Sandstorm?!

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Geo: 42.6537, 18.0948

For our second full day in Dubrovnik, we had the option of a full-day excursion into the neighboring country of Montenegro. We have a good friend here (well, they actually moved to Colorado a few months ago, but still...) who is from Montenegro, and we thought it would be a unique opportunity to see the country. She also raved about the beauty and said we had to go. The vast majority of our group did also opt for the tour, though a few remained behind for another day of sightseeing in Dubrovnik,

When we awoke, the sky had a weird pale to it, and we had heard the winds pick up during the night. As soon as we walked outside to board the bus, we could tell that it was 20-30 degrees warmer than the day before, so we knew the wind had to be coming from the south. Soon after departing, Rok told us that there was in fact a dust storm, blowing sand and warm air up from north Africa. We told us to look at the cars parked outside, and we could then clearly see that everything was caked in a layer of reddish-brown dirt. The colors in the sky got weirder as the day progressed, as the sun tried to shine through, and it cast weird shadows literally through the sand, which blew in uneven patterns.

Montenegro lies south and east of Croatia, and enjoys its own substantial coastline. They could easily rival Croatia to attract tourists, but they are notably a little behind their neighbors. It also greatly hurt them that they remained part of greater Serbia until 2006. While it was not the site of fighting during the wars for independence, it nonetheless maintained much of the stigma of the Serbs, and tourists weren't exactly flocking there. They also do not have much industry of their own, as most of that remained within Serbia when their relatively short-lived alliance broke apart. Their ultimate break was bloodless and was accomplished via referendum. The UN mandated that they would be recognized if 55% of the electorate voted in favor of independence, and that happened in 2006 by the slimmest of margins - 55.4%; a margin of less than 2,300 votes.

We learned most of this while we were driving inland and over two successive ranges, before we drove down on the other side to the Bay of Kotor, which is a giant anvil shaped bay off of the Adriatic. Border formalities were quick and easy, and though the drive was truly spectacular, all the views had a weirdly other-world look to them thanks to the crazy colors being generated by the sandstorm. Our first stop was the tiny town of Perast, which looked all but abandoned in this, the off season. We boarded a small boat which brought us out to a small man-made island off shore, next to a natural island. Both islands have churches on them, and the one we visited was built when an icon of the Virgin Mary from a shipwreck was found washed up on a small promontory of rocks in 1452. Locals saw this as a sign and began a regular routine of bringing rocks out to the site and dropping them in the bay. Over time the rocks piled up into an island, and then a Roman Catholic church was built sometime in the 16th Century. The skies were particularly funky while we made our way to the island.

The church on the island is the main site, and is beautifully decorated. There was also a very interesting (and surprisingly comprehensive) museum, filled with icons and trinkets sent to the church after ships survived close calls at seas. They still arrive to this day, with the most recent on display coming from December of 2015.

We continued southward around the bay for about 30 minutes, and then arrived at our main destination, which was the walled city of Kotor. The walls date back to the Venetian period, and the city was built into the mouth of the bay, which is narrow and tall. It is often called the southern-most fjord in Europe, but as the bay was not formed by glaciers, it is a fjord in name only. We were told that cruise ships have now found the port of Kotor, but luckily it was too early in the season, and we literally had the entire walled old city to ourselves. Our wickedly funny local guide met our bus and provided a really enjoyable tour within the walls. It looked remarkably like a mini-Dubrovnik, and in fact the shops had a much more authentic feel to them than the ones in Dubrovnik, which has long since learned to cater to the throngs of summer tourists.

Near the end of the tour, rain started. Light at first, and then quite a downpour. Luckily we had already found a small tavern for lunch when the worst of the rain hit. The rain was both bringing down sand from the storm, as well as washing away much of what had accumulated earlier, so the pools of water quickly forming on the cobblestones were reddish brown in color. It was a surreal sight, to say the least.

Our umbrellas and coats kept us reasonably dry for the walk back to the bus, but we were happy the rain held off as long as it did. For most of the drive back to Dubrovnik, the rain was coming down quite hard.

We got back to our hotel around 5:00pm, and the rain had stopped, as had the sandstorm. When we exited the bus, temperatures had plummeted back down from the 70's to the low 50's, and the wind had shifted to the north. We had originally planned to hop the bus and go back to the walled old city for dinner, but with the cold we elected to eat near the hotel. In fact, we first tried to eat at the hotel's ala carte restaurant, but it had been taken over by Mercedes for their conference. Much to Anna's chagrin, we headed outside in search of a restaurant reportedly next to our hotel, which was highly rated on TripAdvisor. Problem was, we only had cursory directions and it was quite dark. We walked past one huge hotel that was dark and still closed up for the season, and then into a passage way of shops, most of which were also shuttered. There was one lonely restaurant open. It was completely empty and though I felt guilty, I popped in and asked them directions to the other restaurant. The waiter, who at first was openly excited to see guests, was nice enough to come outside with us and point out the way.

As we approached the restaurant, it too looked closed. It had a large outdoor patio, but all the tables and chairs were still covered in tarps. We walked up to what I assumed was the front door, expecting to try the knob and find them closed. Instead, the door opened and we spilled into a cozy little room already full of other people at about five tables. Dominating the room was a huge open barbeque pit on which a woman was grilling a wide assortment of meat and fish. An older man -- the owner, I presume -- took charge of us and gave us the only table in the room which didn't have a "reserved" sign on it. The menu did consist of local meat and fish, which was then grilled pretty-much in front of you. Anna had a nicoise salad, I had branzino fish, and K had grilled chicken. It was all fantastic!

On the end of the barbeque which was directly behind me, there were two huge ceramic domes, on two ends of the square structure. At regular intervals, the cook would raise the dome and check the food underneath. The one closest to me was full of meat roasts and various vegetables. The other was, we later learned, full of octopus. We were to learn that this is a relatively famous "under the bell" cooking. Food is put into these ceramic dishes and then cooked for hours. Partway through our meal, a couple from our tour came in and sat down at the table next to us, which had been reserved. We had not yet spent anytime with these folks, and we quickly learned that they were from Knoxville. They were the nicest people, and I wish we had met them earlier. Regardless, they had foregone the trip to Montenegro, electing to stay at the hotel for spa treatments. They had found this restaurant for lunch, loved their meal, and learned that they could order "under the bell" food, but had to give the restaurant three hours notice. On the spot they booked their dinner table and ordered the octopus. It was brought over to them on an absolutely huge platter. I've had my fair share of squid over the years, but never a full octopus, and seeing the platter covered in nearly two-inch wide tentacles was a bit much. They offered us a taste, but we all declined. They absolutely raved, and were still working their way through the platter when we excused ourselves and walked back to our hotel in the even-colder night air.

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