You step off the quay in Kotor with the mountains breathing down on the bay and the boat already rocking gently against the pier. The captain welcomes you by name, hands you a chilled bottle of water, and points toward a low stone island that seems to float like a small altar in the glassy water. As the engine cuts through the channel, cliffs and old stone towns slide into view—Perast’s baroque facades, the squat silhouette of Mamula island, and the pale oval of Our Lady of the Rocks. The sea here has an old memory; it remembers trade, war, and the slow practice of feeding families with mussels farmed in these protected waters.