Durmitor

Tired from the routine life turns into when you live on a schedule for a while, I needed to stop planning ahead and let things happen. Like with any habit, breaking the routine is easier said than done, and we keep looking for chores to feed it and feel lost when there is nothing to get done. That probably explains why, after spending three days enjoying the scent of Adriatic Sea in Trpanj, on Peljesac peninsula in Croatia, I started craving to do something else. As luck would have it, one cannot really move anywhere around Peljesac without a car. There simply isn't enough tourists there to justify the cost of operating any kind of public transportation any more. On the other hand, as Trpanj stretches wide, you can walk and run till you drop dead, and that is how I moved around without ever leaving the town. In the end, I did manage to relax and take naps after lunch, and sleep for good eight hours at night. And somehow, when I relaxed, a thought of visiting Durmitor mountain started lingering about. Out of curiosity, I looked up the map of Montenegro and realized that Durmitor was within an arm's reach. Or so I thought...

My first morning after arriving to Sarajevo, I went running, then made a strong Bosnian coffee and parked myself by the computer to purposefully plan my Durmitor trip. I called a tour operator there to inquire about the River Tara rafting. He sounded like someone who was familiar with every tree and every stone in the area, and he told me that it was fine to simply drive over to the town in the centre of Durmitor, Zabljak, no reservation needed. And so I would, right the next day, if it wasn't for a terrible mountain weather that makes one feel the cold and the dampness in their bones. I wisely decided to wait for the break in clouds, and spent another four days in Sarajevo. While waiting, I caught up with friends there who mentioned that the main road from Bosnia to Montenegro was closed because a hill slid over it, and that, to get to Zabljak, I would need to take the longer way, over Romanija mountain, which would be advisable anyway in order to avoid steep cliff drops one encounters when driving through Piva canyon. Knowing that most Bosnians I know have either a fear of heights or of tight spaces (not surprising, considering they have lived squished between the mountains for centuries) I took all advices with a grain of salt.

And so I loaded my mom and my kids into fiat punto, and drove up Romanija Mountain, and over the beautiful plateau where, long long time ago, my dad used to bring us to excavate Bosnian medieval grave stones searching for treasure. This is also where Dixi, my childhood dog, first saw sheep, and immediately ran to quickly gather them around then proudly sat by their side and didn't let any walk away.

We then continued downhill to Gorazde, a town nicely spread in the valley where River Drina flows wide, then onto Cajnice, which, on the contrary is squeezed by the hills from all sides, so that one wishes to drive through it as fast as possible, as if gasping for air. Passing through, we found ourselves in a pine forest, and for an hour felt as if someone had put a cover over our eyes, until we suddenly came to a clearing with a tiny customs house on the border of Bosnia and Montenegro (Montenegro means 'black mountain',  which today sounded very suitable). There, we were stopped by a merry big-as-a-hill customs officer, who welcomed us nicely into his home country, and chatted with us for a while, he doesn't come across many cars here, especially not the ones all the way from Sarajevo. (Even though it took less than three hours to reach the border, even if the same language is spoken and the nature around looks the same, it has always been unusual for Bosnians to travel to Montenegro and vice versa. This has had a lot to do with the natural barrier that mountains, desolated canyons and forests create between the two countries, and after Yugoslavia fell apart the travel has been even more scarce).

Continuing on the road under construction, and slaloming around the patches with no asphalt, we slowly descended to Pljevlje where we embarked on a beautiful highway, quickly reaching Djurdjevica Tara, the pride of every Montenegrin, as I immediately noticed. I didn't admit this to anyone, but I also felt pride for the bridge that our ancestors had built (dad once mentioned that our great great great grandfather came to Bosnia from Pljevlje), as well as for the tectonic forces that had created the nature as beautiful as here. We enjoyed watching Tara, cold, turquoise and strong, working on carving out the canyon. We stopped to have coffee here and talk to the locals, hospitable and curious, they told us that the bridge was built in the nineteen thirties by pouring concrete into the wooden moulds. It is over 170 m high. As we were leaving, it got pretty crowded, cars bringing from tourists from all over Europe.

