6.
Montenegro.
The role that the army of Montenegro played during the war shouldn’t be understated, despite their surrender in January 1916, they fought alongside their close allies, Serbia, until the great retreat of autumn 1915.
The Montenegrin army was more or less exhausted after the Balkan wars of 1912 and 1913. Where the Ottomans were first forced out of the Balkans and then the separate Balkan states fought over the scraps that were left. The Balkan wars were the prelude to the Great War, as Austro-Hungary had already decided to attack Serbia and Montenegro. They just needed an excuse, which came after the assassination of Archduke Ferdinand in Sarajevo, the rest is history...
After the Montenegrin Army retreated with the Serbs, they fought two battles on their own soil which should be mentioned. (They both happened at about the same time, so I will name them East and West.)
The eastern one was the Battle of Mojkovac. (6th-7th January 1916.) Here, the Montenegrin Army was ordered to fight the vastly superior Austro-Hungarian army in order to cover the Serbian retreat through Albania. Not only did they manage this, they forced the Austro-Hungarians to retreat on the 7th January. The fighting around the village of Mojkovac was extremely bloody, as shortages of ammunition forced the Montenegrins to fight with primitive weapons and, in some cases, their bare hands! I would have visited this battlefield if I could have stuck with my original plans. Unfortunately, it was too far to the east after changing my route by travelling through Albania.
The western one was on Mount Lovcen, which rises to a height of 5,738ft from the Adriatic coastline. It overlooks the Bay of Kotor, which at the time held an Austro-Hungarian naval base, thus it was a perfect place to site artillery, which the Montenegrins did in August 1914. They shelled Kotor for several weeks until they were outgunned by three old Austro-Hungarian battleships that arrived in mid September. The French then decided to try to capture the port of Kotor for their own needs, so they emplaced eight artillery pieces on Mt Lovcen, opening fire on the 19th October. The French pulled out in early November after their artillery was knocked out by the overwhelming firepower from the more modern battleship SMS Radetzky. Except for small skirmishes, Mt Lovcen was fairly quiet for over a year. This changed on the 8th January 1916 when the Austro-Hungarians attacked with a massive artillery bombardment. They followed this up with an infantry attack to displace the Montenegrin army from their summit defences, which they completed on the 11th January 1916.
Despite King Nicolas of Montenegro (who had fled to Albania) ordering them to continue to fight and then retreat with the Serbs, the Montenegrin army had surrendered by the end of January 1916 upon the orders of government ministers, who had decided to remain in their country rather than flee. You can’t blame them, as they faced the overwhelming Austro-Hungarian Empire with literally no bullets for their guns and no food for their bellies.
It was mid morning before I managed to cross the border into Montenegro. At first it looked no different, especially after I decided to turn off the main road to take a shortcut. (Yes, it really was a shortcut that time!) This meant that I soon reached the seaside town of Bar.
It was modern, friendly and most of all, it felt safe. It was also bloody warm, so I headed to the beach for a few hours of R&R. After a good dip in the sea and an hour spent doing sod all, it was time to head north up the coastal road. I had dreams of camping on a wonderful deserted beach and whilst daydreaming about that, my mind got a bit sidetracked and before I knew it, I’d gone the wrong way! (I should have taken a B road instead of staying on the main road.) Anyway, I’d ended up going through a tunnel and a policeman at the other side wouldn’t let me go back through. So I had no option but to follow the main road which led away from the coast, down the side of a mountain and ended at the capital Podgorica miles away. Fortunately, I didn’t have to go that far, as I found a small road that would take me back over the mountains to the coast, but any hopes of a nice beach to camp on were fading with the onset of night. Camping on a wonderful deserted beach had changed into sleeping on top of a large flat rock at the side of the mountain road, as I was slightly worried about the local wildlife. (Snakes and spiders this time; not bears and wolves, as I’d seen quite a bit of road kill of that variety!) Choosing hidden or defensive camping spots was something that I’d got used to on my journey. It might sound strange, but I see it as a good practice to use when travelling alone through strange countries and places.
