This is part 3 of our story about Pushing Past Fear: A Journey through Albania and Montenegro so please start there if you missed the first two posts.
Eric and I are headed to Montenegro, staying at rural homestays with local families because I want to reconnect with a simpler lifestyle similar to how I was raised. I particularly want to see how people in a different country with different life experiences are seeking to do the same. Travel Twitch DMC, the company that planned our trip, has chosen the best families for this purpose and our trip coordinator Ena will be supporting us on this transformational journey.
Crossing the border to Montenegro
We cross the border from Albania to Montenegro today. Our driver stops at a Gega Oil station for espresso (Albanian gas stations have the best coffee). He speaks no English so we use Google Translate and with help from a man sitting next to us we are able to have a conversation. We learn he has 2 children, a son and daughter. The son is 26 and is studying to be a doctor in Germany. He shows us photos of his wife and daughter. Back on the road, he cautiously takes us down the serpentine gorge along the border, stopping at scenic viewpoints for us to take photos. In the town of Tamare, he abruptly stops in the middle of the road, hops out with the car still running, and runs into a shop. A new pack of cigarettes in hand and we’re back on track!
The border crossing into Montenegro goes smoothly. We show our passport twice, to Albanian and Montenegrin policia. Everything is smooth sailing until we turn off the main road just outside of Plav, where we will be staying the next four nights. I don’t know who I feel more sorry for – our driver, my bladder, or the tires. We’re following Google Maps but I don’t think we’re actually on a road – this is more of a farm path, suitable only for an off-road vehicle. The car is overheating and Eric’s feet are melting in the front seat because the heater is on full blast to save the engine. Later we will learn there was an alternate paved road (gotta love Google Maps).
We stop at two houses, unsure which one is our location. We don’t have an exact address, we just know we’re looking for Grandfather’s Place. We have no phone signal up here and our driver looks like he’d prefer to abandon us. We convince him to drive a little further and blessed be, there it is. A woman walks out speaking no English but we know we’re in the right place and she shows us to our room where we collapse, grateful to have a bed and a toilet.
Our hosts are Šefkija and Selvija Feratović (who don’t speak English) and their two sons (one of whom speaks a little English). We are in a beautiful location, halfway up the mountain with a balcony looking down at Lake Plav and Prokletije National Park all around us. No A/C in our room so we hang out in the common outdoor area where it’s nice and breezy. Selvija serves us Turkish coffee with pistachio Turkish delight while we watch the family bunnies munch on grass.
We have to use Google Translate for almost everything but easy words like coffee and WiFi and dinner are all we need at this point. It will be interesting to see tomorrow how we communicate our daily activities. Dinner is delicious! Moussaka, a huge bowl of veggies in a vinaigrette, fried chickpeas and vegetable soup, bread, fresh cranberry juice and rakija (Montenegro’s national liquor).
As we learn throughout this trip, rural homestays in Montenegro and Albania all have an outdoor common area. Sleeping quarters are often small with little to no seating so the common area is where we spend our time. These outdoor cafes are where we eat and use WiFi, where we interact with the families and enjoy fresh air and a view.
Breakfast that first morning is delightful as Mama Feratović fattens us up with a Montenegrin version of beignets. We visit with a friendly couple from Essen, Germany, who fill our ears about their world adventures and Claudia’s interest in long-distance cold water swimming.
Hiking Grebaje Valley
We are using WhatsApp to communicate what we want to do each day with the son who speaks the most English. Although my leg is still bothering me from our hike to Theth, the best weather is today so we ask him to drive us to a hiking spot. We thought he would have hiking maps or at least be able to advise us on trail options. Instead, the conversation goes like this:
“Hike? Yes, Grebaje.”
I know this is a beautiful place to hike because I’ve seen photos, so I say yes, but I know nothing about the trails here. On our 40 min drive we pass farmland and through the small town of Gusinje. We arrive at the park entrance where our host gives us two options for hiking. He points to the right of the mountain and says “3 hour” and then points in front of us and says “easier 2 hour.” He agrees to pick us up in 3.5 hours and tells us to WhatsApp him if we need to change the time. There’s a restaurant here with WiFi so that shouldn’t be a problem. And with that, he leaves us in a park with no map or any clue what trails are here.
We pay the park attendant a 6 euro fee and begin trekking up the mountain, where we find signposts with trail names, distances, elevation and time estimates. Having no clue where any of these go or what makes each trail unique, we pick the one with the shortest elevation.
