A Visit to the Overlooked Town of Bar in Montenegro.

A Visit to the Overlooked Town of Bar in Montenegro.

October 2021.

Our three-month odyssey around Montenegro was beginning to draw to a close. As our final days in Budva slipped quietly away, we realised there was just enough time for one last field trip before we packed up our lives and moved on.

After poring over maps and going back and forth more than once, we settled on the coastal town of Bar, some 39 kilometres south of Budva. It isn’t a place that tends to trouble the casual tourist. By most accounts, Bar is a little rough around the edges — its modern shoreline said to lack the postcard polish of Tivat, Kotor, Perast, Budva or nearby Sveti Stefan.

However, there was, we were assured, one very good reason indeed to make time for Bar: namely its 2500 year old UNESCO-stamped old town, complete with ruinous fortifications, including churches and a citadel.

Knowing it would have a lot to live up to alongside the storybook old towns of Kotor and Budva, we boarded yet another bus for yet another scenic coastal ride. Barely an hour and a half later, we were stepping off in Bar’s town centre. The loose plan was to explore modern Bar during the day, before drifting uphill to the old town — Stari Bar — in time for late afternoon light and sunset.

We didn’t quite know what to expect, but as first impressions go, Bar fluffed its lines. Our arrival dropped us straight into Trg Vladimira I Kosare (Square of Vladimir and Kosara), dominated by a hulking cluster of unapologetic brutalist structures.

A Visit to the Overlooked Town of Bar in Montenegro.

Developed by Yugoslav planners and architects throughout the 1970s and 80s, the ensemble is uncompromising in both scale and intent. Ugly? Undeniably. But also an important relic of a moment when Bar was leaning hard into socialist urban planning and architectural ambition.

At the centre of it all stands Robna Kuća Izbor, a defiantly concrete department store whose angular, pavilion-like forms feel sculptural rather than decorative. It’s a textbook example of Yugoslav brutalism — expressive, monumental, and rooted in the idea of shared civic life rather than aesthetic charm.

In its heyday, Izbor was one of the largest department stores in Montenegro, a bustling hub of everyday commerce. By the time we arrived, in the autumn of 2021, the square felt decidedly different: subdued, and more than a little forlorn.

Perhaps it was simply too early in the morning for a full-on assault of Soviet brutalism. Or maybe we were just hungry and thirsty. Whatever the reason, we decided to pause the exploring and seek out breakfast first. Happily, we soon stumbled upon Cafe Pasucci, where there was nothing even remotely brutal about our coffees and crepes.

Cafe Pasucci.

From our street-side table, we noticed the towering dome of a nearby church, its golden tiles catching and scattering the morning sunlight. Intrigued, we settled up at the café and made it our first port of call.

Completed in 2016, the Church of St. Jovan Vladimir is one of the largest Orthodox churches in the world. Designed in a classic Serbo-Byzantine style, it is dedicated — like the brutalist square we had glimpsed earlier — to St. Jovan Vladimir, an 11th-century prince of Duklja, the medieval state that once encompassed much of modern Montenegro.

Renowned for his deep piety and just rule, he was later martyred and canonised by the Orthodox Church. Today, he remains the patron saint of Bar, honoured each year with a vibrant procession that winds its way through the town’s streets.

Inside we wandered the huge space (five thousand square metres to be exact) admiring the many vivid frescoes — scenes from scripture, the life of the saint himself — while an elaborate iconostasis and intricately laid mosaic floors elevate the sacred atmosphere.

A Visit to the Overlooked Town of Bar in Montenegro.

A key part of the experience is the tranquil olive garden and landscaped courtyard that surrounds the church. Paths wind lazily between ancient olive trees, neat flower beds and shaded benches — an ideal place to empty the mind and let the eyes drift towards the rugged slopes of Mount Rumija, whose dramatic contours frame Bar’s inland horizon.

From the calm of the church garden, we ambled onward towards Bar’s former Royal Palace. Having already absorbed snippets of Montenegro’s royal history in the mountain town of Cetinje, and again along the beaches and coastal trails of Sveti Stefan, we were curious to see where Bar fitted into the wider story.

