us continue on. Finally, after a few full minutes of trying to appease the guy by letting him know we would turn around when we could, Michelle just gave up and drove on the rest of the way despite his protestations. We left him in the rear-view, shaking his fist at us and yelling Montenegrin obscenities, I imagine. We drove on only to find many empty spots in the exact place where we were originally told to go. We docked the van. We walked into the park, leaving the pass on the dash. I don’t know what that guy’s issue was. But Luka wasn’t turning around. He wasn’t going anywhere. We had some serious hiking to do, and the pass said we had three hours to do it.

No pic of the parking dude, but here are a couple of the friendlier Montenegrins.

And hike we did. At one point we left the prescribed path on AllTrails to follow all the other hikers who seemed to know where they were going. The path got a bit treacherous at times. But we felt bad giving up and going back, considering the fact that five year-olds and seventy-five year-olds alike were taking the path like champs. We persevered, for no real reason in the end, as the path was simply a loop back to where we meant to be. Bet hey, when in Montenegro, do as the Romans do. Who cares if they lost control of the area about 1800 years earlier. Mark’s favorite moment was the picnic lunch out on the lake, sitting next to the chain-smokers “enjoying the fresh mountain air”. They smoke a lot around here; to the point that they are surprised that we do not. How can you find “cejf” if you don’t smoke? (See the last post for clarification.) We’ll try our best, hvala. 

Black Lake

Another

And another.

One more for good measure.

There were hundreds of these wee frogs on the path near the lake. We had to be careful not to step on them.

After the lakes, we drove some more tiny windy roads to another mountainous hike within Durmitor National Park, with even more stunningly epic views and a lot fewer partakers. We scaled a few mountains, high-fived a few goats, and generally felt extremely proud of ourselves for our efforts. As such, we had earned the five-star, four course authentic meal that awaited us back in town (that soup was so yummy!) at one of several lovely looking restaurants in town.

Let's play a game of Where's Waldo. I am in this photo.

Quincy climbed this side of the mountain with me.

Carol was up communing with the wildlife. I call this "Beauty and the GOAT." Find both.

Our little cottage in Zabljak was overflowing with character, and it was set in such a beautiful, bucolic setting that we couldn’t stop sneaking private moments near the windows. It was good that we weren’t here in the winter though, as there were a plethora of holes and cracks in the building exterior, plugged only by toilet paper. It would have been a wee bit drafty, methinks. A few card games and more than a few cocktails later, we had to say goodbye once again to our new favorite place and move on to the next one.

A feel for the cottage and the view out the windows.

We are in a rhythm. One day of driving including scenic stops, followed by one day of enjoying the next town. So we stay two nights at each stop. It is working quite well thus far. Hopefully it continues to work for us. I’m having difficulty getting everything documented, because it takes quite a bit of time to write the blog, but almost as much time to upload the pics and format and such, and I need Carol’s computer to do that. The app just doesn’t work well on my iPad. But whenever we have a moment to chill, she needs her computer for work. So I am struggling a bit to stay on top of the blog. It seems that I am always having to recall what happened in the last country we were in, rather than what we are currently experiencing. And once I have written the text, it still takes another day or two to get the post ready to publish. I am not complaining, as I am the one who chose to do this. I am just apologizing to my three and a half loyal readers, because the stories could be more fresh than they are. But today I am getting the blog up to date for the first time all trip. I’m pretty pumped about that. Though I probably won’t get it posted until tomorrow or the next day. 

Okay, back to the narrative… So it was the day before yesterday that we left Montenegro. More mountain roads. More epic vistas. One unbelievable why-not stop at a tiny coffee house situated on the edge of a cliff. The patio had a better view than pretty much anywhere I’d ever been. We ordered coffee. He brought us coffee, cookies, sweets, kittens, and conversation. We basked in the atmosphere (found our cejf) and hated to get back in the van to continue the drive. The pic below is us just after this incredible pit stop.

Happy group shot including Luka

Can't capture the view with my iPhone. Trust me it was amazing.

The border crossing into Kosovo was a bit more rough than the previous crossings have been. Apparently our “green card” does not pay for insurance in Kosovo. So I had to bring our car’s documentation to a separate building and pay the requisite amount. But the lady there spoke no English and was quite angry with me for not having what she needed. Eventually she called an interpreter and put her on speaker phone. The woman on the phone explained that our rental car papers were not complete. So I ran back to the van and scrounged for other paperwork. I found it. Back to the short-tempered woman and a second scolding. But we got the paper that made things okay for the border agent and we were on our way after having not paid a cent. Maybe we will have to pay when we exit the country? I guess we will find out in a couple of days. But the whole episode reminded me of the old school movie “Treasure of the Sierra Madre” where someone was asked for the proper papers to be let through, and the reply was a terse “Badges? We don’t need no stinking badges!” Apparently, we did. 

Just before arriving in Peja, we stopped at a “must-see” resort type place that is popular with the locals. Sadly, the caves were closed, but the "White Drin" waterfall was pretty impressive. It was a bit crowded, and a bit overbuilt to feel like we were enjoying nature, in my opinion. At least the resort allowed lookie-loos to hike up without charging us. A waterfall that nice in the U.S. would be pay-to-play for certain. 

It was bigger than it looks here. Oh well. Photographer, I am not.