I awoke after a particularly uncomfortable night’s sleep to an absolutely stunning sunrise over the mountains to the east. Even at that time I could feel the heat of the sun and knew that things were going to become a bit more difficult from then on, as summer had finally caught up with me. My aim for the day was to get to the summit of Mount Lovcin, before descending back to the coast and heading north towards the town of Herceg Novi.
Ascending the rest of the pass in the early morning was bad enough, but going up another pass towards Mt Lovcin was absolute murder. I gave up trying to ride about half way up, instead trudging slowly up towards the top of the pass where a track left the road and headed to the lofty summit of Mt Lovcin. Not for the first time, my mind started wandering, I was questioning myself. “What the flipping heck was I doing here?”
At just 5,738ft, Mt Lovcin isn’t particularly high, steep or rugged by European standards. (At least, it didn’t appear to be, from my vantage point on the road.) But it was bloody hot, so it was late afternoon when I reached the summit. I had enough water, so I decided to spend the night up there, camping in the shadow of the mausoleum of Nejegos which adorns the summit. This massive structure was constructed by the communists in 1971 to replace an earlier chapel, which in turn replaced the original building that was destroyed during the war. Because of this, I couldn’t find any remains of the war on the summit, although I did find evidence of a few trenches further down.
I’m really glad that I spent the night up there, as the sunset and the stars afterwards were amazing. Whilst looking at the stars, I became quite philosophical, thinking about our purpose and why we’re here. “Ye gods, I need to have a decent conversation with somebody before I go totally bonkers!”
The sunrise the next morning was equally beautiful with deep shadows stretching out from the summit of Mt Lovcin far out onto the sea below. It’s no wonder that they put guns up there, as they could cover all the approaches to the many natural harbours far below.
Montenegro might have played a very small part in the first truly global world war, but I came to realise that the smaller and less well known battles and theatres of the war were one of the main reasons why I completed my journey. During the four years or so of the centenary, everybody will mostly be remembering the people who died or suffered in the larger campaigns and battles, such as Gallipoli, the Somme, Passchendaele and Verdun. Who will remember the casualties from the smaller battles which most people have never heard of? The battle of Mojkovac stands alongside countless other less heard of battles, such as Sharqat in Mesopotamia, Cer in Serbia, the Siege of Tsingtao in China, plus many more in places around the world. Those battles were no less bloody for the men and women who had to fight in them.
Women; fighting? Most people think that women didn’t actually do any fighting during World War One and for the most part they didn’t. (Nursing and ambulance driving meant that quite a few became casualties anyway.) One noticeable exception to this rule was Serbia. Serbian women were allowed to fight on the front line alongside men. The most famous of these was Flora Sandes, a British nurse who volunteered with the Serbian Army. Her biography, “The Lovely Sargeant.” written by Alan Burgess, was one of the main sources of inspiration behind my plans. She enlisted in the Serbian Army during their winter retreat through Albania and went on to serve with them until 1922 after she was promoted to an officer. (She became the first female officer in the Serbian Army.) She was badly wounded by a hand grenade during the Battle of Kajmakchalan in 1916 and after recovering from her wounds, she returned to fight with her unit before finishing the war running a Serbian hospital. For her actions, she was awarded Serbia’s highest decoration, the Kara George Star. Many women in the Serbian Army weren’t as fortunate as her...
Now would be as good a time as any to describe an often neglected tale of tragedy which occurred due to the war. For many women born between 1890 and 1900 the war meant a lifetime alone. Gone were their hopes of marriage and children, snatched away with the cream of Europe’s young men who were slaughtered in their millions. There simply weren’t enough young men left alive to satisfy the amount of women who required a husband....
It took me a couple of hours to push and ride down the rough track towards the town of Kotor, partly because I’m a bit of a chicken when it comes to cycling downhill, but also because my hands had become bruised from riding down the rough dirt roads in Albania and they were very painful. I didn’t spend long there, as I had to get on but I just thought that I’d mention that it’s the most beautiful town that I’ve ever seen. Imagine an ancient medieval town in a fjord like setting: old castles, churches and houses in abundance, contrasting with the lofty mountains and the blue green sea. Simply amazing!
