It’s not that I suddenly shot up in bed one night with a burning urge to visit Podgorica. In fact, prior to this year, I’d never even heard of it, and probably would have assumed it was some kind of jolly eastern European wafer snack as opposed to the Montenegrin capital.

Our chance encounter occurred because I’d booked onto a group trip to explore the Durmitor National Park to the north of the country, and was advised that I should fly into Podgorica airport to join the starting point. Not knowing much about Montenegro at all, I thought it’d make sense to spend a couple of days in the capital before beginning the trip. The first impressions were good, as I booked a lovely looking hotel in the heart of the city for a mere £38 a night. With the accommodation arranged, I started to do a bit more research.

To say the results yielded from internet searches were disparaging about the place would be a complete understatement. Apparently, I’d just booked a couple of nights in ‘Europe’s most boring destination’, a ‘not particularly interesting’ place to visit, and – better yet – ‘Podgorica is a hole!’.
Well. Happy holidays to me! But none of these articles succeeded in convincing me to change my itinerary. Opinions are just opinions, I wanted to see it for myself.

The plane descended from above red-roofed houses that looked like Monopoly hotels scattered over a green mattress and touched down into the airport on one hot Monday in July. The first thing that struck me upon landing was the smell of cigarettes. With the terminal building seeming to be only the size of a saucer, I wondered if I’d landed in an ashtray as opposed to an airport. After the shortest passport control line ever, I stepped outside into stifling heat – a welcome break from the exceptionally wet British Summer – and spotted a guy who looked like a Montenegrin version of Harold Bishop from Neighbours holding my name on a piece of paper. The hotel had arranged a taxi for me, and here was my driver. He walked me over to the taxi and offered me a cigarette on the way, to which I shook my head. At least, I think that’s what he was doing. If he was checking that I was okay with the smoke in the car, he certainly wasn’t paying any attention to my headshake, but – terrible though smoking is – there was something somewhat endearing about the casual nature of it all. I held my breath and gazed out the window at signs adorned in unfamiliar Cyrillic script, and thought to myself, “I have officially arrived in a place some consider to be the most boring in Europe. Hello, Podgorica!” It will take me a few days to learn that the correct pronounciation rhymes with ‘pizza’.

As we reach the city centre, I begin to hear a growing chorus of car horns, and Harold does not hold back either. Beep beep beeeeeeep. We stop in a random street, where another vehicle is blocking the layby Harold wants to pull into, and I realise we have arrived at my hotel. Harold presses his horn firmly, but the driver in the vehicle ahead is playing on a tablet, and has no intention to move. This goes on for a while until Harold is within a fingernail of the rear bumper, which is the same point I notice large dents in virtually all the vehicles around us, including one with its entire front grille peeled off. It doesn’t take long to identify that this is not a city in which I would wish to drive.

Parking melee eventually overcome, Harold kindly carries my suitcase to the hotel reception where I am surprised to see a doppelganger of somebody I work with at the front desk.
“Oh, hi! Sorry I haven’t replied to your e-mail yet” I start to say. Well – not really – but it wouldn’t have felt too amiss if I had. Nonetheless, there’s something comforting about this small fraction of familiarity. Entering a new country for the first time can sometimes feel incredibly strange at first, and this was no different, but it would very soon fade.

The receptionist’s name is Teodora, and she is very helpful. Treating her a bit like a genie arising from a magic lamp, I am keen to restrict my number of questions / wishes to three. Not being able to speak a word of Montenegrin, I am reliant upon her years of studying English for our communication to be a success, and don’t want to take advantage of that. I die a little inside every time I see a British person abroad start reeling off demands with no attempt to check that the recipient understands English, and I don’t want to be ‘that person’. I select my questions carefully. Teodora says that yes, I can leave my luggage at the front desk whilst I go and explore, as it’s too early to check into my room, and yes there’s WiFi, but no, they don’t have any print-out maps. I have many more questions, like where’s the best place for a wander, but feel I’ve put Teodora through enough, and head out to work the rest of it out for myself.

I step outside and having no map – either physical or on my phone – make a mental note of whereabouts I am: downtown Podgorica, right opposite Independence Square. I head down a busy road which from memory of Google Maps would take me towards the old town, something I’ve read up on as a place to see. After some welcome moments under the shade of trees in Kings Park – built to commemorate the coronation of Nicholas I in Montenegro – I follow a stony staircase down towards the Moraca River and cross a bridge from which I see bathers dipping into the water. I make a mental note to return here after my trip to the old town, which is now only a few hundred metres away, up another stony staircase.

