Balkan Trip Part 1 — Kosovo to Montenegro
At dawn on a rainy Saturday morning Rachel and I departed Pristina, Kosovo. Crammed into a car with a German, a Fin, and a Kosavar, our semi-spontaneous road trip began to take shape. Rachel and I had designed a two week vacation that finished in Munich, Germany. The journey was mostly by bus and train, but the day before departure, a friend offered to drive the first leg. By our 6am departure two more had joined the group, and that morning, shoulder to shoulder, in a very little very old car, we navigated out of the congested streets of Kosovo’s capital, and began our journey.
We drove across the plains of Kosovo. Then, through the mountains of Albania. And finally, up the Adriatic coastline. Aside from the confused Albanian border guard questioning the diversity of our group, and that in Shkoder no food is served before 11am, we made it to Montenegro pleasurably and uneventfully by two in the afternoon.
In the border region of Albania and Montenegro the Adriatic coastline transitions from flat beaches to mountains. As the pitch of the shoreline increased we slowed our pace to appreciate the emerging ocean views. We decided to stop and fully appreciate the scenery, pulling off the road to a lesser known beach. The beach was nice, small, and steep. Sandy above the high tide mark, small pebbles below, becoming cobblestones at the water’s edge.
Leaving our towels on the sand we proceeded into the water. The water was perfectly clear. After I commented to the gang “ahh this is nice” I dove underwater for what I really wanted: to float in silence, gently cradled back and forth by the waves passing above. Diving again, I found the bottom, three meters below. I sat, legs crossed, on the ocean floor.
Cooled from the sweaty drive and assured by the pressure of the soft water, I listened to the clinks of cobblestones pulled by the breaking waves. It was peaceful. Familiar. It confirmed what I didn’t need confirmation of: water is life.
Living in Pristina, at the bottom of a river-less valley in a pool-lacking city, amidst lake-less geography… in a landlocked country, I learnt the importance, for me, of living close to water. I am fortunate that my upbringing contained access to 8 lane-50m pools, rolling waves on welcoming beaches, and an endless selections of lakes. I am thankful for these things. Physically, emotionally, and spiritually, they are my hydration. Without them, I’m parched.
If you don’t want to read me preaching about water for 1000 words, skip to the three star page break for actual travel stuff
Because of my (and Rachel’s) reality of living in Pristina, every trip we take outside of Kosovo is partly a search for water. We have visited beaches in Albania several times, we traveled to Venice in the spring, and earlier in the summer we hopped over to Corfu, Greece. This trip, our initial coastal target was Montenegro. Our second destination was Croatia.
This was my fifth time reuniting with the ocean (or sea) after a dry-spell in Kosovo. Every reunion I try to articulate why it’s refreshing. Why it’s important. What about the ocean sets me straight, and allows me to breathe once more. I’m afraid if you didn’t grow up on (and in) the water you might not get it. Regardless, here’s my attempt to explain why, every month, I must find my way to water.
The first thing I notice when I arrive at the sea is the waves. Waves are constant rolling energy. On earth, there is no other natural source of consistent visible energy such as ocean waves. The sun is at the mercy of the clouds, and the wind is fleeting, random, and unpredictable. But standing on the shore of any significant body of water, waves are constant. From the shore waves always appear to come from the same direction as they wrap around the fractal coastline. And they reliably arrive in a familiar size — sometimes larger, sometimes smaller. As long as the ocean doesn’t freeze or evaporate there will be waves — rolling up beaches, crashing against rocks, foaming over sandbars. Whenever I’m at the edge of the vast expanse of water, the water has generously greeted me with its energy. From 10 foot hurricane waves to 5mm ripples the ocean moves, and movement yields life.
The next thing to notice about the ocean is how flat it is. At a human scale it moves, it’s dynamic, and it’s a source of energy. But raise your gaze from your feet to the horizon and you see that the ocean is flat. It’s so flat it’s a sphere. It’s the sphere on which we live. The mathematician in me loves this geometrically pleasing shape. In the same way that mountains are beautiful because they’re huge, jagged, irregular, and random — the ocean is beautiful because it’s huge, smooth, simple, and fixed. The ocean is the sphere mountains are measured against. Any disturbance in the ocean — earthquake, astroid, or hurricane — is temporary: the sea returns to equilibrium. My equilibrium — my mental, spiritual, and physical poise — relies on the ocean’s overwhelming example of this natural process of eventual content.
Finally, the ocean represents perspective. When you look across the ocean you may notice the water surface is the floor of our visible world. But, remember the air’s surface is the ceiling of another world. Underwater, sitting on the ocean floor, you’re in an atmosphere of water. Crabs walk past, fish fly above, and boats orbit the boundary of outer space. In water, swimming is flying. Sometimes I have dreams I can fly, however in my flying dreams I’m not flapping my arms like a bird or hovering like by magic. In my dreams air has the density of water and I fly up high into the sky exactly like I swim deep down to the ocean floor. When awake, when underwater, blow the air from your lungs until you are pulled neither up nor down. The water has stripped gravity of its hold over you. You are weightless.
Standing on the shore, stepping into the foaming predictable energy of the sea, settles me unlike anything else. Everyone at home who has access to the ocean, lakes, and pools — appreciate them. I am. As best I can from afar.
After our swim we piled back into the car and finished the drive to Kotor — an old Venetian city. I love Venetian architecture: the organic street plan (or lack thereof), the solid narrow stone buildings, and the intrigue of the history. I may make a list of all the old Venetian cities in the Mediterranean so I can check them off one by one. Kotor: ✓
On our first night we went on a pub crawl hosted by our hostel. I’m not a big fan of pub crawls, but on this crawl, in the midst of the night, in a old courtyard surrounded by Venetian buildings, with a gaggle of travellers representing many countries, drinking and chatting happily, I couldn’t help thinking, “this is nice”.
The morning after our night out Rachel and I wandered the city — you don’t need more then a morning in Kotor — and then we walked to the top of the old fortifications. That afternoon we split from our group and bussed to Dubrovnik, which, if you’re interested, is described in Part Two.