This week we climbed a mountain. But first, let me explain the context.

A few days ago, we hired our neighbour Nikola (who owns a taxi) to drive us to Budva.  He’s an excellent driver and has lived in Kotor his entire life, so he was extremely knowledgeable and took us via the scenic route (which is up and over the mountains, rather than through the long and noisy tunnel). He was full of interesting titbits and stopped the taxi at lots of great panoramas, like this one.

As we were driving, he pointed out a high peak overlooking Kotor. The vertical cliffs, he called them.  He explained you could drive to the restaurant in the saddle between two ranges, and from there, walk to the peak. “One and a half hours Miss. Easy. A little up, a little down, a little up.  If you like, I can take you.”

Firstly, I love being called “Miss”. Secondly, I love a hike. Even Rosco was keen. So checking out the weather forecast and picking a day of brilliant sunshine and light winds, we booked Nikola in for an 8am pick up (which really means we met downstairs, given that we all lived in the same building).

In my mind, I envisaged this hike a little like Julie Andrews’ trip to the Alps in the Sound of Music.  Gentle green fields, easy walking, perhaps even a few bars of ‘do re mi’. But it was none of those things.

The peak is called Pestingrad with a height of 1006m above sea level. To get to the restaurant, we drove up the narrow switchback road, with 25 hairpin turns. Each switchback number was marked in blue paint on the stone barriers, and cheerfully announced by Nikola as we arrived at each one. “Eight” he would grin at us, cornering the hairpin, “Nine” with a chortle. He reminded me very much of The Count, from Sesame Street.

The road was mostly one way, with a few wider bits for passing oncoming traffic. It was early, so we only met three cars going in the opposite direction. The sheer edge of the mountain fell away beneath the passenger side wheel, and Nikola cheered us up immeasurably by telling us how his friend accidentally drove over the edge one night after a few drinks with friends.  Luckily, he was near switchback number 20, so he landed on the road below and lived to tell the story.

I hate sitting on the passenger side of a car / bus in Europe. I’ve been a front seat passenger in a similar car ride before, and I completely lost it after about 20 terrifying minutes. With tears streaming down my face and begging to be let out so I could walk home (a good 25km), I swore I would never sit in that seat again.  So for this trip, I sat on the driver’s side, in the back, as far away from the edge as possible. Rosco sat in the front passenger seat, and I watched his face become increasingly ashen as the journey progressed.

The ‘restaurant’ turned out to be a surprisingly large resort built in a valley between the mountains. Nikola parked the car on the gravel by the edge of the road, and we set off on a wide path, bitumen at first, then stones and gravel.  Juicy blackberries grew along the edges, which Nikola picked and ate along the way.

In the beginning, the walking track was a series of long, looped switchbacks, and when Nikola suggested a short cut that would remove some of the winding path, we leapt at the chance. So rather than the wide, gently upwards path, we rock-hopped along a steep, narrow, barely discernible trail. The blackberry bushes, which just minutes earlier had offered juicy little treats, now proffered their thorns, ripping into arms and legs, leaving a trail of bloody scratch marks.

After the short cut, and more uphill walking, we came across the signpost for Pestingrad. I asked Nikola what the black marker against the Pestingrad trail meant (as opposed to the blue and red markings on other trails).  I assumed, like ski runs, black was the hardest category. He said no, it was just a colour. Let’s read on dear friends, for an assessment of that response.

Once past this sign, we started the section which Nikola had previously described as ‘a little up, a little down Miss’.

We passed the ruins of WWI bunkers, and a number of round, walled gardens, created by the villages to grow their crops in. However, the trail was not really suited for admiring the surroundings, as my every thought was about where to place each foot so I didn’t slip, turn an ankle, fall, or other such maladies.

The rocks were big – let’s call them boulders. On many occasions we needed both hands to pull ourselves up piles of boulders, and through the narrow gaps between them. On the down sections, we often had to sit on the edge and feel for the foothold below with our feet before lowering ourselves down.

The pathway traversed beautiful scenery, with some sections heavily shaded, where the temperature dropped and the moss thrived in the chilled air. Then there were open areas where the white rocks shone brightly in the Autumn sun.

Nikola was a great guide. Every time we traversed a hard section he would say “Super Miss” or “Easy Miss”. He offered advice on which rocks were loose or unstable “this one, it is moving” he would say, pointing at the offending rock. On the tricky bits, he would point out the series of steps required. “One foot here, then big step to here. Use hands on this rock Miss” he would say, pointing to the various places.  Where required, Nikola would offer a hand to guide, pull, or support me through the tricky sections. I, in turn, would offer the same instructions and assistance to Rosco, who was bringing up the rear.