The old town really is an old town, but not quite the sequence of cobbled squares and Lipton parasols in which I’d been expecting to enjoy some sort of luminous, carbonated citrus beverage. Instead, it’s a scattered arrangement of small houses – some of which are completely dilapidated – and a couple of mosques. I later find out that this is an Ottoman-era neighbourhood which served as the hub of the city between the 15th and 19th centuries before being heavily bombed during World War II. I am struck by the amount of Argentinian-themed murals on display, including a homage to Diego Maradona captioned, ‘Adios El Pibe De Oro’. It transpires that the two countries have long-standing good relations, and that the South American country has the largest communities of Montenegrins outside of Europe. This isn’t something I’d ever have imagined to be the case, but feel so grateful to learn.

The heat is immense and I can start to feel sweat beads roll like rivers down my back, so take temporary solace in a nearby supermarket to stand near a fridge. I use this as an opportunity to officially the declare the start of ‘Crisps Around the World’, which is basically a fancy name I give to the act of ogling savoury snacks in foreign supermarkets and trying to select the most bizarre and unusual to try. Within a few moments of reviewing the offerings I feel I’d have more choice if I were playing a tobacco-themed version of the game… and there are plenty of crisps on display, just none that seem particularly novel. I wander out of the supermarket and begin to worry that I may have lost my bearings, until I see The Hilton hotel up ahead, which I recall passing on my way here. ‘Good old Paris and family‘, I think to myself in a moment of relief. I’m reassured by the fact that if I were to get completely lost and need to ask someone for directions, there’s at least one building here that I know how to pronounce.

I stop in the city centre for a tasty lunch of beef cream soup, bread and Montenegrin Niksicko beer that come served with a bonus waft of Lovcen cigarettes from the people next to me. Again, though part of me thinks it disgusting, another welcomes the sensory reminder of a bygone era, when all holidays smelt like sunshine, chips, and tobacco. I look back over Independence Square and wonder what the name means. Montenegro is a tiny country which could fit into the UK 18 times. Its population is only a little bit over that of Leeds, at 617 thousand. Surely a country of this size has a history small enough to quickly digest? Well – yes and no – but in its briefest form, it was part of the Kingdom of Yugoslavia for most of the 20th century. When the Socialist Federal Republic of Yugoslavia was dissolved in 1992, Montenegro joined hands with Serbia to become the Federal Republic of Yugoslavia, later known cunningly as ‘Serbia and Montenegro’ from 2003. In 2006, a referendum of Montenegrin independence took place with the results in favour of the country breaking off from Serbia, and in the Summer of that year it joined the UN as its 192nd member state.

After going back to my hotel to officially check-in and change attire, I head for another walk around the city. Njegoseva Street is where it all appears to be happening, and I stop off to refresh and do some journaling in a random bar with a waitress who looks less than thrilled to see me but is polite enough. I find myself thinking back to the spot by the Moraca River where people had set up a makeshift beach and feel it’s time to go back and check it out properly. I’m so glad that I do. By the time I return, the numbers have grown, the music is in full flow, and a bar framed in fairy lights has started selling drinks and t-shirts. A number of people – including some German tourists – swim in the river towards the Blazo Jovanovic bridge whilst their friends sit on the shingle smoking cigarettes, sunbathing, and enjoying loud conversations. A guy with dark, deep set eyes – like that of an albatross – serves me a Niksicko before returning to the riverbank to fish for trout – a favourite on Montenegrin dinner tables – and I sit on a stone wall, taking it all in. It’s strange to think I was waking up in an airport near Horley this morning. Right now, I couldn’t feel further away. The soft air, the excitable tingle from strange surroundings, the setting sun shimmering on the water – this is peace.

I think about what those Google searches said about Podgorica, and already I’m coming to the conclusion that they were a load of rubbish. I fully admit that what I’m experiencing is no Paris, no London, no New York, but there is still something quite sublime here – a city making the best of itself, in an understated yet enjoyable way. I walk back to my hotel via the 17th century clock tower that was framed as one of the key sights to see in Podgorica, a symbol of historic Turkish rule. As with many famous landmarks, it’s somewhat underwhelming, looking exactly the same in real life as it does on Google. You’ll visit Podgorica for reasons beyond this, I swear.

It’s the end of day 1 in Podgorica. Am I bored? No. Do I think it’s “a hole”? Absolutely not.

