Montenegro – standing tall
Wednesday, 25 Jun 2008 11:07
A spectacular view above Kotor
For a two-year-old country, Montenegro has a lot of history.
This modestly-sized Balkan state narrowly chose independence from its larger neighbour Serbia in 2006, finally putting the former Yugoslavia to rest and beginning a new era in its history – and the region's.
Montenegrins are facing huge challenges. Political stability must be carefully nurtured and investment cultivated, without impatient development ruining the country's unique charm.
The attractiveness of this largely mountainous nation is undoubted. Its beaches, valleys and atmospheric towns are among the best in the Balkans. Careful management is needed to ensure they fully survive these sensitive, crucial times.
What are the odds of Montenegro emerging as the jewel of the Balkans? Will it become a sophisticated location for the Mediterranean's brave and beautiful, or lapse into mediocrity and lose its powerful charisma? There is something in the elusive quality of Crna Gora, as it is known to its inhabitants, to suggest it could go either way.
A bad century
One thing is for certain - Montenegrins will be hoping the next 100 years are better than the last.
After becoming the only country to lose its independence in the first world war, annexed by Serbia, the fledgling nation found itself subsumed into the larger Yugoslavia in 1929.
It again suffered the ignominy of occupation during the second world war. Thousands paid for the activities of Josep Broz Tito's communist partisans, whose determined resistance efforts were met with harsh, desperate reprisals. Ruined houses by the roadside still stand in silent memorial to those who suffered, reflecting in their own way the powerful statues of solidarity from that time now scattered throughout Montenegro.
After the war came a relative decline which lasted until Tito's death in 1980. An enormous 7.1 earthquake in 1979 devastated large parts of the coastal regions; it prefigured the traumas to come. For although Montenegro largely missed out on the horrific violence endured by the Balkans in the 1990s, its strong links with Serbia saw it share the collapse of that country's humiliating transition into the rump republic of Slobodan Milosevic. The derelict factory of Obod, a white goods maker bankrupted by UN sanctions, stands quietly on the outskirts of Montenegro's spiritual capital, Cetinje. Near the Albanian border are signs of a worse scar - the remains of bomb damage from a Nato attack on Plav. Patrick Mercer, the Conservative MP, visited Montenegro in 2000; he warned of a simmering cauldron of ethnic tensions and was not alone in fearing renewed civil war.
A good impression
Such fears, thankfully, have not materialised into reality. Eight years after Mr Mercer's journey, the Montenegro I discovered appeared one of optimism, energy and change.
I arrived on the first ever flight by Montenegro Airlines from London and was greeted at the quiet Tivat airport by beaming girls dancing proudly in national costume. Their awkwardness was utterly charming; but like Montenegro they showed a willingness to step up and show they too could put on a good show. Their country, like their smiles, proved entrancing.
I met several tourism officials on my trip, all of whom were enthused with the possibility of their country developing what has, so far, been a limited market. There is a deep wish among Montenegrins to shape their own future independently from the rest of the world. They want to leave the conflicts of the past behind; the 80,000 foreign workers who come for seasonal work every summer are testament to this commitment. Montenegro seems set on the road to lasting peace and prosperity.
The new Montenegro, emerging from its amicable divorce with Serbia in 2006, has much to be proud of. It has attractive coastal resorts, skiing only a few hours distant and, inbetween, beautiful deep valleys, spectacular mountains and rolling hills. Four national parks highlight its variety, from the giddy peaks of Durmitor to the stifling heat sitting over Skadar Lake. Pelicans make this spot a must-see for birdwatchers, while salt marshes near Tivat boast pink flamingos. The primeval forest awaits in Biogradska, where some trees are over 1,000 years old. Within the town walls of Kotor the atmosphere of its medieval golden age still lingers.
The raw ingredients for a tourism tour de force are all present and now the government is stepping up its efforts to bring a big transformation about. The local press abounds with talk of a new highway linking Montenegro with Serbia. Montenegro's status as the world's first eco-state is continually underlined by the government. Madonna is even rumoured to be performing a concert in Budva this autumn. The number of British visitors in 2007 jumped by 14 per cent in one year alone; new regular flights suggest the growth will continue. The citizens of Montenegro are the tallest, on average, in Europe; this is a country which is standing tall among its regional and continental equals.
Border country
It is difficult to overstate the emotive power the present turnaround holds for Montenegrins, coming as it does after centuries of oppression. Its repeated subjugation makes the trials of the 20th century seem entirely average and physical evidence of this torrid past abounds throughout the country. My senses were first alerted to this in Budva, whose old town is dominated by the medieval citadel. Its guns point inwards as well as outwards. Could it be its constructors were as worried about Budva's inhabitants as potential future assailants?
An even more imposing proof of this repressive past is the castle on the heights above Kotor, which was occupied by successive invaders since its construction against the Saracens in the ninth century. There are less obvious, but equally striking, examples. The road from Kotor to Cetinje is dotted with small, almost quaint, bunkers built by the Italian fascists in the second world war. In Cetinje our guide pointed out the fence of one church's small graveyard, made from the guns of the failed Montenegrin army of the first world war. An Austrian-Hungarian redoubt, controlling the pass back to Budva, underlines that defeat.
