Bay of Kotor

by Flavia Brilli

'What country, friends, is this?'

'Twelfth Night', Shakespeare.

In Shakespeare's  Twelfth Night  Viola, the heroine of the play,  finds herself shipwrecked on a strange coast. "What country, friends, is this?" she asks. That country was Illyria: an ancient region of the Western Balkans whose coast along with Slovenia, Croatia, Bosnia and Herzegovina, included the tiny pearl of the Adriatic coast, Boka Kotorska, also known as Kotor Bay. And, like Viola, when I first set my eyes on Boka's beauty, on the ferry crossing from Lepetane to Kamenari, I too felt a sense of awe and strangeness: with its brooding Wagnerian karst mountains plunging into the bay like ancient mammoths of prehistory, and Perast's ancient, island churches floating on the sea like stone maidens. 






For something magical occurs when the mountains meet the sea: that spellbinding combination of the sea's eternally shape shifting character, set against the stone force of a mountain's unyielding, fixed endurance, inevitably creates a captivating tension. Two opposing forces with two opposing voices: one which stands for stubborn, immutability; the other, for tempestuous, unpredictability.




And it is these landscapes which attract me the most: since with opposites there is always drama and change. Throughout the summer, the bay is a glittering benign jewel. In autumn, as the weather changes, the sea breezes and mountain air mix together bringing their own strange dramas: wild winds, theatrical sunsets and torrents of rain; a Wagnerian drama all wild, grand and beautiful.





For Boka Kotorska is not simply a playground for idle tourists and relaxing locals: it's a geological wonder with its own internal dramas.  Look to the skies and to the mountain tops; or the sea, when it's in a belligerent mood, to really know and love Boka.  Find a rock to just sit and watch from. Watch the people at the shoreline; the fishermen in their boats; watch the mini dramas unfurl in the skies above.




And, then, when you are done with the sea, climb to the top of Lovcen and look down from its majestic heights across the breathtaking beauty of Montenegro's mountainous landscape, and think of the English writer George Bernard Shaw who wondered " am I in paradise or on the moon?"

Njivice

"I felt my lungs inflate with the onrush of scenery—air, mountains, trees, people. I thought, 'This is what it is to be happy.'"

—Sylvia Plath, The Bell Jar

Splendour by the Sea

Gazing serenely, across the bay from Herceg Novi, sits the alluring village of Njvice. Nestled in her own micro climate and draped in exotic vegetation, this quiet beauty, with her magnificent views of Herceg Novi town and the majestic Mount Orjen, entreats you to enjoy the bounty of nature and the beauty of the sea.

Pretty Njivice in all its green summer splendour

Between its handsome houses and rugged pathways, Oleader, Algarve, pines, laurels, Japanese medlar, jujube, kiwi and banana trees flourish. And, from its serene location, you can enjoy glorious views towards Lustica Peninsula, Herceg Novi town and the magnificent Orjen mountain which casts its mighty influence over Boka Bay

Inspiring views across the bay, on summer walks from Njivice to Herceg Novi.

Mount Orjen (above), and historic Herceg Novi town (below).

Autumnal Dramas

As summer closes and autumn takes shape, Njivice becomes the perfect spot to enjoy the dramatic cloud formations which sweep across Mount Orjen's majestic peaks. This dinaric giant casts its mighty influence all over Kotor Bay, bringing monsoon rains and wagnerian thunderstorms. 

Sailors and fishermen keep a watchful eye on its jagged peaks for cap clouds: a sign of the imminent Bora wind which will blow its katabatic gusts across the Bay causing chaos and mayhem.

I am the daughter of Earth and Water, 

And the nursling of the Sky; 

I pass through the pores of the ocean and shores; 

I change, but I cannot die. 

—Percy Bysshe Shelley, The Cloud.

Pathways to Nature's Glories

and Secret Churches

Perched above Njivice, in verdant nature, sleeps Sveti Ilija: its broad, solemn gaze reaching across the slopes of Montenegro and Croatia. Rarely visited, except by a handful of intrepid tourists and locals during Slava festivities, she sits neglected amongst nature's glories.

Lovcen

'Am I in paradise or on the moon?'

George Bernard Shaw

Aloof and proud, head in clouds, its sloping, rugged shoulders plunging steeply, Mount Lovcen presides glorious and regal. Its majestic beauty embellished by the status of its venerated national icon, Prince Njegos, whose tomb, guarded by marble maidens, rests on its peak.

From Tibet to Nepal, many mountains men have climbed, conquered and admired, but few can claim to be the last resting place of both Poet, Philosopher, Prince, and Bishop. And, so here the spirituality that mountains inspire, and which so often people seek, coexists as one in Lovcen: the Spiritual emblem of the Montenegrin people.

