Kotor is an excellent stop if you’re travelling through Montenegro in a rental car. The drive into town is part of the experience, with the road winding along the edge of the Bay of Kotor and delivering striking views of mountains and water side by side. Every few minutes, another viewpoint tempts you to pull over for a photo, especially when the sunlight glints off the water and small stone villages appear across the bay. As you approach the old town, the scenery becomes even more dramatic — cliffs rising straight from the sea, church spires peeking above the walls, and fishing boats rocking gently near the shore. It’s the kind of arrival that immediately makes you slow down and take it all in.
Parking near the old town can be tricky, especially if a cruise ship has docked, so I left the car in a pay-and-display car park just outside the city walls. From there it was only a short walk to the gate, which felt like stepping straight into another time. The walls towered above me, solid and imposing, yet the narrow entrance led to a maze of inviting streets. Just inside, the hum of conversation mixed with the chime of church bells, and the smell of coffee drifted from the cafés that line the square. For a moment, it felt like nothing had changed for centuries — just life unfolding at its own easy pace behind ancient stone.
The fortress climb was the obvious place to start. The walls rise above the town in a zigzag that dares you to follow. The stone steps are steep and uneven, but every pause to catch your breath comes with a bigger view. I passed travellers from all over the world, all moving at their own pace, sharing nods of mutual effort. Small chapels mark the way up, each one offering a bit of shade and silence. By the time I reached San Giovanni, the whole bay opened up beneath me — the terracotta rooftops, the calm blue water, and mountains folding into the distance. A light breeze swept through, cooling the climb’s effort. It felt like a proper reward, a view that reminds you why travel is worth every sore step.
Back in the old town, I let myself wander. The cobbled lanes twist and turn until you’re not sure where you are, which is part of the fun. Cats lounge on steps as if they own the place, while stone houses and little squares appear around each corner. I stopped for a cold drink at a shaded café and watched life go by — shopkeepers chatting at their doors, children running across the square, a violinist playing softly under an archway. There’s a quiet confidence to Kotor, as if it knows its beauty doesn’t need to be advertised.
As the afternoon wore on, the air filled with the smell of grilled seafood and baked bread. I followed it to a tucked-away konoba where locals were eating late lunches under trailing vines. I ordered calamari and a plate of local cheese, along with a glass of white wine from the coast. The waiter chatted easily, proud of his town but amused by how surprised visitors always seem to be by its charm. It was one of those unhurried meals that perfectly matches the pace of the place — nothing fancy, just simple food made well and enjoyed slowly. When I stepped back into the sunshine, the narrow streets had turned golden and the sound of laughter spilled out from the cafés.
After a few hours it was time to move on, but leaving wasn’t easy. Kotor is the kind of place that rewards lingering, yet even a short visit leaves you with lasting images: high walls against the mountains, the shimmer of the bay, and the sense of a town that has stood still while the world kept moving. As I walked back to the car, the late afternoon light turned the bay silver, and the sound of church bells echoed across the water. The drive out followed the same winding road, but everything looked different now — calmer, familiar, as if the place had quietly shared its rhythm with me. Kotor may be small, but it holds an atmosphere that stays with you long after you’ve left its walls behind.
