Exploring the Old Town of Budva.

Exploring the Old Town of Budva in Montenegro.

September – October, 2021.

In my last article, Living in the Montenegrin Town of Budva, I offered an overview of this charming coastal community and what makes it such an appealing travel destination. Today, I turn to Budva’s main attraction: its captivating Old Town, with a history stretching back two and a half millennia.

Perched snugly on a rocky peninsula that juts into the clear, warm waters of the Adriatic, Budva Old Town is a visual marvel that beckons visitors to step inside and explore.

Like the more celebrated Kotor Old Town, just a half-hour’s drive north, Budva’s past is nothing short of extraordinary. The Illyrians settled here in the 5th century BC, followed by the Greeks (5th–2nd century BC), Romans (2nd century BC–5th century AD), and Byzantines (5th–9th centuries).

Moreover, Serbian & Zeta rulers held court between the 9th and 15th centuries. Then came the dazzling Venetian Republic and some of the town’s most celebrated history (1420–1797). Next, it was the Austrian / Austro-Hungarian era (1797–1806, 1814–1918), leading to the Yugoslav / Montenegrin periods (20th century–present). Phew, it’s exhausting just writing it all out.

Exploring the Old Town of Budva.

Intriguingly, some of Budva’s most spectacular relics lie just outside the walled quarter’s main entrance. Here you’ll find the Budva Necropolis, an ancient burial ground unearthed in the 1930s. This impressive display features Hellenic stone sarcophagi from the 4th–1st centuries BC, in addition to numerous Roman tombs.

Take, for example, this stunning Roman funerary stele, inscribed in Latin to commemorate women of the Porcilia and Aulia families. Decorated with sculpted ram’s heads and a grand garland of fruit and flowers, it’s a fabulous piece of history.

If you can resist stepping into the Old Town itself for just a little longer, I recommend making the two-minute walk from the necropolis to Ričardova Glava Beach, which clings to the citadel walls. The name translates as Richard’s Head, in honour of the American actor Richard Widmark, who starred in the 1964 film The Long Ships, shot in Yugoslavia.

But a little digging reveals that the connection with Widmark is tenuous, to say the least. In fact, the movie was actually filmed in the Lim Canal (now Croatia), a ten-hour drive from Budva.

What’s more, there’s no evidence Widmark ever set foot in Budva. Amusingly, some locals insist the “Richard” in question was Richard Burton, who came to Yugoslavia to film the 1969 partisan epic The Battle of Neretva. Again, not filmed in Budva.

Ričardova Glava Beach.

Whatever the truth, Ričardova Glava is a gorgeous spot and the perfect prelude to exploring within the city walls. A short flight of stone steps leads to a wooden pier, an ideal station for photographing the bay, beach, and fortifications.

It’s also a popular swimming spot: I watched locals stroll to the edge of the pier, strip down, and dive headlong into the sea. One late September afternoon, under a soft overcast sky, I did the same, relishing the cool, salty water before drying off to continue our wanderings.

Ok, enough with the teasing, let’s head under the main entrance arch into Budva Old Town.

With a full month in Budva, Sladja and I found ourselves returning here again and again. We loved losing ourselves in the maze of narrow alleyways, courtyards and marble-paved lanes. Much of it is the product of medieval rebuilding and Venetian-era embellishments.

Having explored Kotor just weeks earlier, comparisons were inevitable. At first glance the two towns seem strikingly alike — compact, enclosed by sturdy defensive walls and steeped in Adriatic charm. Yet only Kotor carries UNESCO World Heritage status. Why?

Exploring the Old Town of Budva.

The reasons, it seems, lie in scale and integrity: Budva’s Old Town is smaller, its fortifications less extensive and not dramatically integrated into the surrounding landscape. On top of that, Budva has seen more intensive rebuilding and adaptation for tourism.

Not quite enough, then, to satisfy UNESCO’s demanding criteria. For us, though, the experience was every bit as magical as in Kotor, and far more peaceful without the crush of summer crowds.

All the familiar Adriatic details were there to enjoy — spotless streets, washing strung high above the lanes, languid cats basking in the sun, and that irresistible blend of ancient stone softened by bursts of greenery.

With no particular agenda, we wandered and mooched as we pleased. We ducked into a dead-end alley to check out an independent art gallery.

We peeped through the highly charming porthole of an antique shop.

And stopped to photograph beautifully curated storefronts.

One afternoon we lingered over craft beer and salty nuts at Kuća Pub, tucked away on a discreet side street. It was just us and three local men, their quiet conversation carrying the palpable relief of having their town back in the off-season.

Kuća Pub.

Twice we grabbed our morning caffeine fix at North Coffee Shop, a tiny, cat-friendly joint offering plant-based milks and a barista who dabbled in coffee art.

After our marathon tour of Kotor’s seemingly endless churches, in Budva we chose to be more selective. Of the many small sanctuaries scattered around the Old Town, three stood out. Top of the list was the Holy Trinity Church, completed in 1804, just after the collapse of the Venetian Republic.

It was built to serve Budva’s Orthodox community, its exterior striking in alternating bands of red and white stone. Inside, a richly decorated iconostasis sprang from the hands of the Greek artist Naum Zetiri in 1833.

As a bonus, in the churchyard we stumbled upon the grave of Stefan Mitrov Ljubiša — the writer and politician whose statue we’d admired by the port in last week’s post.

Exploring the Old Town of Budva.

Another handsome structure that shouldn’t be missed is John The Baptist Church, with origins dating back to the 7th century.

Inside, we marvelled at its unusual altar, with its giant glass mosaic mural made by the Croatian painter, Ivo Dulcic.

John the Baptist Church.

I can’t fail to mention a surreal and ultimately unpleasant scene we stumbled upon outside the church. The atmosphere had been wonderfully relaxed: small clusters of people nursed coffees at a nearby café, while a local man sat cross-legged on a rug, coaxing a gentle melody from a portable spinet, a harpsichord-like instrument.

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