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<< Previous   of   Next >> Photo by Rick Steves  (click to enlarge) Not much goes on in humble Cetinje, Montenegro, seen here at its best. Photo by Rick Steves  (click to enlarge) The Monastery of St. Peter of Cetinje is an integral part of the community.   ADVERTISEMENT   CONTACT THE HERALD Melanie Munk, Features Editor munk@heraldnet.com   Published: Saturday, November 29, 2008 Years have not been kind to Montenegro's old capital By Rick Steves Tribune Media Services Driving south from Croatia's Dubrovnik, I soon hit the border of Montenegro, once part of Yugoslavia and now its own nation. By European standards, Montenegro is about as poor as it gets. They don't even have their own currency. With just 600,000 people, they decided, heck, let's just use euros. And since it's such a tiny place, the official Eurozone countries are willing to look the other way. I leave the little country's idyllic Bay of Kotor, which cuts into the mountains like a Norwegian fjord, and climb 26 switchbacks, ascending into another world. At switchback No. 18, I pull out for a grand view of the dramatic bay and marvel at how the vegetation, climate and ambience are completely different just 18 switchbacks above sea level. As my car crests the ridge, the sea disappears, and before me stretches a basin defined by a ring of black mountains. It's the heartland of Crna Gora, the local words for Montenegro (meaning "Black Mountain"). At the end of the road is Cetinje (pronounced TSEH-teen-yeh), which a road sign proclaims is the "Old Royal Capital." This is brutal country -- and it's impoverished. Every hundred yards or so, the local towing company has spray-painted its phone number, Auto Slep 067-838-555, on a rock. You get the feeling they are in the bushes, praying for a mishap. Desolate farmhouses claim to sell smoked ham, mountain cheese, and medovina (honey brandy) -- but I don't see a soul. Up here, the Cyrillic alphabet survives better than on the coast. Then comes Cetinje. Since I've visited it before, I'm nostalgic about this town. Established as the capital in the 15th century, Cetinje is the historic heart of the old kingdom of Montenegro. The town was taken by the Ottoman Empire several times. The hedonistic Turks would generally move in and enjoy a little pillage and plunder. Quickly realizing there wasn't much a hedonist could enjoy here, they just destroyed the place and moved on. Today Cetinje is a workaday, two-story town with barely a hint of its old status. The museums are generally closed. The economy is flat. A shoe factory and a refrigerator factory were abandoned during Yugoslavia's breakup. (They were part of Tito's unworkable economic vision for Yugoslavia. In the name of efficiency, the state decided that individual products should be made in one place in huge quantities to supply the entire country.) Kids on bikes roll like tumbleweeds down the main street, past old-timers with hard memories. At the edge of town is the Monastery of St. Peter of Cetinje -- the still-beating spiritual heart of this Eastern Orthodox country. I step in. A monk with a beard halfway to his waist nods a welcome. An old woman in black is at a candlelit basin. When I photograph her, she snarls at me like a mad cat. I recall hearing stories of how -- less than two decades ago -- Serbs were raping old women in Catholic churches and Croats were raping old women in Orthodox churches. I can't imagine the scars that these people live with (even in places like Cetinje, which saw no actual fighting in the civil wars of the 1990s). A service is in progress. I step in the back, and remain standing (as everyone does in Orthodox worship). The action is amazing. People -- mostly teenagers in sporty tracksuits -- are trickling in, kissing everything in sight. It's mesmerizing to see these rough and casual teens bending respectfully at the waist as they kiss icons, Bibles and the hands of monks. Watching them on the streets, as most casual tourists do, you'd never dream that they'd be here standing through a long church service. For the first time, I understand what the iconostasis (called a "rood screen" in Western Europe) is all about. Used long ago in Catholic services, and still in use in Orthodox churches, the screen separates the common worshippers from the zone where the priests do all the religious heavy lifting. The screen is like a holy lattice. It provides some privacy, but still lets worshippers peek through. On the other side, I can see candlelight reflecting on gilded icons, incense creating an otherworldly ambience, and monks chanting hypnotically. Above it all, there are the arms of Jesus. I know he is on the cross, but I only see his arms. As the light flickers, I feel they are happy arms -- wanting and eager to give everyone present a big, Slavic bear hug. This hardscrabble town -- and all of Montenegro -- could use one. Rick Steves (www.ricksteves.com) writes European travel guidebooks and hosts travel shows on public television and public radio. E-mail him at rick@ricksteves.com, or write to him c/o P.O. Box 2009, Edmonds, WA 98020. READER COMMENTS Be the first to comment. You must be a registered user and verify your e-mail address to post comments to blogs or articles on HeraldNet. To register, click here. To read other terms and conditions, click here. Log out

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