Rosco, not particularly fond of heights or strenuous outdoor activities, and generally known as the ‘most-uncoordinated-bood-in-Australia’ (MUBIA) was having a difficult time of it, carefully picking his way.  He explained to Nikola how he was uncoordinated, and even retold the story from our first date, where he somehow tripped and fell into the elevator, landing at my feet. What’s not to love??

Nikola, is a fit 40 year old, who competes in the annual Boka Bay Trail run from Perast to Kotor (link here). The race is 33.7km long, and features an elevation gain of 1950m (and a 1947m elevation loss) which he finished  in 6 hours 14m. Nikola appeared slightly perplexed by Rosco’s lack of physical prowess, but he was unbelievably patient, insisting that he had “nothing else to do. We have all day”.

Not long after the telling of the elevator story, I heard a kerfuffle behind me.  I turned to see the MUBIA on his back, sliding away from the trail before coming to a halt against a shiny white boulder. Surprisingly, he was okay, and there was only a moderate amount of groaning as I helped pull him to his feet and back up to the path. “See, I told you” he said, grinning triumphantly at Nikola. The MUBIA had simply tripped over his own feet, on possibly one of the easiest sections of the entire path! Rosco seemed quite relieved to have got it out of his system. So, on we went…..a little bit up, a little bit down.

At various times, Nikola, from the front, would announce encouraging statements, like “we’re nearly there, Miss”, or “in 100m, we will see the peak”.  So we dutifully followed him a little bit up for 100m, then a little bit down another 100m, and another 100m of up, but no peak appeared.  It occurred to me that Nikola was just like every personal trainer in the world, when they say ‘one more rep’ then make you do another five!

When we eventually saw the peak, it was beautiful, but alarmingly far away (see picture below). I didn’t say anything, at least, not out loud, but I was horrified by how far we had yet to go. I wasn’t game to look at Rosco’s face.

It was about at this stage my legs started shaking.  Whilst we walk between 12 and 15km a day, it’s been a long time since I’ve done hundreds of box jumps, step-ups, hill climbs and stairs.  But that’s exactly what we’d been doing for over an hour, and I was trembling like a kitten. We pushed on.

Eventually, we arrived at the peak before the Pestingrad peak. It was slightly higher in elevation, but it did not offer the views of Kotor that Pestingrad did.  Nikola informed us that this next section to Pestingrad was tricky, and he would have to take us one by one, and…. we would have to use ropes!

Rosco, with his fear of heights and renowned lack of coordination, decided it would be best for everyone, if he did not partake in the final section.  He would wait for us. So Nikola left him with some water, and Rosco muttered something about cremation and scattering my ashes.  Nikola and I set off….. a little bit down, then a little bit up.

It was pretty intense…..not going to lie.  The rope section was heart-stopping, with Nikola’s instructions of “don’t look down” strictly adhered to. And then a climb back to the top, up and over boulders twice my height. I could see no path, but Nikola lead me onwards and upwards, pointing out the hand and footholds at each section.

I made it!! The peak was marked with the word “Pestingrad” spray-painted on a large flat rock, and further along, a thin metal post screwed onto a rock at the edge of the cliff. The views were gobsmacking.  The vertical cliffs below the peak allowed a birds’ eye view of the Kotor stari grad (old town) and Dobrota (where our apartment is). It was amazing, and I was pretty chuffed with myself.

After about 10 minutes at Pestingrad, it was time to make our way back to where we’d left Rosco.  The descent was harder than the ascent, and there were many times I was sitting down on a rough rock edge, carefully feeling for a foothold beneath me. Thankfully, the rope section, going up this time, was easier.

We found Rosco, who was as happy as a clam, sitting where we had left him, well away from the edge.  We gathered up our water bottles and jackets, and trotted back the way we had come, making much better time than on the way there. Nikola said it was because our legs now knew what to expect. In reality, we were exhausted, hungry and just wanted to get home!!

Back at the village, the sighting of the car by the side of the road was a relief! Only 25 switchbacks to negotiate, and it would be time for lunch, a hot shower and a nap.

The car trip down (it was now past midday) included encounters with buses, cars, cyclists, and even a truck all making their way up the mountain. It was a heart-stopping journey.  Every time we had a close encounter with an oncoming vehicle, Rosco would add one more beer to his lunchtime tally.  “Three”, he said, with a sharp intake of breath. “Four” he screamed, as a tour bus took up 90% of the available bitumen while we crawled along the edge of the precipice.  Rosco had become the new Count of Sesame Street!

More to come …….

#ILoveMontenegro # Montenegro #Pestingrad #Kotor #September #SlowTravel #Nomads #Honeymoon #BestHoneymoonEver