Ulcinj's Velika Plaza is once again the subject of intense debate. The proposed megaproject, backed by the UAE and the Government of Montenegro, has sparked local opposition, fueled by concerns about non-transparent processes and a scale of development that seems indifferent to the sustainable development framework established by the Ulcinj Assembly back in 2007. This is not the first chapter in the story of Velika Plaza's development, and a look back at the 1970s reveals a different approach - one with valuable, perhaps uncomfortable, lessons for today.
In Ulcinj in the 1970s, we, students of the “Bratstvo-Jedinstvo” Gymnasium – an institution whose foundations were literally laid by figures like Džemal Bijedić, then Prime Minister of the powerful SFRY – lived the reality of a practical bilingual life. Language was a bridge, not an obstacle. Our secondary education, which included Latin, German, Russian and English, fostered a collective intellectual curiosity expressed in “Počecima/Fillimet”, our bilingual magazine, as lively and diverse as our own evolving worldviews.
Basketball became a shared focus. Yugoslavia's Olympic achievements resonated even in our inter-class tournaments, transforming the cramped school gym into a cauldron of youthful ambition. From this energy emerged the Ulcinj Basketball Club in 1976, a direct product of our dedication.
At first glance, our sporting ambitions and half-marathon run by the water on Velika Plaza made us champions. But the fair timing of our rhythm with the galloping pace of Olympic coach Dane Korica and his group of athletes was in sharp contrast to our more relaxed, amateurish pace.
But while the sports fields stole our daytime hours, we spent our nights listening to music, next to the vast, inviting sea under the "big blue circle".
The April atmosphere was charged with preparations for the season. Households were meticulously preparing rooms, gardens were being tended, promising an abundance of grapes, figs and pomegranates. Postcards and letters from various cities (this was the era before digital 'booking.com' reservations) formed neat piles on the kitchen tables of Ulcinj's room publishers. Home crafts were flourishing.
Ulcinj was visibly expanding. New resorts and campsites were springing up along the Great Beach.
Miško Mirović, then director of the Ulcinj Riviera, visionarily initiated the construction of new hotels on Velika Plaza. Local politicians and dissenters, both out of jealousy and ignorance, expressed their reservations, but he persistently shaped his narrative. When Edvard Kardelj opened a new hotel on Velika Plaza, it was clear that Ulcinj was entering a new phase of development.
Local initiative was also flourishing: my neighbors, Bruno and Džemo Abazović, founded a water skiing school, which Sani Dervishi-Pipo soon joined, making the beach a colorful stage for their water skills.
The ferry Sveti Stefan ran faithfully between Bar and Bari, carrying not only passengers but also vinyl treasures from Italy. My neighbor Mendo Mavrić - the disco impresario of Petrovac, Sveti Stefan, Budva and Ulcinj - would send me to Bari to buy the latest hit singles at the famous “Discorama”. This led to my work as a DJ at the Albatros Hotel in the late summer of 1976. The UHER tape recorder became the main tool with which I created nightly soundtracks of blues, jazz, rock and funk, occasionally punctuated by classical pieces. Filip Martinović, the cosmopolitan hotel manager, would sometimes kindly ask me: “Please, be quiet!” - a comment I now remember with ironic fondness.
That summer, an unforgettable act of youthful audacity also occurred: my schoolmate Arben Kasmi, his brother Naser, and two friends planned an unforgettable infiltration of the Albatros disco, which was open “for guests only.” They arrived by taxi, together with their suitcases, proceeded to the reception desk, rented two rooms, and then, with performative nonchalance, showed the room keys at the entrance to the disco. Director Martinović’s frustration was palpable. The consequent warning came the next morning when Arben’s group was joined at breakfast by their neighbor, a waiter at the hotel, Osman Cungu, to give them a formal reprimand: “Eat the donuts. You paid for them. But remember, you will never make up for the shame you caused your parents!”
By 1977, Velika Plaža was pulsating with a distinctive rhythm. As a DJ at the Bellevue Hotel, from its terrace overlooking the vast sand and palm-fringed gardens, I played for a mix of German tourists discovering CCR, Italians elegantly enjoying Italian disco music, and Yugoslav visitors seeking out Bijelo Dugme and Dado Topić. Ulcinj residents embraced Donna Summer, the Bee Gees, and Bowie. The hotel was alive until dawn, reflecting Ulcinj’s appeal to a generation of Europeans. Morning espressos on the Bellevue terrace were accompanied by the daily German newspapers and serious debates about the Borussia Mönchengladbach vs. Bayern Munich match – as if our conclusion carried any weight. We socialized with Velika Plaža and its international visitors, a world away from the simpler routines of Mala Plaža.
The catastrophic earthquake of April 15, 1979, interrupted this trajectory. The following “transitional” period saw further degradation. Hotels were demolished or poorly renovated. The unique dynamism and momentum of progress of the 1970s, especially in relation to the Great Beach, disappeared.
In the years that followed, Velika Plaza was often treated as an exploitable asset rather than a public good, and its potential was systematically undermined – the proverbial “Alajbeg’s straw”. This history of neglect and questionable management casts a long shadow, making current efforts towards rational management or true revitalization extremely challenging.
Today, the proposed megaproject is awakening those old ghosts. The key difference now is the existence of a formal commitment - the Declaration of Montenegro as an Ecological State and the Decision of the Ulcinj Assembly on Sustainable Development from 2007. The current plans for Velika Plaža, characterized by their enormous scale and disturbing lack of public engagement, seem to contradict these principles. The development of the 70s, despite all its ad hoc nature, had a visible local component and an emergent quality. It was built in part by Ulcinj for Ulcinj.
The key question is stark: will Ulcinj find a way to revitalize Velika Plaza in a way that is truly sustainable, respecting its ecological and social fabric? Or will its inherent value be sacrificed to an imposed vision, divorced from local needs and long-term well-being?
Thinking about Velika Plaza, the resonance is still there: the bass line from Bellevue, Arben's laughter, the mechanical sound of UHER. Perhaps Buddha Bar will now occupy that space; such changes are inevitable. But the real value was never just the music or the sand. It was the inimitable quality of the spirit of that time. We absorbed it completely, and that feeling remains, untouchable. We were a part of it. The challenge now is to ensure that whatever comes next is built on transparency, genuine benefit to the community, and an unwavering commitment to the sustainable future that Ulcinj has formally chosen for itself.
The author is a civil engineer.
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