We went on a hike to Bobotuv Kuk today, the highest peak in Montenegro.
Continue reading →There are no black mountains in Montenegro. In fact, in the last three hours of driving from Kotor to Pluzine, all I can see are green. Mountains covered in glorious dark green pine groves, impossibly growing on plateaus and steep cliffs that plunge into clear emerald rivers. Further up in the mountains, meadows of wild grass and flowers with rolling hills that go on for miles. How the Venetians could’ve mistaken these green mountains for black through their binoculars escaped me.
Continue reading →Her coloring brown and black. A Rottweiler mix. 40lbs at most, or much less. Her gait is splayed, gingerly moving her paws with each step. A slight shiver, from both cold and exhaustion. Or plain lack of energy. She came over to sniff and lay down next to us while we’re cooking on the concrete platform in front of the wilderness hut.
She knew to keep a safe distance away but close enough to get the leftover. Was she someone’s? She wagged her tail when Gabriel parked the car by the hut and opened the trunk.
She had that worried look, like my previous dog. Not the smiley happy-go-lucky face of a puppy but one who knew that life’s not full of rainbows and unicorn. Life’s tough. It’s almost more cruel if she did have a home before because then she knows what having a full tummy and a warm bed was like. Those who live on the streets all their lives didn’t know any better, had no expectations of a full belly, a shelter, a kind human. Street dogs know to stay away from humans except to steal and scavenge the heaps of trash they leave behind.
Continue reading →We’re currently at a campsite, if you can call it that, at the edge of Durmitor National Park. There’s no assigned space, no marked areas where people are supposed to camp. There’s a tent next to the cars in the parking lot. We’re not sure if it’s a guest’s or the owner’s. Gabriel asked them if we can pitch our tent up the hill and they just shrugged. “Yeah, sure. Wherever there’s space.” Laissez faire doesn’t even quite describe their attitude. This is the mountain’s equivalent of the surfer dude’s ‘whatever-goes’ mindset.
They have a dozen or so small cabins at one end of the “courtyard”; the bar/restaurant is at the other end. Next to the bar: an outhouse and a sink and a water trough for the farm animals. These cabins are bare bones, simple wooden construction with only enough space for a double bed and a chair and not much else. No insulation to speak of. Steeply pitched roofs so snow doesn’t accumulate in winter.
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