Living in the Montenegrin Town of Budva.

Living in the Montenegrin Town of Budva.

September-October, 2021.

After six weeks of China blogging I’m excited to return for the second half of my Montenegro series. I know there are some readers who’ll be particularly happy about this, here’s looking at you Travel Through My Lens and the theTravelSketcher.

For those of you just joining the series, we’re picking things up at the halfway point of our two-month stay in Montenegro. After spending a month in the charming town of Tivat—complete with memorable day trips to Perast, Kotor, Dobrota and Gornja Lastva—it was time to move on to a new base for another four weeks. After much deliberation, we settled on Budva, another striking coastal town along the Adriatic.

This time, we got luckier with our accommodation. The apartment was smaller than our place in Tivat and lacked shared garden access, but it was far cosier, and our landlord proved much more agreeable.

We also enjoyed hanging out on the balcony, with decent views over the town.

The apartment is tucked away on a quiet residential street in what’s known as the New Town, about a 25-minute walk from the Old Town. Conveniently, at the end of the road you’ll find the excellent Garden Cafe—a great spot for coffee, craft beer, pizza, burgers, omelettes, and salads.

Living in the Montenegrin Town of Budva.

I especially loved their traditional Montenegrin breakfast plates. By then I’d developed quite a taste for hearty servings of fried eggs and bacon with fresh bread, sliced tomatoes, and cheddar. A small bowl of kajmak, a rich, tangy dairy spread with the texture of clotted cream, was a delicious sidekick. Best of all were the priganice—warm, bite-sized fried dough balls that had become a firm favourite.

As for the cafe itself, it has a touch of Hard Rock flair: walls crammed with music memorabilia and a soundtrack of decent tunes (mercifully not blasted too loud). It’s also a popular spot for people working or studying on laptops.

During our month in Budva we took countless walks, often heading towards the Old Town or Azzuro Beach. Overall, we found a city in transition—not as ambitious or glossy as Tivat with its shiny new developments, but still dotted with rising hotels and apartment blocks.

Thankfully, this time we weren’t living right next to a construction site. Hallelujah. We quickly learned to map out routes that avoided the worst of the drills, cement mixers, and shouting workmen. One favourite path led us through the peaceful grounds of Gospoština Orthodox Cemetery.

Meow can I help you?

Way off the tourist trail, you won’t find any historic information online. Still, it’s well worth a wander, if only to soak up the quiet and discover some of the elegant 19th-century headstones. Take Filip Savov Vukićević, for example, a stotnik (officer) in the guard of Prince Danilo I. Born in Budva in 1818, passed away in 1914.

Don’t miss the simple but pretty little chapel either—though, unfortunately, it remained closed throughout our stay. Behind it sits a backdrop that neatly captures Budva’s ongoing development: a creaking old tenement to the right, a curvy luxury apartment block to the left.

More often than not, our walks carried us down to Slovenska Beach, a 1.6-kilometre stretch of sand that winds around the dazzling Budva Bay. At first glance it may seem like just a pretty beach, but its story is bound tightly to Budva’s modern history.

Once a quiet shoreline beyond the Old Town walls, it was transformed by the 20th-century tourism boom into the city’s bustling seafront. Today it’s lined with promenades, hotels, and beach cafés, absorbing a patchwork of mini-beaches—Azzuro and Tropicana, to mention just two—each borrowing its name from the main bar, café, or restaurant that operates there.

Living in the Montenegrin Town of Budva.

At the beach’s southwestern end, you can wander down to the lively Budva Port and marina, with superb views of the Old Town rising dramatically from its stone peninsula. It’s a highlight of any visit to Budva, and I’ll be sharing my full write-up of the Old Town next Sunday.

As for the marina itself, it’s easy to get swept up in the romance of the bay: fishing boats swaying gently while the salty scent of the Adriatic lingers in the air.

A perfect moment, I’d say, to gaze out across the water and reflect on the town’s history. As a hub for seafarers and traders for centuries, its roots stretch back to the Venetian era, when Budva stood fortified against the coast.

Pleasingly, a handful of fresh fish vendors still remain, serving mostly locals in a refreshingly low-key way, without any pushy sales tactics.

Budva Marina.

Cafés, restaurants, and bars pack the waterfront. Among the most popular is The Old Fisherman Pub, which attracts a steady flow of visitors from breakfast and lunch through to dinner and sunset cocktails. Some consider it one of the best seafood spots in town, albeit a little on the pricey side.

If you have time, step into the small park tucked behind the pub. There you’ll find a statue of Stefan Mitrov Ljubiša, a Budva-born writer and politician celebrated for his distinctive patriotic short stories, which remain popular to this day.

