What would you prefer: an illicit affair or some porridge?
You will want to have your answer ready when you visit Montenegro because the same word - kačamak - can mean both. Hasty explanation may be necessary.
But there is a third meaning: sneaking away to relax for a while. Nothing big, nothing crazy, just a few hours away. And that is exactly what you have to offer during a weekend in the country's capital, Podgorica. It's not big, it's not bustling, it's not beautiful - hell, it's not even Montenegro's main attraction; that's the UNESCO World Heritage town of Kotor, 90 kilometers away on the coast - but it's a deliciously small portion kačamak only £15 flight away.
That flight ends beautifully in a vineyard. The Šipčanik winery surrounds the airport on three sides (it's apparently the largest vineyard in Europe, with vines that would reach as far as Chicago if they were pointlessly lined up). Normally I'm wary of tours and tastings - blah blah notes of ripe berries blah minerality in the ground blah blah - but this one is well worth the 20 minute trip from the city as the cellar is a completely unexpected 350 meter long tunnel is underground. a mountain.
I was about to say it looked like a Bond villain's lair - complete with bustling forklifts and trembling henchmen in hard hats - but the Yugoslavs beat me to it by a few decades: turns out they used it as a top-secret bunker with 27 fighter planes. The tastings are also generous (although at one point the sommelier even outdoes the "ripe berry" brigade, praising the "almost non-existent taste" of one wine).
Once you reach the city centre, there's a wonderfully short list of sights to tick off before getting stuck into the liquid local produce again. My guide takes me to exactly one museum/gallery, the confusingly named Museums & Galleries Podgorica (old.pgmuzeji.me), and we spend the rest of the afternoon wandering around the Ottoman old town, crumbling 15th-century fortress and have a picnic. -spotted small riverbanks with pebble beaches, with juicy pomegranates and dates košćela that grow everywhere.
The story continues
The highlight of the museum is the gusle, a one-string folk instrument that I request a demonstration of because my mean side wants to laugh condescendingly at what has to be the least musical musical instrument ever. Then my guide plays something for me gusle on his phone - and it's the most hypnotically haunting sound I've heard in decades.
It gets even louder as I wander off alone to the leafy, lost Forest Park Gorica - but I am lured to St. George's Church, at the entrance. It's 6.30pm on Friday and from the open doors you escape to mingled incense and incantations - inside sits a Richard Osman lookalike with a Rowan Williams beard and long black robes, while a similarly dressed priest offers melancholic, mystical responses and the faithful cross sings itself every few seconds.
The atmosphere is so intoxicating that I feel like I'm dreaming, and I can barely drag myself away. As I do, my feet strangely seem to carry me - without any intention on my part - to another Serbian Orthodox outpost. The Cathedral of the Resurrection of Christ, which has been in the building for twenty years, was inaugurated in 2013, but inside it could be the 17th century: every centimeter is covered with Byzantine gold and murals of saints with sad eyes or stern orthodox patriarchs.
In one apse Tito, Marx and Engels burn in hell; in another case some children appear to do the same; in a third, a leviathan inexplicably consumes some saints. In the center, beneath a gold-crafted chandelier so intricate that standing beneath it feels like being beamed into another dimension, a horde of people wait to be blessed by another lavishly bearded but this time lavishly clad cleric.
They kiss his hand, kiss a few icons, cry... and the whole thing is so tinglingly strange and atmospheric and moving that I almost stand in line, no matter how incredulous I am.
Instead, I walk down Njegoševa, which I mentally call the Boulevard of Broken Diets - for about a kilometer the pattern of businesses is bar, bar, pizzeria, bar, bar, steakhouse, bar, bar and repeat.
They are all excellent, but the next day ones are even better. Less than an hour's drive away - over densely forested mountains, and with a stop for a slow boat on the sparkling Skadar Lake at Virpazar - is Sveti Stefan. You'll recognize it as soon as you Google it: Aman Resorts has converted a small fishing village on a causeway into an absurdly luxurious hotel (€200 doesn't get you a room, but a day's rental of two sun loungers).
But just a five-minute walk around a headland takes you to the equally excellent little public beach (with free sun loungers!) of Przno, where wavy pebbles give way to perfect aquamarine water, which is still warm well into autumn. Behind it is a row of konobas - traditional taverns serving seafood and wine as delicious as anything you can get in Italy, just a few kilometers away across the Adriatic Sea.
I watch the sun set, grab a doggy bag and a bottle and board my 9:05pm flight back to Stansted - kačamak up to my eyeballs.
Coolest corner
Not promisingly under an overpass lies an artsy enclave too small to have a name, but centered on a converted hammam (ask the locals about the old Turkish women's baths) near King's Park. The centerpiece is the Itaka Library Bar - three narrow floors of the hammam minaret and a fairytale riad-like courtyard, serving craft beer and delicious cocktails - but there's also a cool bookshop and art space.
A must-see sight
The amazing 2013 Cathedral of the Resurrection of Christ looks like several temples in one: eastern domes, Roman spires, the lower half of rough rock and finely detailed small sculptures on the upper half. And then things become Real strange when you go inside (see main story).
Signature dish
Meat. Podgorica is a carnival for carnivores, but the locals' most cherished dish is popek: roast beef rolled in a layer of egg batter and fried until crispy but still bleeds meaty juices at the touch of your fork. Taste it - along with a dozen other types of meat-based food - at Pod Volat restaurant on Stara Varoš Square. When you encounter Sveti Stefan with Italian influences, think squid, shrimp, chard and pasta; try them at Konoba Langust on Przno beach.
Largest export
Ksenija Cicvarić is the Rihanna of Montenegro - if Rihanna were a folk singer, born in 1927. In fact, the only parallel is that Ksenija was famous enough - in Montenegro - to go by her first name only, and is by some distance Podgorica's most famous daughter .
British equivalent
Technically Podgorica's British twin, as the country's capital, is London - but good luck finding a metro station in Poddy G. Think instead: crazy cathedral, satisfyingly unsophisticated cuisine, serious drinking culture, underrated beaches nearby, no famous sons or daughters, no -You ever actually go there on purpose. Yes, Podgorica is the Norwich of Montenegro.
Fun fact
Montenegrins are the second tallest people in the world (the average height for men is just over 6 feet). The people of Podgorica are proud of this - but even prouder of the prowess it gives them in water polo, the national sport. (Psst! Don't tell them that no other country really cares about water polo.)
How to do that
Fly to Podgorica with Wizz Air from Gatwick, or Ryanair from Stansted/Manchester: flights cost from £15 one way with both airlines. Hotels in the city are cheap; the best, smart Hilton Podgorica Crna Gora costs around £90 per night. See montenegro.travel for more information.
