I wasn’t expecting the welcoming chorus of “woofs” that greet me when I arrive at FitCamp Montenegro. Then again, the name, suggestive of a 1970s-style fat farm, is misleading. Based in a rustic farmhouse in the hills north-east of Nikšić, the country’s second largest city, the Yoga getaway I’m here to sample may focus on wellness and plant-based food – the antithesis of traditional Montenegrin fare – but its friendly dogs and cats would de-stress many a frazzled urbanite.
“We especially want to take care of solo travellers, tailor stays to their needs, and help them reconnect with themselves and nature,” says co-owner Andjela Djokic, as amiable Sivi, part hunting dog, part sheepdog, trots out for a sniff.
The retreat is my first stop on a whirlwind trip exploring Central Montenegro. Unlike the overcrowded Adriatic coast (in 2024, 94% of overnight stays in the Balkans country were in coastal areas), the interior of Montenegro is virgin territory for nature lovers. Historically a battleground – the Romans and Ottomans lorded over the region – for me it’s love at first sight, a landscape brimming with pristine karst mountains, forests, lakes and rivers.
Getting here involved an 80-minute drive from Podgorica, the capital, on a panoramic road, one that on a clear day (alas, it’s gloomy when I arrive) takes you within view of Ostrog Monastery, cut high into a rock face in the Dinaric Alps. (These, I learn, stretch the length of the Balkans.) Still, as the wispy clouds trail across the peaks and ridges, I feel I’m entering a delicious hinterland.
At the farm, which Andjela runs with her husband, Matija, I settle into my en suite apartment, one of two available to guests. Once a stone barn, it has a balcony from which to soak up the rippling birdsong and mountain scenery. Over in the shared community space, a homely kitchen-cum-lounge area, I tuck into scrambled eggs and thick Montenegrin coffee. “Every day is a mission to find the eggs,” chuckles my host.
Later, I’ll visit the chicken coop and permaculture garden, and hear about plans to transition to solar power, but right now I’m itching to unfurl my limbs.
It’s too wet for yoga, offered on a wooden platform in a meadow on the farm’s 19 acres of land. Instead, sockless, I tread gingerly on the adjacent barefoot walk, an array of beach pebbles, pine cones, moss and sharp stones. The sensory stimulus (nature’s reflexology) awakens me from my post-travel stupor. There’s just time for a snack and a glorious toast with rakija, the local spirit, before Tamara Miljanic, the serene yoga and meditation teacher, offers a pranayama (yogic breathwork) session. As the flute-like call of a cuckoo haunts the skies, I feel the tension seep out of my body. After a salad supper, made by a holistic nutritionist who joins us for the meal, I sleep like a log.
The next morning the sun is out and I try the property’s heart trail – another cue to be mindful. Wandering along the kilometre-long wooded path, I step over soft, moss-covered stones and flit from wildflower to wildflower like a butterfly. I spot carmine-hued thistle, elegant mauve lupins, ox-eye daisies and dog roses. The dogs, who have come along, plonk themselves next to me like forest sentinels when I sit quietly for a bit.
It’s hard to leave, but Vučje calls. A mountain lodge and tourist centre within the wider Nikšić region, 18 miles to the east, Vučje is a ski resort in winter and the perfect spot for hiking, horse-riding and cycling in the warmer months. Nestled in a valley, it lies south of the vaunted alpine jewel that is Durmitor national park.
A slow-food culture is embraced here. After a stroll in the woods, in the company of the Vučje dogs (owner Andja has a soft spot for strays) it’s time for a feast. “We cure our own meat,” she says, waving towards the meat-drying room. I do my best with a pork steak steeped in cream and mushrooms, kačamak (a rich, tasty concoction made of wheat and cornflour, potatoes, cheese and cream) and local wine – and silently apologise to my arteries. (Vučje caters to vegetarians too.)
The room I’m staying in is a little worn but comfortable. In the morning, after priganice (moreish fritters with rosehip jam), more cured meat and pljevaljski (a local cheese), I hike to Durkovo Brdo, a popular viewpoint and, at 1,546 metres, an easy-to-climb peak. Two charming guides, Enisa Djokovic and Dušan Stupar, lead the way. Enisa points out the wild garlic, beloved of the local ursine population, as we emerge from the forest canopy to open pastures ringed by mountains.
“We call them ‘bear onions’,” she says. “But don’t worry, we carry pepper spray.”
Later, the pair drive me eastward to Lukavica, a mountain plateau. A winding road leads us through the beautiful terrain, carpeted with meadows, and dotted with peaks and katuns, hobbity holiday homes (some still used by sheep herders).
Astonishingly, ours is the only vehicle. When I step outside, the silence feels potent. A deer bobs away in the distance, and a lone church, St Ilija, stands framed by the mountains. “There is a 2,000-year-old gravestone here,” says Dušan, before pointing to the looming peak, Mali Žurim (1,962 metres). It looks impossibly steep. “Next time you come we can hike it. It’s easier than it looks,” he says.
After a coffee stop at Lake Kapetanovo Jezero, where I spot wild horses, we drive back and the heavens open. Enisa tells me she is Muslim, “from a small village near Podgorica”, and that she celebrates Ramadan and Eid. Dušan, who is also her partner, is Bosnian and Orthodox Christian. “During the war, my family fled across the mountains,” he says, quietly. “I was a child and my mother was pregnant at the time.” I wonder if, for him, the mountains represent refuge, a place of sanctuary.
For my last day, I head south to Jablan Winery, in the village of Rvaši, south of Podgorica. Wine tastings are popular here, and you can rent an apartment amid the vines. I’ve spied the e-bikes and I’m off, down euphoria-inducing hairpin bends to Lake Skadar, the largest in southern Europe and a national park. Framed by forest-green slopes, the views of the serpentine Rijeka Crnojevića river and canyon, within the lake system, are ethereal, like a fairytale.
At a small resort named after the river, I park the bike and board a small boat for a ride on the lake, through narrow channels teeming with birdlife. “This is our Amazon,” says Captain Dusko, at the helm, before telling us the giant Dalmatian pelican is Skadar’s symbol. As we drift past a carpet of water lilies, I spy a jet-black pygmy cormorant diving for fish, and grey herons in flight. Back on shore, the captain whips up a meal of smoked carp, carp paté, fish soup and grilled trout at his lakeside restaurant. Then it’s back on the bike to the vineyard, where a glass of natural wine lulls me into a contented sleep, nursing a yen to return to this enchanted land.
The trip was provided by FitCamp Montenegro; its five-night yoga getaway is available May-November for €900, including breakfast, activities and a day trip. Accommodation at Vučje from €37pp a night, with hiking tours from €100 for two. At Winery Jablan the two-bedroom stonehouse costs €55 a night (sleeps five) and the studio from €50 a night (sleeps two); both self-catering, minimum two-night stay, 90-minute food and wine tastings from €35 per person