Built in the late 19th century, this was a summer residence for King Nikola I Petrović-Njegoš. Architecturally modest by European royal standards, the palace’s real charm lies in its setting.

Trees and hedges line the approach, the Adriatic stretches out just beyond its gates, and the building itself carries an understated elegance — symmetrical, dignified, a bit melancholic.

Bar’s Former Royal Palace.

Today it houses the Homeland Museum of Bar, offering insight into everything from royal life to everyday coastal traditions. However — and wouldn’t you know it — the museum is closed on Mondays, meaning we wouldn’t be stepping inside. Story of my life.

Thus we decided to stroll down to the promenade, a modern, palm-lined stretch home to cafés, restaurants, souvenir stores and the swanky Hotel Princess, its outdoor pool gazing out over the gorgeous Bay of Bar.

Eventually, we cut onto Bar Beach, which proved resolutely rocky underfoot, its stones clicking and shifting with each step. It’s not the most comfortable place to lie down — towel or no towel — but we gave it a go anyway, if only for a quick selfie.

And of course, we lingered over the views across Bar Bay, the Adriatic stretching calmly towards the horizon while a lone cargo ship idled in the distance — a gentle reminder that this is still very much a working coast.

A Visit to the Overlooked Town of Bar in Montenegro.

It was all so lovely that we ended up walking the length of the beach for a cool drink at Café Martina, before continuing on to Bar Marina to watch the boats bobbing quietly in the water, big and small.

The whole scene felt notably understated: no fish vendors, not a single boatman offering tours of the bay — a far cry from the experiences we’d had in Budva just a month earlier.

For an elevated view over Bar’s pretty marina, seek out the sleepy Yachting Club, where a scattering of locals can usually be found chain-smoking and sipping from mugs of beer and glasses of wine.

It was now early afternoon — time, we figured, to start slowly heading towards the main attraction of Stari Bar. First though, we wanted to cross off a unique site that had truly piqued our curiosity when we discovered it. Situated 4.5 kilometres from the marina, we opted to hail a taxi to visit Stara Maslina, aka The Old Olive Tree

We managed to whittle down what would have been a one-hour walk to a 10-minute taxi ride. After all, there would be plenty of hiking later. On arrival, we passed through the open gate, paid our dues to the woman in the office (2 Euros per person), and came face to face with one of the world’s oldest olive trees.

Stara Maslina.

According to historians, it is approximately 2,245 years old. A symbol of peace, legend has it that in ancient times feuding families came here to settle their differences. Incredibly, it still bears fruit despite one side being charred from a long-ago fire.

A local man, Veliša Nikočević, was the last private owner. As the story goes, Italian occupiers offered him a vast sum to buy it during the Second World War. But he refused (I can’t help but wonder how he managed that), and the tree stayed in Bar. Finally, it fell under state protection in 1957 and has been a tourist attraction ever since.

Surrounded by other old olive trees, the enclosure is wonderfully peaceful and immersive. Moreover, it’s brimming with animal life: birds flit between the branches, a mooching cat came over to say hello and practically begged us to fuss over her.

Elsewhere a local dog sat resting in the shade by the office. But the biggest and most delightful surprise of all was when we saw one of several resident tortoises shuffling across the courtyard — though neither the cat nor the dog paid it any attention.

A Visit to the Overlooked Town of Bar in Montenegro.

From the Old Olive tree we mapped out a 35-minute walking route to the Old quarter and its ruinous fortifications. Not too taxing art first glance, though we soon realised that the road had absolutely no provision whatsoever for pedestrians!

Still, it rewarded us with superb views of Bar’s rural outskirts, where local homes and farms lie scattered across gently rolling hills. Some houses were impressive — veritable mansions behind gated courtyards, their interiors adorned with traditional Montenegrin colours and motifs.

Before long, we came upon a small, elegant Orthodox church, one of several in Bar dedicated to St Nicholas. With virtually no online footprint, the only detail I could uncover is that it dates to 1863. The link above claiming it stands within the fortress grounds is incorrect.

Further on came a wonderful surprise. I hadn’t expected us to encounter a mosque, but here it was, set within the grand 4,000-square-metre Bar Islamic Cultural Center.