We continued into town, completely surprised by the size of it. We thought we were going to a village in the mountains. We were wrong. More research next time. It turns out that Peja is the fifth largest city in Kosovo, and apparently the one hit hardest by the Serbs in the 1998-99 war. Who knew? Hundreds of thousands of people in the city and really only seven remaining historical buildings that weren’t so decimated by bombing that they could be restored for historical purposes. A city with thousands of years of history and almost nothing left to show for it other than monuments constructed in memory of the fallen citizens and the fallen homes and schools and churches and mosques as well. Peja is mostly a ruined mess that is trying very hard to regain its beauty and its culture and its identity. But so far it has not been able to do so. Twenty five years is not a lot of time, especially when in a country as poor as Kosovo is, to rebuild after such utter devastation. 

One of the few "nice" parts of Peja.

Thought this deserved documentation. No, we did not choose to eat here.

But we did partake here. I mean c'mon. It's a nuts shop!

Our hotel (thank you Brenda, for the recommendation) is actually one of the aforementioned seven remaining buildings. Though it, too, was burnt almost completely. They have restored it as best as they could, and now it is a functioning modern hotel in the shell of a UNESCO heritage building. We loved it! Amazing included breakfast too. We ate there this morning and we haven’t had a meal since and it is 6:00 p.m. and I am still not hungry. I am always hungry.

The restaurant in the hotel was excellent.

An image of the hotel during the war.

And another.

We walked the town of Peja quite a bit, finding everything we could that was left standing after the war. We also drove out of town just a smidge, to visit the Patriarchate of Pec, an all-female monastery. It is still under Serbian control as part of the cease-fire agreement of 1999, as it is as important a site to the Serbs and the Eastern Orthodox Church as, say, Westminster Abbey is to the Anglican Church. We had to show our passports to get in. There are thirteenth century frescoes all over the walls of the monastery, combined with new additions from every generation since. The tour guide was excellent, and she gave us an appreciation for the Serbian side of things, and why Kosovo is so important to them, this particular holy ground especially. I still side with the Albanians in terms of freedom from oppression and hostile takeovers, but everything is not always as black and white as it seems. A 750 year-old claim to a holy place is not something to be dismissed lightly; even if the claim on the opposite side of the conflict is thousands of years old. 

The Serbian Monastery of Pec

A different view of the same church.

One shot of the inside that I took before we were told "no photos".

After visiting the monastery, we continued a bit farther out of town to check out the Rogova Gorge. Apparently it is a Mecca for rock climbers and backpackers. We drove along the river through the gorge just to get a feel for it. We weren't prepared to hike that day. But we got some excellent chill time on the rocks in the river looking at the walls of the gorge.

Group shot of the "chillers on the rock."

To give an idea of how high and vertical the gorge walls were, I laid down and tried to place my phone as level horizontally as I could. This is the shot of the canyon wall directly above me.

There was a cool tunnel we had to walk through to get to our chill spot.

The mostly Islamic Albanian people of Kosovo (about 90% of the current population) absolutely love the United States. They give much of the credit for their freedom to Bill Clinton and to America as a whole for bringing about the peace in 1999. Apparently there is a giant statue of Bill somewhere in the next town. We’ll have to seek it out. Much of my newly gained knowledge of the conflict comes from a local archaeologist who showed us his personally curated museum in Peja just this morning. He eloquently laid out the current situation of the mislabeled Balkan states, on what should properly be called the Illyrian peninsula. If the many thousand of years of the region’s history are to be taken into account, instead of the unceremonious division of the peninsula after World War I, then things ought to be quite different than they are. What eventually became Yugoslavia, and then fractured into a bunch of warring states with unnatural borders, was the doings of world superpowers not from the region. But what exists now, though it is not really what anyone wants, is at least, for the moment, good enough to allow for co-existence. The current peace is a fragile one to be sure, and the scars from the recent wars are still quite itchy on the backs of the people who lived through them. But there is peace. All we outsiders can do is try to appreciate the things that come so easily to us, especially us pampered Americans, knowing that freedom is not a given, by any stretch of the imagination. 

Here is one of many monuments to the fallen. I was struck by how many people in the same family are listed. The losses were obviously devastating.

We came on this trip to Kosovo, just like we did to Sarajevo, because I, personally, wanted to experience the stories and the cultures and the recent history that seemed so far removed from my own reality; even though it was all happening in the prime of my own adulthood. I got married in the same year as the worst of the fighting in Kosovo was happening. Crazy. How lucky am I, that all of this tragedy was taking place so far away from me that I was barely even cognizant of it happening in the moment? And it is happening still, right now, in Ukraine, and in Sudan, and in the Middle East, and probably in other places of which I am not even aware. It makes me feel small, and a bit helpless. But ignorance is not the answer, within the insulated bubble of our American experience. So learning as much as I can about the world around me is always a priority. It is one of the infinite reasons we travel as often as possible. 

We have moved on to Prizren, an even larger city in Kosovo. Many beautiful mosques, and many museums, await us tomorrow. There is also a fortress up on the hill for some views of the city. But tonight will just be about “cejf” and enough of the deep thoughts for a bit. We will drink some beer, try some local cuisine, and try to appreciate some of the good things in life that the locals had to fight so hard for. May I wish for the world that everyone’s troubles never be any worse than not having the correct insurance “badges” at the border.