My left calf muscle is screaming at me, no amount of stretching seems to loosen it, and I feel completely empty of energy despite the huge breakfast we had. At another trail junction, we diverge to a different path that leads back down the mountain and spend the remainder of our time wandering the lower level paths and road which offers impressive views of the valley.
Right on time, the other brother picks us up. Anytime we hold up our phone to take a photo he slows down and tells us what we’re seeing. In Gusinje, he struggles to explain to us the significance of one block where three churches reside — Muslim, Catholic and Orthodox. We understand what he’s saying but he must feel like he’s not explaining it well enough because he calls his wife who translates for him. I love that he cares this much about his home to share it with strangers. I also love the respect he and his brother show their parents. They greet them with a kiss on the cheek every time and it’s obvious there is deep affection in this family.
Homestays provide food and mothering
We wake up on our second morning in the Feratović household feeling completely drained. Fatigue is often something I struggle with, thanks to rheumatoid arthritis, but it seems to be worse on this trip. We drag ourselves up the short hill to breakfast, where Selvija rewards us with her version of spanakopita, fresh herbal tea, a yogurt drink, and some type of spice cake. She can see that I’m hurting and brings me a large bottle of Tylenol. As we watch the bunnies frolic with a dense fog blanketing the valley and town of Plav below, I force myself to simply enjoy this moment. To let go of my desire to “see more and do more.”
After breakfast we return to our cabin and immediately fall asleep for 3 hours. I think we are both hitting that threshold where we’ve been away from the comforts and familiarity of home for too long and now we feel it physically. I just want to hide from the world today and wake up magically transported back home. What happened to our adventurous spirit? We’d better find it again, because we have 3 more weeks of this trip and our next accommodations won’t be as comfortable as this one.
On day 3, we wake up determined to get out and walk. We have breakfast with a German couple from Passau. Selvija serves us an omelet with cheddar and feta cheese, yogurt drink, bread and homemade sour cream. After breakfast settles, we walk down the road that leads to Plav.
It’s over a 4-mile walk down the mountain to reach Plav. We don’t plan to go all the way because we don’t want to walk back up, but our goal is halfway where there is a good viewpoint of town and the surrounding mountains. Our plan was to have a picnic at the top of the viewpoint but the entire place is swarming with bees. I run up the hill to snag a quick photo while Eric waits down in safety.
This walk follows a section of the Peaks of the Balkans Trail. It takes us through the Budevica village where generations of Feratović families live. I pause to take a photo and read the small gravestones in the Feratović cemetery. New houses are being built next to the old ones, many as vacation homes for the American Feratović members who come back to visit regularly.
Feeling at home with the family
Hot and sweaty from our walk, I shower and rest while Eric lounges in his favorite spot, the open air restaurant where Selvija loves to visit and serve guests. Our underwear is drying in the sun on the balcony, thanks to Selvija who graciously offered to wash our clothes.
Šefkija is cutting the grass with a scythe. He’s a retired agriculture professor, which explains the organic paradise he has created here. There’s an orchard of apple and pear trees, a small vegetable garden and berry bushes. The man is working and he offers Eric a beer, Eric who is just sitting down doing nothing. When Eric offers to help, the 77-year old Šefkija shrugs and gives the expression of “this is easy.”
I join Eric a little later and Selvija comes out offering tea, coffee and cake with freshly picked plums and an apple she picked at her family orchard in Kosovo. I want to adopt this woman as my second mother and I’m quite sure everyone else who visits this lovely place feels the same.
Our last morning is spent visiting with the family and a Chicago uncle. The Feratovićs seem to be fond of what I call “intellectual discourse.” I don’t know what they’re saying but I know they’re discussing politics and economics. Selvija excitedly tells us about an upcoming trip to Holland, Sweden and Norway to visit her son. We also learn that she was born in Kosovo and a happy homesick smile appears on her face as she attempts to describe her childhood home.
On our last day one of the sons drives us to Plav to ensure we get on the right bus. to Kolašin. He greets the driver, we part ways and relax on the cool bus waiting for our next adventure. About twenty minutes into the ride, the bus attendant walks towards us, and I’m thinking “oh crap, what did we do?” He hands me his phone and says the call is for me. It’s our WhatsApp angel Ena, she’s been trying to text me to tell us we’re getting off at a different stop but I have my phone on airplane mode.
I’m starting to believe Ena has super powers. Does she keep every bus driver in Montenegro on speed dial?
