The third largest
canyon in the world, The Tara River canyon is in Montenegro. I had decided to
go to Zabljak, the summer mountain destination of Montenegro, much before I knew
about this canyon. The place for the sea had been filled up by Kotor, but on a
previous occasion BiH (Bosnia and Herzegovina) was the prime candidate for
mountains. As both the neighbors move northwards, so does the altitude. I
needed a mountain destination for a stay and Zabljak in Montenegro, got
the points over Visegrad in BiH. The river canyon would be a bonus, I thought.
It was one more of the Bus
journeys and by this time I had really become fond of traveling the road like
this. The constant flow of people in and out
of the bus, doesn’t let you sleep, but then who wants to sleep, when some of
the best mountainous scenery is unfolding in front of you. Smoking in the
bus(only by the driver) is common, and even when the driver opened his side of
the window to let the smoke out, it didn’t help me covering my face. It did
however get a fresh breeze inside the air con bus. The cool in the breeze was a
real welcome, to the mountains.
There is a village called
Zakopane in Poland, where along with the mountains, the style of the houses are
a constant reminder of the place. The style of the houses in Zabljak was what
made Zabljak different from the other mountain villages I’ve seen in my
travels. Though that night I slept in a basic town ‘guest house’, I knew that I
would try to give my people the feel of staying in the country accommodation.
The red of the wine was the
darkest color of red, I have witnessed in the glass. Even with the mountain
sunlight kissing the surface, the color didn’t faint. ‘What do I have with the
red’, I asked the waiter. ‘Something Local?’,
out of which only ‘local’ was said in English. ‘Malo’ I said. But like
in Bosnia with the Cevapi, (the grilled meat sausage), malo, which is small in Slavik, made little sense when the order came in. At least the wine in the
glass kept to its measure.
With some local roast lamb,
still on my plate, I left the restaurant just when it had started filling up
with ‘Russians’. ‘They have the same religion, they have the same writing, they
are like us’, said the Serbian waiter to me. I don’t know how I felt about that
and I doubt he did.
The ‘crno jezero’, or the
Black lake is the pearl of the Durmitur National park. With only 3 kms away
from the town and the lamb stuffed in my stomach, a walk was needed. As I started on the path, more and more
tourists joined in and equal numbers returned. There, I knew I was once again, only going to just check a place out.
In the evening a local
travel guide told me that even though the lake is just 'good', the park on the
whole is worth the visit.
 |
| The Black Lake in the Durnitor National Park |
I would’ve questioned my
coming here, but I knew when I give this more time I would justify the decision
of including Zabljak in the tour. It had potential, I could sense it, and so
with no rafting in the river, which was a must for everyone who came there, I
decided to quietly leave the place to the future.
The next day when I passed
the Tara river Canyon, on the bus to Belgrade, I peeped to look down at the gorge
and the green lining at the bottom of it. The Tara looks much more beautiful
with you touching it, someone had said. I said hello to Tara and then bid good
bye in a matter of two turns of the bus, and with the promise to myself of touching it
sometime.
The good part of my work,
remains, the comfort to know, that I would come back!
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