“A plate of oysters and a carafe of house white please.” Minutes after ordering the kind of afternoon tea one only dares indulge in on holidays — or after a particularly tedious day — our conversation is stalled by a splash. The lanky outline of a young boy has disappeared from the side of the restaurant and into the crystalline water below. I recognise him. Earlier, he was interacting with my nieces and nephew as they dangled their legs from the ledge he’s expertly plunged from. They weren’t connecting in English, rather the language of play and curiosity that children are fluent in no matter where in the world they’re born. His beaming face emerges from the mirror-like surface shattered only by the ripples of his dive and the red and blue buoys that reveal the uniform rows of oyster and mussel crops beyond. We’re at Boka Seafood, a no-frills venue perched on the Adriatic Sea on the outskirts of Perast, Montenegro. “We” are my three sisters, their partners, my partner (or fiance, if we were to fast forward two hours from now), my curly-haired nephew, and two inquisitive nieces. The holiday we never thought would make it out of the group chat is finally playing out to the soundtrack of Sabrina Carpenter and Olivia Rodrigo (our tiny dictators rule most of our decisions) in gorgeous Airbnbs, parks, early-morning taxi rides and overpriced eateries across Europe. Last stop, Montenegro. In a world where even the most hidden of gems often has a decent Instagram following, branded merchandise and tourist prices, this blink-and-you’ll-miss-it oyster and mussel farm almost feels like we’re part of a small and lucky club who just happened to stumble across it. In truth, my sister “unearthed” it on Google. Much of Perast feels like this, though, as if the beauty and history of the safe seaside town is shared in whispers among travellers rather than blasted across travel sites or social media. Perast is a small slice of the UNESCO World Heritage site Boka Kotorska, its population of around 300 much smaller than the 22,000 of neighbouring Kotor. The stroll along its promenade from one end of town to the other takes just 20 minutes, a tad more if the kids (OK, also the adults) want to stop for an ice-cream and fossick around the small general store for keepsake magnets and sweet treats. There are plenty of waterside restaurants, churches to explore, and a wine store offering tastings of local drops along the stretch too. We’re here mid-September, missing the crowds of peak season yet smugly soaking in the delights of the lingering warm temperatures; no jackets are needed during our week-long stay. Back at Boka, we’re nosily watching the boy’s progress over glasses of the cold-ish wine; he’s clambered up and on to the shucking and cleaning station to our left, confidently ambling and peering over the shoulders of weather-worn men prepping and tossing shells into colourful buckets. He’ll be running the joint in no time. Boka itself is small and humble. There are six white tables inside the open-air structure that has been constructed from concrete and stone. Its view is spectacular, one I know I’ll float back to when I’m at my office desk. Perched on the bay of Kotor, it’s circled by a panorama of the Orjen mountains to the west and the Lovcen mountains to the east. Wafts of garlic and seafood grilled over coal drift from the tiny kitchen, where two women chat away animatedly while brushing fish and strips of zucchini with a marinade of lemon and herbs. The freshest plate of oysters I’ve ever seen is placed in the middle of the table, my nieces eyeballing the cluster of shells before declaring in no uncertain terms they will NOT be eating them. They’re not the only ones squaring up to the plate. Typically a lover of the slimy delicacies, I spy a tiny worm-like creature wriggling to freedom across the plate. We seem equally unhappy to see each other. But I look out to the view, the company, the young boy who is now peering curiously at our group, and after dousing my oyster in a generous squeeze of lemon, I down it in one. As fresh and salty as a good wave dumping — the ultimate afternoon tea of champions and a moment I still daydream about at my desk daily.