So, making our circuits around and above the shore, moving inland into the mountains and greener land, we've talked about little and noticed mostly colors and smells. One of the things that stands out has been the meshing of architecture and rock, and the way the colorful light washes over it all. The Cathedral of St. Tryphon is Kotor town's most picturesque church. Built in 1166, it was damaged by an earthquake in the seventeenth century - it got its cockeyed look from the rebuilding process. The towers don't quite match, the facade is handsomely asymmetrical, the setting is remarkable. It's one of only two Catholic churches in Montenegro.
Up close, the church is almost overpowered by the lascivious blossoms of dozens of oleanders. Old couples stood on their porches in the close environs, fanning themselves and watching us carefully. The tourists that come to Prčanj are almost all looking for a sunbed or a grilled fish - on the steps of the church, a few surprised men sipped beer and waved to us guiltily. The place has the air of a forgotten, tropical mission, faded by the sun and just a few years from succumbing to the weeds and salt-air.
Montenegro's capital, Podgorica, is a spread-out place on a high plateau, far inland. We talked to one woman from there who said that everyone leaves in the summer - it's too hot, too dusty, too dry. The city streets were fully blanketed by a mid-summer quiet when we passed through. This man and a robed priest were forking hay nearby the Cathedral of the Resurrection of Christ. Around them were battered dumpsters and parked cars, a kind of meshing of agriculture and urban blight. The church, built in 1993, looked more like a municipal building than anything - like a police station set down on the edge of town and given a dome.