From Tara up to Zabljak took less than half an hour drive along the beautiful, wide road with a big sign announcing Durmitor National Park. There I remembered that I haven't planned anything passed getting here, and so I slowed down when we reached the first motels, to see if we can find a place to sleep. And so the chance had it that the first place we saw was very nice, and even though I drove around to check out few more places, in the end we came back and checked ourselves into a big black book at the reception and got warmly greeted by the hotel staff. My mom and kids, happy to have gotten rid of the tiny car and have a real roof over their heads, ran inside, while I stayed mesmerized on the top of the stairs leading to our apartment to admire the mountain tops that filled the horizon, and there I took a deep breath and fell in love with Durmitor.

And, just as after falling in love with someone, you typically then want to get to know them better, so did I, while breathing out, decide it was time to take a walk to Black Lake.

And there, we found a beautiful mountain lake that depending on the time of the year, when the water level is low, splits into two lakes, and around it, a picturesque forest cradled by the rocky peaks of Durmitor.  Around the lake is a supervised recreational area, consisting of hiking and mountain biking paths, a beach where few kids were eagerly eyeballing the water wishing for warmer weather, and across the lake, a zip line! The kids were surprised when I agreed that we all go, and my mom was absolutely terrified as she watched us walk the rope bridge to get to the first platform and then zip-line across the lake and back.

In the morning, I wanted to hike with the kids to the highest peak in Durmitor, Bobotov Kuk, and so we drove to the mountain pass called the Saddle, stopping million times to try and capture the beauty around us with our cameras. Durmitor, massive and wide, is suitably masculine in the local language contrary to the majority of mountains in the Balkans, which are a feminine gender. The whole plateau of Durmitor, that Zabljak lies on, is comprised of green rolling hills, divided by the ring of the evergreens from the central peaks that cut straight into the sky. The name Durmitor is probably Roman and means 'sleeping', although some think it may come from Celtic 'drumitor', which means 'water from the mountain'.

From the Saddle a path leads up the side of the mountain towards a wett wall of rock, that one would need to scramble through, not really suitable for my children. Just as we were approaching the wall and I started assessing the situation, a Montenegrin emerged carefully stepping of the last rock and screaming 'where are you going, you misery, with those children?' I found the situation funny, not him, he was angry, he must have had few close calls up there on the wall, and so he continued to scold me all the way back down to our car. There, he advised that we hike to 'Skricka Lakes' instead, 'just drive a bit farther down where the other cars are parked and then walk to the right', he said.

And so it was, I found a sign and few cars around it, so I parallel parked there along the side of the road, making it even narrower. We found the hiking mark, leading us easily up the green slope, around us total silence broken only by the sheep bells. Soon, I noticed that we are walking towards Bobotov Kuk again and the hikers we met confirmed it. They also recommended that we continued hiking to the pass under the top. Kids were happy that these people didn't scold them as well, they didn't like it when the other guy prevented them from conquering mountain peaks.

Just under the pass, we ran into Ana and Batric, and immediately became friends. Batric is the mountain guide, one of those that, at the first sight, instills trust and you just know that you would follow him anywhere. He invited us to the Durmitor Fair and wouldn't stop talking, I should have called him, there is 300 people on the top today because it is the Montenegro Day, but it is also the anniversary of the death of one of their famous mountaineers. He then looked up into the clouds that started coming in and ordered 'gather those children and head down!'. Instead, we walked few more minutes to reach our own goal for the day, a pass underneath Bobotov Kuk. Children were happy, as if they have summited the top of Durmitor, and so was I, for having the best kids in the world! I knew though I would come back to climb this peak that so nicely posed in my picture.

Then, Batric shouted from below, 'the rain is coming, head down!', and so we did, walking fast to reach our car just as the first drops of rain were starting. We agreed to drive to pick up my mom and then head to the fair. And so we did, except that on the way my car overheated, but Batric solved that problem too by pouring many litres of water into it.

At the fair, there was more cars than in front of the largest shopping center in Toronto, and I had to ask if the entire country had showed up (Montenegro has less than half million people). Tents, music, grilled minced meat, tug of a war, and in the end, horse races of the mountain, mixed and Arabian horses. Montenegrins truly are the tallest people in the world, I haven't seen so many six-feeters in a lump in my life! The weather didn't let us see the Arabian horses, cold mountain wind and rain started hitting us to the bones, and we wisely drove back to our motel, Zlatni Bor, to drink Quince 'rakija', and eat 'meze' - Durmitor cheeses and salads, and get to know each other better. And there, while listening to old Yugoslavian pop music, that at times got overpowered by the folk songs sang by the merry gathering outside on veranda, it came to my mind that the new bothers are only fictional as we all share the same traditions and mentality, and we got along perfectly! And as everything that is perfect has to come to an end, so came the time for Ana to drive back to Herceg Novi, and I still wanted to see Curevac. As luck would have it, our guide at the table explained to us how to get there without getting lost along the 6 km road, just drive towards village Tepca and stop at the end of the paved section, and try to stay on the main road wherever it branches into two.

