Kotor’s Waters: Cool, Clearing, Needed

It was another day of not being in the mood for travelling today. I had a remote psych session this morning, rescheduled the last part of my trip for some much-needed downtime, and was in a bit of a mood. It’s that combo of FOMO and exhaustion. I decided I needed to do something easy to deter the FOMO, but not too much to further exhaust me. The photos of Perast are what drew me to Kotor, so I thought I should at least give that a go.

Waiting for the local bus to take me the 30 minutes around the bay to Perast felt like an eternity. There aren’t printed timetables, but the internet suggests they run hourly at about 18 minutes past the hour. I arrived a little early, not knowing how accurate Google is. I wait half an hour and give up. I instead book a 5 pm speedboat tour instead. Slightly more expensive, but running to a schedule—and less effort. I’m hot, tired, and just can’t be bothered with waiting and going with the flow today.

I’ve got a couple of hours till my new departure time, so head back to my Airbnb, change into swimmers, and head for the local beach. As an Australian, I’m spoilt for choice when it comes to beaches—we literally have long sandy beaches along our 66,000 km of coastline. The city beach in Montenegro is a little less fortunate when it comes to sand, but it makes up for it in beautiful mountain views and crystal-clear water.

It’s only a five-minute walk to the pebble and stone beach. I walk past all the deck chairs and umbrellas, opting for the free section of beach with all my fellow cheapskate beachgoers. Paying for the beach is a new concept for me and not something I want to try for this quick swim.

I throw down my towel in the pebbles beside the sea wall. The beach is only a few meters deep—room for two people per row—with others sitting on the sea wall and just watching. I strip down to my funky trunks and make the walk to the water. Entering is difficult. While the rocks on the beach are small pebbles and crushed shells, under the waterline they are larger, moss-covered, and slippery. I make it a few steps in—this is hard.

Spotting a small platform, I retreat from the beach entry and walk to the end of the jetty, making an undignified entry into the cool, fresh Bay of Kotor waters. It’s the refreshing hit I needed. It’s neither hot nor freezing—the perfect temperature to feel revived without going numb.

Swimming around for a while, I feel some seaweed brush my leg. I’m not a huge fan of swimming in the ocean—the fact we know more about planets and moons than the depths of our oceans scares me. I call it time to relax on the beach—time for the disembark up the slippery rocky beach. Floating as close to shore as possible, I drag myself upright in shin-deep water. There is no graceful way to do this. Stumbling like an adult-sized toddler, I eventually make it out.

Laying on the beach, it’s more comfortable than I had imagined small pebbles to be. I’m pretty white, so I can’t take the sun for too long, but I enjoy the warmth it brings. It seems less harsh and packs less burning punch than the Australian sun. I lay here for a while, looking at the water, the mountains around the bay, and the occasional topless muscular guy swimming or walking past.

I move to the sea wall and sit there for a bit when a couple of Aussie guys come and set up their towels in front of me. “Sorry, we’re probably ruining your view,” one of them says as he slowly removes his T-shirt and stretches out on his tiny beach towel. My internal dialogue replies, “Nah, you’re alright—you’re improving my view.” Fortunately, by the time that reaches my mouth, my internal safeguards have cut the last part out.

I overhear them chatting with a younger girl beside them. They’re Australian, met in Sydney, and have been travelling the Balkans together. She’s from Colombia, and they talk about visiting there. It’s a novelty to be able to eavesdrop on a conversation—most of the chatter around me lately has been indecipherable. A British girl a few towels over chimes in, “Are the spiders bad in Colombia? I’ve wanted to go but I’m too scared of the spiders,” she hollers. The guy closest to me replies, “Nah, it’s fine—you won’t even see them,” before his friend interjects, “He’s an Aussie though, so spiders aren’t going to bother him.” Fair point. The British girl seems satisfied that Colombia is now safe for her next vacation and returns to reddening her white skin on the pebbly beach.

Observing her sunburn, I decide it’s time for my own pasty white flesh to return to some shade. I get dressed and find that getting rocks off your feet and towel is much easier than getting rid of sand. I make my way back to the Airbnb. By the time I get there, it feels like something is stuck under my left foot. Undressing for a shower to wash the salt off my skin, I discover there’s nothing stuck—it’s a large bruise and bump forming on the sole. Looks like my first rocky beach swim in Europe has left its mark. I’ll try to find some swimming shoes before attempting that again—though the refreshing water was the mood booster I needed, even if it left a bruise to prove it.Leggi altro