Good morning! Anyone who has ever lived in, spent summers in, or even just had a childhood in Budva knows what Slovenska Beach means. Older generations know what Montenegro Tourist once represented—a tourism giant that operated hotels from Kufin to Konfin, all the way to Long Beach in Ulcinj. A company owned by the people, from the people, for the people.
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The End of Slovenska Beach?
Slovenska Beach, with its recognisable brass logo still standing at the entrance, is more than just a tourist complex. It’s a symbol of an era. Built on the site of hotels destroyed in the catastrophic 1979 earthquake, it represented in 1982 the pinnacle of modernist urban planning in the service of tourism and the common good. Solar panels on the hotel parking canopy heated water back when solar energy still seemed like science fiction. Today, Slovenska is a shadow of that time.
Together with Hotel Aleksandar, Slovenska has about 1,200 accommodation units. Beneath the reception area is still the largest remaining park in Budva—a green zone that is more botanical garden than tourist complex. This space was envisioned as the city’s lungs, a part of Budva through which people would pass on their way to the beach. It wasn’t an exclusive property for the wealthy. But for some time now, many gates have been locked, and access through the tourist complex has been restricted—for guest safety.
The state built this hotel, but in the current system, the state is not supposed to manage hotels. And there is nothing inherently wrong with privatisation. But there is something wrong with poor planning and a lack of rules.
At the height of the construction frenzy in the early 2000s, the government of the time drafted urban plans placing buildings within the park. They imagined a huge “sail-shaped” tower, inspired by the skyscrapers of Dubai. Later, during the DPS-SDP administration, of which I was a part in Budva, we started the process of buying back the park and erasing those monstrous planning mistakes. It was a concrete and sincere effort.
What happened after that? Montenegro changed politically. DPS lost power in Budva, but the new government—led by people who swore to protect the public interest—did nothing to buy back the remaining green space. Nor did they protect Slovenska, its spirit, its character, or its public importance. The initiative I tried for years to revive was met with silence. The silence of then-mayor Dragan Krapovic, once a friend and fellow citizen we had supported during our time in office, led to our political and personal falling out. Not out of vanity, but out of disappointment.
It’s been nearly ten years since DPS left Budva. And Slovenska has been forgotten. The park hasn’t been bought back. The buildings haven’t been removed from the plans. No one from the local administration or the national government has even raised the issue of the potential demolition of Slovenska and Aleksandar by future private owners.
If Slovenska falls now, it will just be one more fence. And one less memory. And no one is speaking up.
The residents of Budva are silent. NGOs are silent. Intellectuals are silent. The government is silent. As if this were someone else’s country, someone else’s sea, and someone else’s cypress trees. If Slovenska were popular among the hipsters and the precariat of Podgorica like Ada and Long Beach, would we be seeing a public reaction like we did with Alabbar?
This is not a text against development. Nor against private enterprise. This is a fight for the right to have a city, not a resort reserved for wealthy guests.
That’s all for today. We wish you a pleasant rest of the day.
Kind regards,
Ljubomir Filipovic, CdM analyst and columnist
(Columnists’ opinions and views are not necessarily those of the CdM editorial team)