I quickly developed a sense of Montenegro as an embattled country, a nation of insurgents. Its early history reflects this; the mountainous terrain of its interior was as ideally suited to guerrilla warfare and armed resistance in the tenth century as it was in the 20th.
This, of course, is the reason it has been a lynchpin in the age-old regional struggles of the last 1,000 years. Castles on the coast, part of the traditional border between east and west, embodies Montenegro's defiant spirit. It is hardly surprising that, centuries later, Tito's communist partisans hid among their ruins in the second world war. Montenegrins specialise in resistance. Amid the optimism, I sensed a desperate desire to put the past well and truly behind them.
One person I met on my travels made clear he would much rather be living in the past. The priest of the serene Moraca monastery told me he wishes the union of Montenegro's church and state had not met its demise in 1910. Nearly 400 years before then Montenegro had taken the innovative step of unifying religion and politics with the first 'prince-bishops'. Though somewhat shy, Father Ignatio was happy to explain on the bus ride past the stunning Moraca gorge why the church-state split was a bad idea.
"God is love, God is unity." For Father Ignatie it makes complete sense that religion and politics be united in the same way. He revealed to me his fervent hope that this natural state of government will one day return. And he gently dismissed the ongoing rancour between the Serbian Orthodox church and the Montenegrin Orthodox offshoot, of which he is a member. "They are like two brothers – like Isaac and Jacob," he explained.
The separation from normal life he embodies makes Father Ignatie's very forgiving opinions rather quaint. But one comment he made went to the heart of modern Montenegro. "People think with their heads, not with their hearts," he said, moments before jumping off the coach to visit an imprisoned friend in the capital, Podgorica. "God is in the heart."
Change
Whether Montenegrins are being ruled by their heads or their hearts is up for debate. After the economic stagnation of the communist period and the violence of the 1990s, they are grasping the opportunities brought by investment from abroad with a thoroughly understandable excitement.
The results are everywhere. British businessman Peter Munk is building a luxury marina for megayachts in Tivat. Our tour guide pointed out countless unsettled valleys earmarked for development. Former campsites are now hotels, ex-markets becoming shopping malls. The influx of foreign money is having a sweeping impact.
This is most noticeable in the coastal resorts, where the drive to bring in tourism continues unabated. Budva, whose upper slopes are covered with building sites, is a prime example. Here the number of beds exceeds the number of places on the beach twelvefold, while the town suffers regular water shortages in the summer months.
"The development is not happening too quickly, it is happening too stupidly," one tourism worker told me. "There is no thought for the consequences."
There are some positives. Seasoned veterans on the trip noticed the much cleaner banks of the River Moraca running through Podgorica. Cetinje is a tired and sleepy town which has the potential to be greatly improved by investment. But those who truly love Montenegro for its unadorned beauty and simple charms are nevertheless dismayed.
Crime and corruption
Workers on the ground look to the government for long-term strategic guidance, preventing a rush for quick cash ruining exactly that which makes Montenegro so special. It is not clear Milo Djukanovic and friends are providing this. Building regulations seem worryingly optional. Some cry corruption.
Montenegrins angrily refute such allegations, claiming a culture clash with western Europe. On the Adriatic coast, gift-giving is a natural thing to do – as we found during one meal on Skadar Lake, when a morose-looking man doled out a variety of herbs and flowers to the assembled females. It is very common between friends and families; the same principle can be extended to business. It would only be polite to accept a present in return for allowing planning permission, for example. So I was told.
Crime, in its usual sense, is remarkably low - centuries of harshness towards criminality have taken care of that. Despite this, I heard reports of a shootout in Budva last year over a drug dispute. Drug barons roam the resorts. The age-old system of clans does not help; there are around 20 important families and several hundred in total. In such a small country, everyone knows everyone else.
The UN Office on Drugs and Crime says the Balkan link between political instability and crime has been broken. And Mr Dukanovic says radical improvements in court proceedings against corruption will make a difference. But the opposition Socialist People's party is dubious. It says the upcoming enforcement of a new law on the prevention of conflict of interest will be a real test, revealing just how dedicated it and other parties are to fighting corruption.
The future
The EU will not be impressed by reports of graft and money laundering. It has reached a stabilisation and association agreement and the government seems keen to join the queue of Balkan states seeking accession to an enlarged union.
It remains to be seen how well this will work out, especially with the dominance of Russia in Montenegrin affairs. The depth of Russian penetration this far west is striking. Forty per cent of all tourists to Montenegro are Russian, attracted by the lack of visa restrictions and centuries of a strong alliance. A Russian firm recently bought the KAP aluminium plant outside Podgorica, which represents over three-quarters of the country's total exports. They hold three per cent of all private property.
This reliance could be strengthened because of the current global economic situation. Russia, rich in natural resources and benefiting from high oil prices, may help Montenegro to avoid the knock-on effects of the credit crunch. Most people in the country are preoccupied by basic pragmatic issues of survival rather than politics, I was told. They are neither optimistic nor pessimistic; for many the future seems as undecided as the coming choice between the EU and Russia.
"What will we do if the European Union starts causing us problems? Well, have another friend we can turn to," a friend told me late one night.
After centuries of being a frontier state between east and west some things never change. The Montenegrin crest shows two eagles, looking both ways. That seems as apt today as it ever has been: Montenegro remains a border country.
Alex Stevenson