To save a bit of time, I opted to get a ferry across the narrowest part of the bay of Kotor, it saved me about three hours of pedalling, which was welcome as I was getting pretty knackered. I needed a rest for a day or two!
It was about late afternoon when I reached the town of Herceg Novi and after passing through I headed towards the border. Instead of crossing this, I had another plan. Before I left home, I had discovered a campsite and I was booked on for a couple of nights. (Well, not exactly booked on so to speak, I had emailed the owners a couple of months before and said that I’d be there sometime towards the end of May.) The campsite was called Full-Monte, which is owned and run by a British couple, Denise and Steve. It’s also not exactly the average campsite, as you might be able to guess by its name. But that was ok, as although I didn’t plan on getting my kit off, I’m no prude either. I was just thankful for the chance to have a decent conversation for a change!
Denise, Steve and Daisy the dog were so welcoming and friendly that I felt instantly at home. They were living their dream on a few acres of Montenegrin mountainside which they had converted by their own hands into a wonderful eco-friendly campsite. It was originally going to be a “clothing optional” site, which it still is, but only during July and August. They’ve now decided to run it as a normal campsite for the rest of the time.
I also enjoyed a couple of relaxing days just chilling out, eating decent food for a change and swimming in the sea, which was surprisingly warm for that time of year. Everything was looking good, but true to form, it wouldn’t stay that way.
The bloody chain snapped on my bike on the way back from Herceg Novi. It was getting dark, so I locked it to a fence and walked back to the campsite in the dark. I went back in the morning and fixed it before going to a supermarket to stock up on food, I had locked my bike up outside and when I returned to it, I noticed that the zip on the frame bag was open. Whilst I was shopping, some swine had pinched all my tools, spares and lights! It was partly my fault really, as I had become complacent and should have taken them in with me. It wasn’t a total disaster, but it was bloody annoying and it would come back to haunt me before I could replace everything. (I didn’t bother telling the police, as I didn’t really have anything to tell them and I really needed to get on with my journey.)
I felt quite sad when it came to leaving Full-Monte, it had been wonderful to just have somebody to talk to normally, instead of the pointing and gesticulating that I had become used to. Typically though, leaving didn’t entirely go to plan. I got to the bottom of the steep hill which the campsite is located on, before realising that I had left my solar panel and battery behind. Damn and blast! Oh well.
On the whole, except for that one little incident, I was very impressed with Montenegro. It’s relatively unspoilt compared to other Mediterranean countries, although that’s likely to change in the future, as more people discover its charms and beauty.
Croatia.
Croatia started off well. It looked just like Montenegro but everything was more expensive, a lot more expensive! I was getting badly behind in my timescale, so I had to think of a way to catch up a bit. After speaking to Denise and Steve about this problem, they suggested that I could get a ferry north from Dobrovnic. Although Croatian men fought as part of the Austro-Hungarian army and the civilians starved, Croatia itself played no part in the First World War, so missing out part of it would have no bearing on my journey and was a good way to catch up a bit. Dubrovnik looked like a great city to explore, but it was heaving with tourists, so I was relieved that I was only there for about an hour before I embarked on a fast ferry, destination Split.
After getting off the ferry in the darkness with nowhere to stay the night, I once again fell on my feet. A bloke collared me and said that he had a room to rent for 10 Euros. (Once again, it was strange that he wanted Euros instead of the Croatian Kuna? Maybe it was a tax dodging thing? I didn’t have much choice as there wasn’t a beach nearby and I couldn’t ride in the dark after my lights had been pinched. If he’d turned out to be dodgy, then I always had my dog stick! I ended up in his elderly mother’s spare room. It was fine and anyway, I was tired.
The following morning I headed north on the quest for a bike shop and ended up spending the best part of sixty quid on a pump, inner tube, puncture kit, brake pads and a small bottle of oil. “Bloody hell, it’s pricy here!” One thing that I couldn’t find was an 18mm spanner. I searched high and low, asking everybody who could understand me (and some who couldn’t!) Everybody must have thought I was a bit of a head case or something? I eventually got fed up of this and bought an adjustable spanner instead.
