I have visited the Luštica peninsula three times now, and each visit reveals something new. This small thumb of land jutting into the Bay of Kotor is easy to miss on the map — overshadowed by Kotor's old town and Budva's beaches — yet it quietly holds fifteen settlements, twenty-two churches, and a coastline that belongs to another era entirely.

The road in from Kumbor winds steeply upward past dry-stone walls and fig trees before levelling out across a plateau that feels completely removed from the Riviera below. My first stop is always Solila — a protected saltwater wetland near Tivat that serves as a resting point for migratory birds. The wooden observation tower there gives a view across the lagoon to the mountains on the other side of the bay, and on a still morning you can hear nothing but wings.

From Solila I follow the peninsula's spine westward through Bjelila and Krašići, two villages of pale stone houses and geranium-filled window boxes that look like they were placed there by a set designer. The café in Krašići has a terrace over the bay; I ordered coffee and stayed for an hour watching a single fishing boat move very slowly toward the Verige strait.

The beaches on the southern tip are the best-kept secret on this stretch of the Adriatic. Žanjic and Mirište are accessible only by boat or a long footpath — which keeps them uncrowded even in August. The water is clear enough to see the bottom at three metres, and the pebbles are smooth and white. Bring everything you need; there are no facilities.

At the very tip of the peninsula stands Cape Arza and its Austro-Hungarian fortress, now slowly being reclaimed by the scrub. The walls are crumbling and the staircases are missing sections, so exploring requires care, but the views across the open Adriatic toward Dubrovnik are extraordinary. This is the point where the bay ends and the sea begins.

The village of Rose at the northern tip is where the peninsula feels most itself — a handful of old houses on the water, a small pier, cats sleeping in the afternoon sun. There is a restaurant that serves grilled fish and local wine and keeps no fixed hours. The ferry across to Kamenari leaves every twenty minutes or so; from there it is a short drive back to Herceg Novi.

I left Luštica the same way I always leave it: already thinking about the next visit, and slightly worried that by then something will have changed. Development is coming — the Luštica Bay resort project is well underway — and with it the infrastructure, the roads, and the crowds. Go while the geraniums still outnumber the tourists.