The arrival to Kotor is like a proffered secret. It appears, more magical than ever, come nightfall, as its illuminated ramparts reflect a golden halo of honey essence, amber wood, hazelnut, saffron, caramel and Madagascan vanilla in the bay. From the Adriatic Sea, woven between the summits of Montenegro, Kotor is the end point, the ultimate backdrop. Everlasting flower. At the water's edge and on the slope of the mountain, Slavic and Mediterranean at once, between rose and Tonka bean, rhubarb and jasmine, oud and thyme, it is there, inhabited by the ages and the sweet way of life. Beckoning, Kotor shimmers, Kotor flashes with light. Its tiny streets, squares and palaces adorned with kilim rugs; a kingdom of myrrh, cedar and sandalwood. From its heights, an uninterrupted view over the jagged rocks and isthmi; a hanging garden of clove, maté and patchouli. And so night falls again, for a new dream of musk and leather before the bay.