Understudy to the Riviera

I spent two nights in a single, with hardly any view, a spread-less bed that looked like something out of boot camp, battered bureaus and chairs and a private bath, garishly tiled, but clean and serviceable. The hotel didn't seem crowded, but I had to plead with the reservations manager to let me move for my last two nights to a similarly shabby double that overlooked the mainland.

Breakfasts on the terrace featured blueberry juice and big, beautiful, cheesy omelets. Dinners were another matter, served by legions of waiters attired in penguin black and white, who presented lackluster fish and meat dishes. After two evening meals at the hotel, I went elsewhere, even though dinners were included in my room rate.

I spent much of my time at the hotel musing about its somewhat sorry state and staggering potential. Rumors fly about its future, although government negotiations to lease it to an international luxury hotel chain seem to have stalled, leaving the place to do its best to keep up appearances.

Actually, I'm thrilled to have seen it now. Once world-class development finally comes to Montenegro, the Hotel Sveti Stefan will be way too pricey for me.

Like the hotel, the town of Sveti Stefan is rough around the edges. It's in the middle of condo and hotel development that bodes ill for its future.

Along the Adriatic

THERE'S a lovely path that leads northwest along the coast, bordered by pine trees and cypresses.

Walking that way, I passed two inviting beaches tucked into pocket bays separated by rocky headlands. The first, King's Beach, is the site of a handsome summer palace built in 1934 for the royal family of Montenegro; it's now the Hotel Sveti Stefan's less-popular sister inn, also run by the government. The second, Queen's Beach, is chiefly for guests at the nearby Kraljicina Plaza. Like many other hotels along this stretch of coast, it's a Soviet-era architectural nightmare, with an empty indoor pool and furniture that looks like it came from a basement in the Kremlin.

Farther on, though, is Przno, as pretty an Adriatic village as you could want, cupped around a little bay, with a craggy islet in its middle. Steep steps lead down from the road to the waterfront, lined by a handful of easygoing seafood restaurants. There, I discovered the delights of luscious Montenegrin tomatoes and Adriatic calamari, grilled in olive oil and garlic, accompanied by local white wine.