Beyond Prince Njegos's resting place, Lovcen's rugged peaks stretch far beyond the limits of our imagination, piercing ethereal clouds and magic sunsets. An otherworldly landscape;  another universe belonging to another time: mammoth, ancient, boundless and eternal. 

From here, we can ponder on Rumija's misty peaks which beckon us to follow its trails to the shores of Lake Skadar's watery oasis.

From here, we can enjoy the magic mist of early winter transform itself into a cavalry of white winter horses charging across the rocky peaks with white plumes of misty breath trailing behind them.

And, then, return again, when winter snows transform this scene into a magical, wintry wonderland.

All images and words © 2014-2018 Flavia Brilli.

The Mountain

The mountain sat upon the plain

In his eternal chair,

His observation omnifold,

His inquest everywhere.

 

The seasons prayed around his knees,

Like children round a sire:

Grandfather of the days is he,

Of dawn the ancestor.

by Emily Dickinson

BOKA JEWELS: The Seasons

In early summer, the bay is a glittering benign jewel; its karst mountains verdant green and fertile plunging into emerald and sapphire waters. Perfect reflections mirroring the natural splendour of Boka's magnificence beguile and enthrall the viewer: a divine, double duet of sumptuous colour and visual drama.

Empty fishermen's boats lie quiet and still on transparent shallows, revealing life below the shoreline: a miasma of rocks and algae and fledgling sea creatures. Shoals of young fish skitter by undisturbed, as of yet, by mid summer's motor boats and noisy tourists. 

Peace, quiet and stillness reign supreme and Boka's dress of jewels are flaunted for its real admirers.

After the summer, when the crowds of tourists have finally returned home, the bay slowly and determinedly reverts into its autumn character. The motor boats have left, the extraneous clatter of unwelcome fun seekers has faded, and now the beauty of Boka reveals itself in a different mood and tone: glassy still waters reflect soulful, sweet, magenta sunsets; and, the last golden hours, just before, caress the bows of fishermen's drifting boats. Time for long walks and thoughts and the opportunity to immerse oneself in an empty watery space of tonal pastel colours, divinely calm and empty of people. 

On the hottest autumnal days, the clouds and sun conspire to set the sky ablaze with thrilling sunsets: magenta hues colliding with brilliant golds and fiery oranges stopping casual walkers in their tracks. Nature's sky born fireworks amazing even the most jaded viewer.

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As winter approaches and daylight hours diminish, the bay retracts and sleeps. Tranquility takes hold. The first coat of snow clothes the jagged peaks of Lovcen's sloping shoulders and pallid pink winter sunsets caress its crest. And, whereas in summer, Lovcen's lofty peaks could hardly compete with Boka's brilliant sea colours, it now takes center stage towering defiantly over its watery playmate, otherworldly and mysterious.

All images and words © 2014-2018 Flavia Brilli.

Human Seasons

Four Seasons fill the measure of the year;

     There are four seasons in the mind of man:

He has his lusty Spring, when fancy clear

     Takes in all beauty with an easy span:

He has his Summer, when luxuriously

     Spring's honied cud of youthful thought he loves

To ruminate, and by such dreaming high

     Is nearest unto heaven: quiet coves

His soul has in its Autumn, when his wings

     He furleth close; contented so to look

On mists in idleness—to let fair things

     Pass by unheeded as a threshold brook.

He has his Winter too of pale misfeature,

Or else he would forego his mortal nature.

By John Keats

PERAST

Reflections

WHERE do you keep the secrets,

Mirror,

That drop like petals on your bosom

And drift away in silence?

Floating

Floating,
Drifting,
Thinking,
Dreaming.

Perast village and Our Lady of the Rocks

The Perast Mist

As the sun rises, the mist slips gently over the jagged peaks of Lovcen  and, then, swirls gently down into the tranquil bay where there it rests. Arms enveloped around the sleeping islands and empty fishermen's boats it lingers, a  ghostly presence conjured by nature.

I finish my morning expresso and reluctantly leave this magical place to continue my journey along the bay to Risan.

RISAN to MORINJ

The journey of Winter Reflections

Beyond the town of Risan, the winding road climbs steeply affording more views of Perast and then finally dips and curves to show me another view of Risan; a more beautiful view. I'm here in the winter, when I have it all to myself, and when there is nothing to disturb the serene beauty of the bay's magical reflections. Just the mountains and the light playing out their magic on the water.

Before I reach Morinj, an empty bench lit by the afternoon sun, reminds of the wonderful solitude winter brings. 

All images and words © 2014-2018 Flavia Brilli.