About 5 miles further on, my bloody chain snapped again. After repairing it I only managed a few hundred yards before it snapped again. The air was blue! After a few more goes at this, I managed to bodge it so that it stayed in one piece, but I was now down to a single gear. A bit further up the road near the village of Marina, I saw a sign for a campsite and thought “sod it, I’ve had enough for today!”
The day after went pretty much the same. (It was a bit like Groundhog Day!) My chain bodge up hadn’t worked and I was getting seriously fed up of having to fix it every few miles. I eventually got to the town of Sibenik where I planned to spend the night and after a quick dip in the sea, I discovered that I had run out of money. Not good, not bloody good at all!
Fortunately, after a very panicked phone call, my long suffering wife, Ruthy, managed to transfer some funds into my account, but it was a massive wake-up call as far as money was concerned and I really needed to make it last from now on. That night, I decided to ignore my own advice by staying in a hostel for one last time. In the coming weeks, my money situation would become very desperate, but fortunately I didn’t know that yet. I had food in my belly and a roof over my head that night; I was ok. After exploring the ancient town of Sibenik, I turned in for an early night to make the most of the comfortable bed in the hostel. It was to be my last until I returned home.
The weather was bloody ‘scorchio’ the following day. With no breeze, the only way that I could stop the sweat running down my face and into my eyes was to pedal faster, but the extra exertion made me even hotter. Vicious circle, or what? Anyway, after a very early start, I reached the town of Zadar at about mid morning, found a bike shop and bought a new chain. Yeah, back to 14 gears! (No chance of the full 21 thanks to rough airport handling.)
The ride up through Croatia was tough for one reason only: the heat from the early summer sun. Ye gods only know what it’s like in August! Pedalling with the wind in my face and the unbearable dry heat seemed to suck the moisture straight out of me. I was drinking 6+ litres of water a day, but bottled water was quite expensive, so it turned out to be cheaper to stay on campsites and fill up my water bottles there instead.
I got caught short of water at one point, though. The coastal road north of Zadar gets drier and more barren the further north you travel. Gone are the lush vegetation and the streams, which ran to the sea; it’s the driest place I’ve ever visited outside of a desert.
Because of the heat, I had slowed down to about half my usual speed, which meant that I ended up camping on a rocky beach with less than one litre of water remaining. I required water to cook my dehydrated food, so I went hungry that night. Although the sea helped to cool me down, it couldn’t quench my thirst and it gave me a brief insight into what shipwrecked sailors must have gone through. It reminded me of a line from Samuel Taylor Coleridge’s poem, The Rime of the Ancient Mariner. “Water, water, everywhere, nor any drop to drink.”
By morning, I had nothing and with the morning sun already parching my throat, I tried getting some at a couple of remote houses. The first was empty, but the second door that I knocked on was answered by a very grumpy old man who didn’t speak English, only Serbo-Croat and German. (I think?) My understanding of any useful language except English is virtually nonexistent, but I remembered a few words picked up from war films, so I kind of understood what “nein geh weg” translated as. It meant that I wasn’t getting any water from that grumpy old swine. How mean!
A bit further along the road, I was contemplating doing a ‘Bear Grylls’ by drinking my own pee, but I wasn’t that desperate yet! I’d have been bloody annoyed if I had done that, as a couple of miles further on, I came to the village of Senj, which had a campsite. I must have been a lot further north on the coastal road than I thought I was. Oh: the joys of cycling through Europe, never quite knowing where you are!
It was here that I realised that my solar panel was now useless as I had lost a connector for it. Because of the missing connector, I also couldn’t charge my phone from a plug socket, so I ended up buying a phone charger from a shop. This meant that I now had to stay on a campsite every few days so that I could charge my phone.
Even though it was still morning, I booked onto the campsite, as I was desperate for water. Here, I met a British couple Stan and Lily who were touring in their motorhome. Thank you for making me feel normal again.
Looking back at things now, the majority of my journey through Croatia was monotonous and boring. It’s probably a great place to go on holiday, but I was impatient to get back to the old battlefields again, for they were the whole reason behind my journey.