Fabian Dittrich is our new neighbour, choosing Zabrdje on Lustica for his new address for the sunny months of the year. Dittrich is from Berlin, an IT engineer, and has traveled the world for 15 years, claims Montenegrin people are the best hosts he has ever met during his traveling experiences to 68 countries around the world. The same impression he has about our natural beauties and cultural heritage, especially in Boka Bay.
"Why Montenegro? I get this question frequently," says Fabian, who recently published the song which could be helpful to explain. In just one week, "Down in Montenegro" saw more than 40,000 likes on social networks, who shared it more than 700 times.
"If the song and video do not convince you, here are two stories that happened to me within my first 24 hours in this beautiful country. Berlin was getting cold so I browsed Airbnb to find a place where I could get some writing done, somewhere more south, maybe Romania, maybe Greece. I opened Google Maps. What was that? A tiny country below Croatia. Montenegro. Wasn't that where they shot parts of Casino Royale?
I pulled up the climate diagram. The October temperatures looked promising. It didn't take long, and I had found an idyllic looking Mountain house somewhere on some Mountain next to a city I had never heard of – Danilovgrad. Two weeks later, I passed the border of Croatia and entered Montenegro, and then my destiny was written. I spent about a decade of my life traveling or living abroad, but I had never seen anything as wild, vast, and beautiful as this. And where were all the people? It seemed like a paradise on earth, and I was the only one around to witness it," explains Fabian about falling in love with Montenegro.
"The Airbnb host only gave me GPS coordinates, "the street is not on Google maps," he said. I drove up a dirt road. Suddenly the road was blocked; an electricity cable was hanging across the street, too low to pass with the land rover. What now? Before I could plan what to do an ancient lady got out of a very, very old stone house and lifted the cable. Alright, it looks like I need to pass through here to reach the idyllic mountain house. I kept on driving just to get trapped in the very old ladies backyard. An ambush! This road doesn't go on. What was happening? Why would grandma lead me into her garden? She appeared at the car window and gesticulated. I rolled down the window. I didn't understand a word she said. "Jedan Minut! Jedan Minut!". Ok, one minute then. The old lady reappeared holding a glass bottle in her hand, pouring a transparent liquid into a shot glass. "Rakija! Rakija". When in Rome, do as the Romans do. I swallowed that stuff without thinking twice. That burned! And another one! Grandma took one too. I'm still trapped in the backyard. There's no way out. Suddenly I understood the situation. Grandma just wanted to invite me for a drink. "Thank you so much; this was tasty and strong! I need to find the idyllic mountain house now, but I'll surely come back." She leads me out, raised the cable, and I went back the way I came. I met some pretty hospitable people around the world, but this was something else. Look! There's someone, let's give him Rakija!" Explains Fabian not hiding his impressions.
"The next day after my first night in Montenegro, taking in the amazing scenery from the porch of the idyllic mountain house, I wanted to make a campfire and eat tin foil potatoes. I pulled out Google Maps, switched on Satellite view and browsed for an empty field somewhere even deeper in the mountains, with no roads close, where only a 4×4 car could go. After driving for half an hour, I reached the spot; it was nearly dark. Damn! A dead end. Next to a house. Not a good place to light up a fire. I started turning the car. The land rover defender's turning circle is comparable to an oil tanker. After five turns, before I had a chance to put my feet on the gas, a wild-looking man in his late 50's steps out of the ancient house. "Ehhh!", he shouts and waves his hands in the air. What does he want? Is he friendly? He does not come closer; his hand movements suggest he wants me to step out of the car. I lower the window. He shouts something in Serbian, sorry, in Montenegrin. I don't speak a word of Montenegrin. He smiles, opens the door, and points into his house."
Fabian writes on his blog: "He seems friendly, and my favorite operating system is trust by default. I step out of the car and get closer to him. We shake hands for a long time. His face tells stories of hardship. He is incredibly welcoming, looking at his wrinkled face is humbling somehow. The place is empty, just a wood stove irradiating warmth in all directions and one table, with one chair in the middle of the room, reminding me of an interrogation room. The stranger who led me into his house keeps talking in Montenegrin then points at himself and repeats the word "Petar," "Petar," "Petar." He points at me, and I respond. "Fabian," "Fabian." "My name is Fabian." Petar shakes my hand again then pulls the chair back from the table and invites me to sit down. "Rakija, Rakija!". Before I understood what was going, Peter presented an old glass bottle which had "Yugoslavia" engraved on it, poured something out of it into a shot glass and banged the glass on the table in front of my nose. "Rakija, Rakija!". He points at himself, and then at a barrel indicating the Rakija was homemade by himself. "Domace, Domace!". After 3 or 4 more Rakija, I am slightly drunk. Petar pulls out a strange looking instrument with only one string and starts playing and singing. Amazing! And another Rakija. I say something like, "Do you know a place for a campfire where I can also sleep in the car?" We speak not a single word in each other's language. "Ah! Njemački. Njemački." He grabs an old cell phone; one of those Nokias from the late '90s and calls a number, when someone picks up he hands the telephone to me. A lady on the other side speaks German; I explain I want to make a campfire and sleep in my car somewhere close to it. She says, "Ok, give the phone back to Petar." "Aha, Aha Moze. "Petar hands the phone back to me. "Petar will show you, follow him in your car. My new friend gets out of the house and starts running. I get into the car. "You can drive with me!" I simulate a steering wheel with my hands. Ne, Ne! He runs away. I follow him. After 200 meters, he stops. As if he'd know I would come, he points at a field with a bunch of firewood. Moze! We shake hands, he leaves. I make a campfire, I eat tin foil potatoes, I sleep."
The next morning at 7 am, Fabian went for a run. When passing Peters house, he invites him in again. Rakija! They have two Rakijas for breakfast. He shows Fabian his honey bees, and his goats then hand him a giant glass of honey. "What? Wow, is this for me? Da! Does he want to sell me the honey? Why not? I pull out a 5€ bill. He looks at me irritated. Neeee! He doesn't want my money. I felt I nearly insulted him with offering the Euros. With two hands he hands me the honey glass," Fabian such discovered the Montenegrin mentality and hospitality.
Fabian long ago decided not to spend the winter months in Berlin. "For me, it has been a routine in recent years to leave Berlin in October when it becomes cold. I would usually go to Spain or Morocco. I discovered Blackburn in 2016, and since then, I am returning to her regularly. "
Fabian has visited as many as 68 countries around the world but wants to live in Montenegro. At the beginning of 2018, he bought a house in Zabrđe and planned to make Luštica its new base, which will only leave for sunbathing months.
He is not thrilled with the luxurious tourist projects in our country because he's not a tourist but a traveler who seeks authentic experience and enjoyment of a cultural landscape that was not made overnight. Maybe his song Down in Montenegro helps us attract more visitors like him.
Although he is not a professional musician, Fabian has been playing guitar since he was 16 years. "I love to sing and play. If something triggers my emotions, I like to show it through music. It was just the case with the song "Down in Montenegro." The melody of this song is all familiar to us, but Fabian managed to add a message to her - come to Montenegro, spiced up with a lot of words in the Montenegrin language. The neighbor Nikola helped that. It seems that the peak song is the phrase "Lijepa Zena," which changes here "pretty mama".
"Montenegro's nature and people have given me a lot. This song hopefully gives something back to Montenegro. I hope you enjoy it," concludes Fabian. He is thankful for the support of his American friend, musician Kenny Sanger for playing guitar and rerecording this parody of "Kokomo" by the Beach Boys with him.
To meet Fabian Dittrich, discover his website: http://fabiandittrich.com
