Muo: Of Mountains and Magic

by JULIA DATT (Canada)

A leap into the unknown Montenegro

Montenegro was a country I knew little of prior to arrival. Despite an obsessive childhood idolisation of Carmen San Diego, my geographical expertise left little to be desired, save for generalised ideas garnered from mainstream media, in mostly continent form only: Europe (fancy, expensive), North America (an abundance of sizeable, unhealthy meals), South America (tacos and sombreros), India (tigers and snake charmers nonchalantly roaming the streets as per my mother’s stories) and Africa (same, but elephants. Couldn’t wait to go THERE). Therefore let me primly limit myself to stating that the sliver of land which comprises Muo, Montenegro, was neither fancy, nor expensive as previous beliefs may have belied. Oh, but the enormity of it all! Outside my window, a vast expanse of an azure lake was flanked by mysterious, silent cliffs; the base of which lay studded homes of locals insouciant to modern technology. The unadulterated voluptuousness of the Lovcen mountains beckoned me in, but it was something unexpected that clung fierce. Something I had yet to allow myself to witness fully, as an educated person of privilege in my thirties. City life ensures its incumbents are bombarded with chaotic, stressful noise - cars honking, people yelling, devices beeping. We train ourselves to instantly respond to and tolerate these veritable auditory attacks, accepting their presence as inevitable and unconsciously bearing each assault doled out. Until the moment upon reaching the mountain precipice; having stopped the car to breathe in a glimpse of the innocuous sunset (yet an inherently disparate one to what I had experienced thus far). No tourists, no selfie sticks, no ego. Just two pairs of legs teetering at the edge of a secluded cliff, imbibing the view and its lack of soundtrack with a thirst that neither of us realised we had failed to quench until now. Ironically, it was the very sound that shook me awake. Almost as a conduit for the humility of the scenery, the kindness of local Montenegrins set my heart on fire. Two days in, I learned that I had suffered a tremendous loss back home and was unable to adjust my plans to travel back. Therefore, I had to see out the remainder of the trip. When my host family learned this information, I was expecting them to just leave me be to deal with it, alone in my room in paradise. Yet instantly and without question, they held me under their protective wing and each family member kept me occupied at every turn. During the days when my brain was foggy with grief, I would drag myself to swim in the lake with the local neighbourhood children, who automatically welcomed the oddly sombre foreigner into their circle, even though no English was spoken. (By the way, 'medusa' means ‘jellyfish’, 'vidi' means ‘Watch me do this’ and 'volim te' means ‘I love you…') . At dusk the family and I would sit together in the gardens, overlooking the now-familiar mountains standing sentry adjacent to our ‘swimming pool’, picking and tasting dates from the trees, doing yoga and playing with the small turtles that shuffled slow laps around the property. During the week all phones lay forgotten, unconsulted. The only thing that mattered was what was happening right in front of us. None of us stayed in contact afterwards and no social media accounts were followed, which I think is appropriate for the chapter that it was. So, all I have are a few hastily snapped pictures, yet the innocence and purity of those days will not be forgotten. That's the euphoria of every element of travel: from risk of the plane journey, to the risk of traversing unknown territory, to the risk of being sometimes blissfully stuck when things go wrong. It shows that life is, in every sense of the word, fleeting. But one thing that will always endure, are the mountains.* *This story is dedicated to my best friend who passed away during my time in Montenegro - my Golden Retriever, Floyd.