Beautiful Herceg Novi

I share with you today some more pictures of yet another, beautiful, historically fascinating town along the coast of Montenegro: Herceg Novi. Of all the towns I have visited on the coast, this may indeed be my favorite. It has an old walled town, a fort on the water, some docks, a long walking path that ambles beside the water for kilometers, etc. etc. Enjoy the visuals:









Now, the intrepid reader of my humble narrative may well discern from my tone that, while I do indeed find Herceg Novi - as most of Montenegro - to be visually spectacular, I am nonetheless not impressed with Montenegro as a whole any longer. Why is this? Have I become so jaded from beautiful mountainscapes and seascapes assailing my eyes at every turn? Has the aesthetic become too everyday for me?

Unfortunately, no. Sadly, while Montenegro abounds with beauty, none of that hallmark loveliness can be found in Podgorica, the city in which I begrudgingly dwell. The town is a heap of concrete blocks, congested streets, and ubiquitous litter. Not that I have anything against that, mind you. I find cities like Saigon and New York to be compelling just for these qualities. But what these cities have that Podgorica lacks is both entertainment and social interaction. I won't even bore you with details of all that Podgorica lacks in terms of public institutions. What is strangely frustrating about this town, though, is the cliquishness.

One comes to understand Podgorica if one recalls the social dynamics of high school.

I must confess to a sad, shameful event of my teenage life. I belonged to the clique of misfits, punks, and oddballs in my culturally diffuse high school. When I was a freshman, our cadre was deemed misanthropic and untouchable by the rest of the teenage masses. However, by the time I was a junior, the words "alternative" and "individualist" began to become synonymous in the mainstream subconscious with "cool", and dozens of new cliques arose in emulation. We in our clique, of course, regarded these new eclectic groupies as nothing but copycats and trendies, and disdained them just as we had been disdained by our peers only months before (ah, the horrifying judmentalism of the teenage mind). Now, there was one girl in one of these groups (Angela, I believe) who, in addition to being terrifyingly cute, also had a massive crush on me. Indeed, she may have been the only girl in our school who ever had any interest in me, and the fact that she had large, dark, sultry eyes, delicate skin, and a wondrous bust should have been enough to have made me fall to my knees and praise God for my good fortune. But, of course, I did nothing of the kind. In retrospect I denounce myself for my idiot minsdset, but at the time I would have nothing to do with her, simply because she did not meet the standards demanded by my own caste. What was wrong with her? Was her hair just too black? Was it that she listened to Joy Division instead of Black Flag? No, none of this mattered. It was just that we had our group, she had hers, and the unspoken laws of cliquish immaturity demanded that the twain would not meet. I kissed her once at a drunken party, and then never talked with her again that year.

Why am I relating tales of my own childish moronity? Because, I suppose, we all have shameful teenage secrets to tell, the consequences of the clique dynamics determined by our high school orders. They may be embarrassing and shameful to recall, but if you can - if you can let yourself even fall back into that way of thinking for just a moment - you may begin to understand the Podgorican mentality. Just as, in those days of teenage social confusion, one stayed loyal to one's group lest - horror! - the group demanded your expulsion, so too do the people here remain faithful to their cliques. In a community carved by the forces of clan-based loyalty for generations, I suppose such a development is understandable. It does not make life any easier for the hapless foreigner, however. I am an everywhere outsider to the predetermined cliques that swarm in this town. I am everyone's Angela.

So, despite the beauty of this place, life here in Montenegro is a cold and vacant one. The greyness of my perspective (even on those rare days when it doesn't rain) makes the azure skies, the emerald seas, and the verdant mountains morose and pallid. I know I must leave this land of Vild Beauty.