Day 2 starts with a hotel breakfast of random cold meats, cheeses, olives and pickles. The weather is slightly cooler than yesterday, and I choose to head to Gorica Park, a massive forested hill in the north of the city from which Podgorica gets its name (‘under the hill’). I am quite taken by Gorica Park. There is something quite alluring about its range of green shades and panoramic views of the city, reached by its seemingly endless trail paths. A wire-fenced, brutalist looking football pitch sits at the brow of the hill and opposite is an outdoor gym formed from corroded iron bars affixed to trees, looking a little like something straight out of Pripyat. I give a couple of the pieces of equipment a go before concluding that I should desist; I’ve a physically demanding week ahead, and shouldn’t go breaking my ankles on the second day.

Before long, there are flashes of lightning, and heavy rain sets in. Becoming a bit scared, I retrace my footsteps for about thirty minutes, back to the log-cabin style cafe in the centre of the park where I can take shelter with an apple and peach juice recommended by the English-speaking waiter. Heavy flumes of rain cascade from the awning and a ferocious wind blows menus across the outdoor seating area. It’s quite a contrast to yesterday’s heat, and an ever so slightly welcome one. Likewise, when the heat returns, it will be welcome back, and maybe there’s room in life for both. I sit tending my juice for an hour or so, literally waiting for a storm to pass, and think about how a swooshy font somewhere on Instagram is telling me I should be dancing in the rain. Although that’s a lovely sentiment, in these conditions it’s a pretty dangerous one. It later transpires that two men – one a Turkish construction worker in Canj, and another a Montenegrin enjoying a game of golf on the coastal Lustica bay – are killed by the lightning I watch from the safety of the cafe.

In the afternoon, once the rain has subsided and sunshine returned, I head back to the ‘beach’ at the Moraca River. My new happy place. I sit in a small cove, welcoming its shade, and write whilst looking out over the water. I am very tempted to swim, but on this occasion the voice of caution within prevails. The water moves rapidly, and though it looks nice and clean, I don’t know enough about what’s in it or how fast the current moves. Instead, I watch as a small turtle crawls over the pebbles, basking in the heat. A lady in floral dress then passes by, looking very wistful.

“She’s having a nice moment”, I think to myself, before seeing her partner following a few metres behind her, recording her with his phone.

Instagram influencer.

As for me, I’m just a novice writer whose most regular reader is my mum. I can’t influence you in the same way these perfectly curated Instagrammers can, but hey, at least I can give you a .JPG of Podgorica’s most famous attraction that you can print and pin on your fridge if you feel so particularly inclined.

At this reflective moment, a massive filling dislodges and I have to take a temporary return to reality in order to arrange a dentist’s appointment for soon after I return home. It wouldn’t be a holiday of mine without a dental-related drama! I purchase Panadol and mouthwash and hope for the best for now.

That evening, I head for a dinner of chicken in hazelnut sauce in Njegoseva Street before returning to Gorica Park. It’s still light and the settings are ripe for a beautiful sunset walk, especially with the storm having finished. I am surprised to see another turtle, a Hermann’s tortoise, crossing a path near to the ironwork gym I’d sampled earlier. Gorica Park is full of surprises, and I find myself liking the place more and more. It’s mysterious, it’s understated, and it’s beautiful. As I later make my way out of the park, I notice a small cafe bar – Klub Bocara – decked out in fairy lights and showing the Netherlands vs Romania game, and identify it as a perfect pit-stop. I sit on a table next to two girls who are smoking and playing a game of poker dice, and sip on another fresh, cold Niksicko lager. This place has a real vibe, one that just clicks. The evening warmth, the international football, the multiple languages being spoken, the fairy lights, the swing jazz on the radio, and A CAT! I stay there for a lot longer than planned just taking it all in and absorbing the moment (and taking every opportunity I can to stroke the cat). There’s tonnes I need to do to prepare for the next few days, but it can all wait.

Prior to moving on in the morning I reflect upon the last two days in Podgorica, and think back to those Google reviews. Is Podgorica the most vibrant, exciting place in the world? No. It’s not even the most vibrant and exciting place in Montenegro, as later trips to Durmitor and Budva alone would attest. But, does that mean it’s boring? Certainly not. And it’s certainly no ‘hole’. I’d go as far to wager that if you think that strongly about a place, it’s probably not the place that’s boring, but you. A lot of tourists need to understand that places don’t necessarily have to peacock to please those that visit. If they did, they’d all start looking the same, losing their unique identities to whatever algorithms constitute ‘amazing cities‘. Instead, it’s far better to take the time to really explore somewhere, and see and appreciate it for what it really is. What I particularly liked about Podgorica was that it didn’t pretend to be something it wasn’t. If it did, it probably would have felt like a lot of other places in the world.

Instead, it felt like Podgorica, Montenegro. And I absolutely loved it for that.