Down at the marina, you can also arrange a boat ride around the bay. The challenge, however, is navigating the usual nonsense from slippery boatmen armed with false flattery and inflated prices.

With a bit of patience, though, you can find the quiet fellow who lets the others do the shouting. We did just that, and after a polite chat that left everyone’s dignity intact, we were soon skimming across Budva Bay for an hour’s cruise at a fair price.

Living in the Montenegrin Town of Budva.

Even in autumn the bay is glorious—perhaps even more so with the sun gentler and the crowds of July and August long gone.

Within minutes we were rewarded with sweeping views of Budva’s Old Town. The thick stone walls, the cascade of terracotta roofs, the sunlight dancing on the waves — all of it wrapped us in that rare sensation when sea breeze collides with centuries of history.

Soon we were chugging past one of Budva’s most striking beaches: Mogren. Tucked away from the Old Town and port, Mogren is reached only by a narrow cliffside path. Sladja and I had quite the escapade the day we made the trek — a story best saved for another post.

Beyond Mogren, deeper into the bay, our boat veered around several sculpted sea caves, their rugged beauty heightened by the echo of waves slapping against stone.

Then it was onwards to Sveti Nikola, a two-kilometre-long island marked by its dramatic 121-metre cliff face. Moreover, it has pine-clad slopes alive with deer, and a scatter of pristine beaches. Appropriately, the island takes its name from Saint Nicholas, patron saint of sailors.

Our captain granted us just half an hour ashore. Disappointed but eager, we hurried along the island’s paths, soon passing the petite but pretty St. Nicholas Church. Dating back to the 16th century, it sits in a small yard dotted with old graves. Local lore insists they belong to 11th-century crusaders.

Sveti Nikola Island.

A little further on lay the island’s first beach, utterly deserted and radiant in the late-afternoon glow as the sun began its slow descent. Curiously, history tells us that Sveti Nikola has enjoyed a largely peaceful existence. No battles were ever recorded here, nor military bases established. Even during World War II, when Budva fell first to the Italians (1941–43) and then the Germans, the island was left untouched.

Historians do believe, however, that in earlier centuries it offered refuge from Arab raiders and Turkish pirates.

Just as I began to feel that Sladja and I had the island to ourselves, we stumbled onto a lofty vantage point — and there, below us, lay a secret beach. Claimed by only half a dozen bathers, it was a vision of golden sand, turquoise waters, and towering cliffs. At last, I understood why locals affectionately call Sveti Nikola the “Montenegrin Hawaii.”

Back in Budva, the passing weeks brought another marvel: the town steadily emptying of tourists. One afternoon we strolled along Slovenska Beach and were astonished to find it almost deserted. After the crowds of summer, the peace felt like its own kind of luxury.

Ah, those late September and early October days. Some evenings we strolled beneath moody skies, pausing to admire sunsets brushed in autumn tones.

Living in the Montenegrin Town of Budva. 

With the town so hushed and beautiful, I even took up the habit of evening jogs. Without fail my runs carried me along Slovenska Beach, sometimes all the way to its far northeastern end.

One evening I pushed on to Bečići Beach, where I stumbled upon a small church overlooking the bay. Discreetly perched on a hill, it would have been easy to miss the stone steps up to its gated entrance.

This is St. Thomas Church, first built in the 14th century and rebuilt in 1910. Its garden square, shaded by pine and cypress trees, felt timeless. Though dedicated to St. Thomas the Apostle, it is also linked to the medieval Serbian despot Stefan Štiljanović, whose relics were brought here from Belgrade in 2007.

I’ll never forget the silence of that evening — just me and Mr. Birdy alone in the garden, gazing out across the dusk-washed beach and bay. A special moment.

St. Thomas Church.

Not every outing, however, drew us back to the shore. Sladja and I also explored Budva’s cafes and restaurants beyond the Old Town. A favourite was the Hemingway Bar and Restaurant — a sleek, modern spot for dinner, cocktails, beer, or wine.

Despite the name, it has no direct link to Ernest himself. Instead, it tips its hat to the writer’s fondness for the Adriatic, immortalised in novels like A Farewell to Arms and Across the River and Into the Trees.

For something entirely different, we enjoyed the quirky Outdoor Mini Zoo Café near the bus station. We claimed one of the treehouse tables in the garden, while below us pheasants, peacocks, swans, goats, deer, and other creatures wandered lazily, grazing or dozing in the shade.

And then there were the quiet nights when fatigue won. On those evenings we’d gather simple supplies from the supermarket, retreat to our balcony, and watch the sun slip behind Budva once more. In their own way, those moments belong among our very best memories.

Like this? Check out my many articles from across Montenegro.

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