It must be the relaxed mind one transcends into after drinking Quince 'rakija', that helped me find the tiny road from the first try and follow it for 15 minutes to Curevac (yes, the time in the Balkans slows down and it does take 15 mins to get over a 6 km winding road stretch). From the parking at the end of the road, a sign led us for 50m to the spot where Durmitor seizes and there we stood speechless overlooking the Tara Canyon.  And I felt proud of this canyon that is not only the second deepest in the world, but also cuts through one of the world's most beautiful mountains and is created by one of the most beautiful and cleanest rivers. There I remembered how, thirteen or so years ago, I stood on the rim of Colorado Canyon trying to grasp its size and depth. Now I knew better, it is pointless trying to do that, it suffices to be happy for the opportunity to see this natural beauty.

In the morning, we left early to descent from Durmitor down to Piva Lake and via Scepan Polje to reach the starting point of our whitewater rafting trip. The day was clear and beautiful, Durmitor around us, not easy to leave, breath in, breath out, you cannot help but stop few more times to soak it all in.

Past the Saddle that we visited yesterday, we drove through the heart of the mountain to the western slopes where we were treated with a breathtaking view across a gap that I knew was Piva Canyon, onto the tallest peaks in Bosnia-Herzegovina, Maglic and Volujak, and maybe a few of Zelengora's peaks far behind. So beautiful everything was, that one stops paying attention to the narrow winding two-way road, so that, even when you meet a car coming from the opposite direction, you simply slow down and somehow always find enough space to bypass each other, as we humans always should.

Then, the road started getting steeper, and windier, taking us into the forest, and through many tunnels cut in a live rock, until we finally emerged to the side of Piva Lake.

Contrary to what my friends told me, the road through Piva Canyon is completely normal, with wide lanes, one for each direction, suitable for 80-90km/h driving and to us this looked like the best highway after the small mountain road that we have just spent over two hours on. There I drove faster to make up for time we lost soaking in Durmitor, and we reached Scepan Polje, and the border with Bosnia-Herzegovina, in less than half hour, and then took another ten minutes to reach the rafting camp, by River Drina.

There, everyone was relaxed and playing a game of soccer while waiting for the tourists to gather. So we slowed down as well and switched gears into this new reality. My mom stayed at the camp while children and I got neoprene suits, booties and life jackets, and were then asked to board a minivan with few other people, the guide and the driver, with the raft on the roof. There, we all got introduced to each other, one couple from Croatia, and another from Slovenia, both vacationing here because they love nature, especially the untouched one. Soon we reached the border with Montenegro again, to check in so we can freely float down Tara, where one wouldn't know which drop of water belongs to Montenegro and which one to Bosnia-Herzegovina. There I had enough of the borders and said how how it made me sad to see them, and everyone agreed, and then, as I've heard so many times before, they added how life was better back in old Yugoslavia.

The raft took off slowly, Jan decided to hold the paddle, he is a big boy, while Ena decided to sit next to the skipper, she knew where the safest place was, both happy and excited to finally live through this adventure. Reaching the first rapids, Tara gave us a good kick and a shower, the children started laughing to cover up the fear, Ena admitted to it much later on the plane, and Jan never would. This time of the year, in early July, Tara loses most of her depth and power, and in-between the rapids, it becomes slow and timid. It is so clean and clear that one can easily see the bottom even when it is deeper than 10 meters. After twenty kilometres, Tara and Piva merge together to make Drina. There it got much cooler because of Piva water that flows through the dam from the bottom of Piva Lake and has the temperature of about 4C. Luckily, we reached the camp in no time, and there waiting for us, was beer, hearty soup, veal roast with baked potatoes, salads and to top it all up, a sweet desert, called 'tulumba'.

What to say in the end, except that beautiful things happen when you let universe bring you to Durmitor and take you down Tara.