Mission to Montenegro newsletter

Now to Him who is able to do exceedingly abundantly above all that we ask or think, according to the power that works in us, to Him be glory in the church by Christ Jesus to all generations, forever and ever. Amen.

Eph 3:20-21

 

Stan and Vicki Surbatovich

I’ve heard that there are 5 traditional 'communal' happenings celebrated in Montenegro, but I know of only three personally:   The Mimosa Festival on the northern coast in late February, a May Day hike up Mt. Vojnik (Central Montenegro), and the Maslinijada (Olive Festival) in late autumn in Bar (southern coast). 
 

         Mimosa Flowers                       Mount Vojnik                                         Maslinijada Festival                                                                                                                                       (2000 year old Olive Tree)

May Day is actually a two-day national holiday here with government offices and schools closed on both May 1st and May 2nd.  The hike to Mt. Vojnik is an annual event and several hundred people from every corner of the country come on their day off to join in.  Several mountaineering group members participate as leaders and guides for those of us who are not regular hikers but are up for enjoying the outdoors in mid-spring.
 

Mt. Vojnik is not far from Nikšić, perhaps a 40 minute drive. We can see the top of it from our neighborhood.  When it gets snow, we know winter is imminent down here in town.
 

Since May 1st is smack in the middle of spring, there is always a chance there will still be snow on the peak or hidden in sheltered north-facing mountainsides.  However, being halfway towards summer means there is also the chance of blazing sunshine.  And these can both happen on the same day.  (Our weather forecasts often begin with “Changeable weather today!” which means we can have sun, clouds, rain, and everything in between).

We’ve been on several of these May Day hikes over the years, but the first hike was most memorable.  

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We got up early (for a holiday!) and drove a little more than an half hour to the gathering point: a meadow off the main route not far from a logging road.  Having never been there, we wondered if we would miss the meadow but we needn’t have worried—we found a long line of cars already parked alongside the road when we got there.  I thought it especially considerate that for the many people who don’t own a car, a special bus ran between NK and the hiking spot just for that event.
 

We joined the throng already gathering, everyone dressed in layers with jackets zipped up; there was a definite nip in the air.  I was delighted to find that we were by no means the only ‘occasional’ hikers—there were people of all ages and fitness milling around with an eager air of anticipation and camaraderie.  
 

A local guide explained how the day would go:  First. several groups were to be formed.  One would take the more challenging, clambering route up the mountain. (My teens chose this!).  The other (bigger!) group would take a slower, more gradual route and then later have a chance to assess how far up to go.  Second, we’d hike up. Third:  As we came down, we’d have the opportunity to enjoy a free and festive lunch in one of the meadows we’d pass by.  (My first thought: Really? Feeding several hundred people in the mountains? As someone who regularly feeds crowds, I wondered how this was going to work.)
 

As the leader finished up, another of the hosts arrived with a big basket and began handing out fresh warm kiflicas. This was an unexpected treat that tasted especially delicious that morning. It also fueled our buoyant steps as we finally got the order to begin.

Kiflicas

Right off the bat we all had some tricky scrambling to do, stepping up and over fallen logs and rocky stretches, but it didn’t last long as we finally made it on to the logging road.  Here the going was smooth and the road wide enough to walk two or three abreast, making conversation easy and delightful.  At least at first.  The slow gradient and uneven dirt road began to take their toll on legs used to flat, paved streets. Our springing steps gradually gave way to trudging along. 
 

I noted the hikers with trekking poles and wistfully bemoaned the fact that I had none.  Stan spied out the land and found some downed branches that we could use as poles.  Such a little thing, such a big help. 
 

I rejoiced when an hour or so in, the order came to rest a bit;  we had come to an open meadow edged with trees and a fountain of spring water perfect for refilling water bottles.  How good it felt to take some weight off my feet and quench my thirst with that clear, cold water.  

We didn’t rest long, though, and soon the call came to get us moving again. But before setting off, we had a choice to make:   our big group would now be splitting up.  Some guides would take one group  ALL the way to the highest point, and the other guide would lead the rest to a less-challenging-but-still-scenic high point.  Knowing my limits, I chose the latter while Stan chose going to the top.

Once again, we started off strong but our bold steps soon began to slow as we left the logging road and took to trekking on a narrow trail.  Our leaders kept our spirits up with encouraging words:  We’ll soon be there. The view’s fantastic. You can do it!  And, just when I began to seriously question if the pain was worth the gain, we hit the last scrambling slope and ta-da!  The beauty of Montenegro opened before us! We had made it!  I had made it!
 

Proof!  I'm the short one holding the corner of the MNE flag

We were in no rush to leave, so we found suitable rocks for seats and gazed and chatted. I met one lady and when I told her my last name, she exclaimed:  "Oh, my daughter had a friend who was a Surbatovich--her name was Amy!”  We discovered that our daughters had become friends while in the same music school class many years previously.  (One of the things we love about Nikšić is that, despite being the second-largest city in the country, it has a definite small-town vibe.)
 

When we felt refreshed in body and spirit, we got up, adjusted clothing and packs, and began our downward trek. We were headed back to the meadow with the spring where lunch would be served.
 

Of our family, I arrived first and found a spot under a tree hugging the edge of the meadow.  Stan soon joined me. A few minutes later, a truck (having followed the logging roads) began to make its way onto the field.  Enlightenment dawned. So this was how lunch for hundreds happens!
 

(Every year, the army (rather appropriately since Vojnik, the name of the mountain, means Soldier) graciously provides huge amounts of Pasulj—a national dish of beans and smoked meat. The potage is prepared down in the city and transported up in super thick/super insulated containers; thus the pasulj arrives still piping hot.)
 

As the army truck parked and workers began to set things up, another van, emblazoned with the Nikšićko pivo logo, came rumbling across the meadow.  It turned out to be full of kegs of ice-cold beer on tap, courtesy of the Nikšićko Brewery. They also participate annually in this May Day celebration. Again, rather apropos, as the brewery exists here because of the great abundance of mountain spring water. 

Note the mountains!

Once our kids (not the least bit winded!)  joined us, we headed through the chow line. I was surprised that the army set out sturdy bowls and not paper ones.  (I did feel a twinge of sympathy for the hapless army peons who'd be stuck with massive KP duties later.)  Holding out our bowls, we passed by servers who ladled out generous portions of steaming hearty, meaty beans (unbelievably tasty!),  and then we passed by tables full of hefty chunks of fresh bread cut into 4-5”(!) thick slices, that we might sop every last bit of deliciousness.  Mmmmmmm.  A memorable meal.

After filling our bellies with good food and cold drinks (soda and juice were also available), we all leaned back, finding comfy spots against the rocks.  But then, music began to waft over the meadow.  Lively, toe-tapping, ‘Let’s Dance the Kolo’  accordion folk music.  And soon a bunch of middle-aged ladies got the traditional circle folk dance, the Kolo, going.  These ladies were amazing to see: ramrod straight posture, arms out and holding hands, feet flying with intricate, syncopated steps.  

Everyone was welcomed to join the hopping, bopping, circle of dancers—and many did.  We, however, were content to watch.  When they finally took a break, we decided to pack up and make our way down to the car, no guide needed as we could follow the logging road.  As we hiked out, we heard the music starting up again. The May Day Party-in-the-Meadow would last until the stars came out.
 

I’ve long treasured the memory of this outing as both a gift and a glimpse of the future. That May Day I felt like I’d been transported back in time, participating in a grand tradition rooted in community merry-making.  But I also sensed it was just a foretaste of the joy and feasting we will make together in heaven.