Cattaro

“Steaming south from Dubrovnik the voyager leaves the kindly islands which fringe the northern coast of Dalmatia and break the force of bora and sirocco. Here the mountains run sheer down to the sea, stony and barren, and how the inhabitants of solitary cottages perched on some ledge manage to support themselves remains a mystery. At last the hills end in a narrow rocky spit of land and the steamer swings round into the entrance of the Boka of Kotor; here was the southern boundary of the territory of the Republic of Ragusa, and the forts which guard the narrow straits are piled one above the other, and the muzzles of modern guns look out from their deep embrasures. The beautiful and famous harbour really consists of three bays which will make the traveller feel that he has been suddenly transported to the Italian lakes; here are the same little villages scrambling precariously up the sides of the hills, the familiar campaniles, the narrow fringe of cultivated land and the vines in terraces above. It is twenty miles from the entrance to the head of the last deep inlet in which stands Kotor itself, and there is everywhere sufficient water for big ships, the battleships of the British Mediterranean Fleet having anchored off the town. “It is impossible to figure to yourself a more delightful harbour than that of Cattaro, or a scene more grand and awful”, wrote Captain Hoste’s chaplain in 1813 (pp. 147-148).

It is very difficult to see Kotor until the ship is almost alongside the quay, for the little town on the narrow strip of land looks like a heap of rocks which have fallen from the precipice behind it. Gradually the wall on the seaward side begins to take shape, the castle above is seen to be the work of men and not just part of the cliff, and the line of the connecting defences can be traced as they climb along the edge of the cliff. At the back towers Mount Lovcen with its barren limestone sides and its summit frequently hidden in clouds; indeed the mountains gather so closely round Kotor that the sunlight seems a rare visitor (p. 150).

All but the largest ships can tie up alongside at Kotor underneath the Venetian walls, and the gateway with its inevitable lion of S. Mark leads straight into a little square where stand the Customs House and the clock tower. The streets are tortuous, dark and not innocent of smells, and it seems as if at any moment the mountain might fall and blot out the little town. The cathedral, dedicated to S. Trifone, appears to be built into the hillside, though as a matter of fact there is a narrow street between it and the wall of the town (p. 160).

One of the curious Dalmatian rivers rushes straight out of the face of the hills and forms a moat, while to the right rises the wall leading up to the Castle of S. Giovanni. Here too many may be seen what looks like a dry water-course, strewn with rocks and stones, but is really the old road to Cetinje; the modern strategic road made by the Austrians is at the other side of the town, and begins at the quay where the steamers berth. From Kotor to Cetinje the distance is twenty-eight miles and takes about an hour and a half in a motor car; the road is one of those which are always described as “triumphs of engineering”, and which suggest to the nervous that a weight-carrying goat would really be the ideal means of travel. […]. A stop should be made just before the road turns inland over the pass, for below lies what Baedeker describes in an unwonted outburst of enthusiasm as “a scene almost unsurpassed in Europe”. The whole of the Bocche with the great lakes and winding channels, and the Adriatic beyond, are stretched out below, and the wild tangle of stony mountains crowds in on the north and east (pp. 162-163)”.