Katun, a unique rural homestay
I’m prepared for rugged accommodations at our first authentic katun, which is good because it allows me to appreciate the charm of this place without being a diva about shared toilets and outdoor sinks. Katun Lanista-Bogavac is at the top of a mountain, accessible by a craggy, steep and windy road fit only for a moon rover. But we’re in an old Jeep Cherokee and our driver Jelena traverses the giant rocks like a pro while smoking a cig and asking us questions. She is definitely a bad ass.
A katun is a traditional mountain settlement in Montenegro that is only inhabited during the summer and early fall when livestock is brought up the mountain to graze before winter.
In our case this is also a small restaurant with cabin rentals. There are rudimentary huts, with unfinished pressboard interior walls with one small window for natural air-conditioning. Mr. and Mrs. Bogavac and their daughter Jelena live in a small building not much larger than our hut and they share two toilets, one shower and an outdoor sink with the guests. The shower is heated by a large wood furnace, so we have to request a shower at least 30 minutes ahead of time.
The fanciest building on the property is the restaurant, which is beautifully decorated by someone who understands a good Instagram photo op. There’s an outdoor seating area with impressive views of the valley and mountains. This is the place to sit if you want coffee or rakija.
It’s also where “the boys” hang out. We are sharing the katun with 6 men, five Americans and one Argentinian who all live in Montenegro. “The boys,” as Jelena names them, are part of a small Christian church (rare in this predominantly Serbian Orthodox country). It’s refreshing to hear a group of young men spend time with each other, spending hours talking about emotions and family life, interspersed with comedy routines, games and singing. At night we fall asleep to the hum of their conversation and the smell of manure.
Walking Biogradska Gora
Mr. Bogavac is a ranger at Biogradska Gora National Park, which connects to this katun. We walk down to Lake Biograd via a quiet wooded path with old growth trees. It’s a 6-mile in and out hike from our homestay to the lake (plus 2 miles around the lake) — a perfect way to spend the day.
The lake is smaller than I expected and lower than usual due to a long dry summer, but the walk around the lake is lovely. We take a long break before heading back up the hill, sitting in the main picnic area of the park. A fluffy black dog, who I nickname Padfoot, decides that we are his new owners and he falls asleep at my feet.
Homestay hospitality, hard but rewarding
Our second evening we notice Mama Bogavac isn’t herself and Jelena is doing everything. The morning we leave Jelena tells us her mother isn’t feeling well and has to go to the hospital. She apologizes several times for breakfast but this is a breakfast for kings. She serves us roasted potatoes, cheese, priganice with fresh honey and strawberry jam, prosciutto, sausage, and boiled eggs. Considering the rustic accommodations and bathrooms, I was curious to understand how this place has such a high rating online. Now I know why — it’s the wonderful food, beautiful location and the genuine attention this family provides to every guest.
It’s obvious Jelena and her father can use a break, and just as I’m thinking it’s a good thing they’ll have no more guests after we leave, I see a large group of hikers heading up the hill towards us and they look famished. Jelena sees them too and quickly ushers us into her Jeep so we can leave before they get here. I feel sorry for the hungry hikers, they’ll only get drinks and cheese today. Hospitality is hard work, especially when it’s being offered under such rugged conditions while also operating a farm with livestock.
Jelena tells us she loves being at the katun. She works part of the year in the military but says “the military is hard on women, they don’t understand women’s health issues.” I believe her because Jelena doesn’t strike me as a wimp. I rarely see anyone else work this hard. She and her dad built everything here, which speaks to not only their love of carpentry but their sense of whimsy and imagination. The sinks and mirrors are carved from wooden logs, as is the water fountain and outdoor beer chest.
“Being up here, my mind is stress free.” ~ Jelena
Jelena has a young daughter who stays with the grandparents back in town. Her two younger brothers also live in town and aren’t interested in the family farm. Jelena has no wish for money, says she is happiest when she has less. Although I value money, since it allows me to travel and meet people like Jelena, her thoughts echo the desire pumping through my heart. I crave freedom. Freedom from my own expectations. Freedom from materialism, which demands constant productivity to feed the beast. Freedom from feeling regret at the end of my life, that I’ll look back and wish I had made better use of my time.
Be careful what you wish for. As you will see, the final part of our journey has much to teach us in this regard. Read Questioning Life Choices in Durmitor for the conclusion of our month in the Balkans.
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