Completed in 2014, the complex is a vital hub for Bar’s sizeable Muslim community. Alongside the Selimija Mosque, it houses a kindergarten, classrooms, IT offices and even a wedding hall.

Bar Islamic Cultual Center.

Most surprising of all, it had its own restaurant — a timely reminder of just how hungry we’d become. So we thought, what the heck, let’s have a late lunch. Everything that arrived was delicious: two beef dishes, a bowl of creamy bean stew, and freshly chopped tomatoes with sliced bread. We were now ready for everything UNESCO had to throw at us.

To enter the fortified old town, we first climbed the cobbled and highly atmospheric stretch of Starobarska Čaršija, once a historic market street. It emerged under Ottoman rule in the late 16th century, becoming home to mosques, baths, guild shops and elegant wooden townhouses.

After Bar’s liberation from Ottoman control in 1878, the street evolved into the town’s main commercial hub, with sturdy stone and brick houses rising as life shifted away from the fortress, which was gradually abandoned.

Today it survives as a cultural-heritage ensemble. Cafés, restaurants and souvenir shops line the way, though the real pleasure lies in pausing to admire the lovingly curated façades of its homely residences.

A Visit to the Overlooked Town of Bar in Montenegro.

And of course, the many cats that doze on shopfront steps and idle languidly between potted plants.

At long last we reached the top of the hill and the entrance arch to the fortified town.

Perched on the slopes of Mount Rumija, around four kilometres inland from the Adriatic, Stari Bar immediately reeled us in with its labyrinthine web of leafy lanes, grassy courtyards and overgrown walls.

The site was inhabited long before the structures visible today took shape. Archaeologists believe Illyrians and later Romans settled here, though it wasn’t until the early Middle Ages that Slavic rulers established a defensive hilltop stronghold commanding the fertile plain below and the inland caravan routes.

From the 11th to 16th centuries, power shifted between Serbian and Venetian hands, with the town flourishing particularly under Venice, when Bar emerged as a prosperous maritime centre. Investment poured into the old town: walls were reinforced, watchtowers raised, and churches built in Romanesque and Gothic styles.

Among the many ruins, a special mention goes to the large Franciscan Monastery, constructed between the 13th and 15th centuries. Sladja and I couldn’t resist a closer look, and our curiosity was rewarded with the discovery of surviving frescoes clinging to the stone.

Stari Bar.

After the Ottomans captured Bar in 1571, the town’s character changed once more. Many churches — including the monastery — were converted into mosques, while new civic structures appeared: government offices, hammams, cisterns and covered markets, each layer adding another chapter to the fortress’s long and restless history.

The site’s most iconic feature also dates from those Ottoman days. Most likely built in the mid-to-late 18th century, the Clock Tower (Sahat-kula) once marked official time for trade and taxation. What’s more, it coordinated market hours, regulated public announcements and, naturally, doubled as a watchtower.

After Montenegrin forces liberated Bar from Ottoman rule, much of the Muslim population departed. The hilltop gradually emptied as commercial life shifted downhill to the coast and what is now the modern town.

By the early 20th century, the old city was abandoned altogether. A series of disasters compounded the decline, including massive gunpowder explosions during a storm and the devastating 1979 Montenegro earthquake, both of which destroyed large swathes of its heritage.

A Visit to the Overlooked Town of Bar in Montenegro.

That evening, Sladja and I had the place entirely to ourselves as Bar treated us to yet another spectacular Montenegrin sunset. High on the citadel, Stari Bar felt suspended between centuries, everything bathed in one of the most intense orange glows I have ever seen.

Unsurprisingly, we soon lost track of time, only to realise suddenly that closing hour was approaching and the gatekeeper was about to lock up. As much as we loved being up there, the thought of spending the night marooned on the citadel wasn’t exactly appealing, so we picked our way back down toward the cobbled main street, snapping countless sunset photos as we went.

That night we celebrated a highly successful outing with a few mugs of traditional pomegranate beer at a tavern along Starobarska Čaršija. In fact, ending the day at a bar in Bar felt entirely fitting. Cheers!

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