An hour’s drive south of Dubrovnik, I cross into the tiny and new country of Montenegro. Driving along the fjord-like Bay of Kotor, the humble town of Perast catches my attention. In front of the church, young hunks clad in swim trunks jockey to take tourists out on dinghies to the island in the middle of the bay. According to legend, fishermen saw Mary in the reef and began a ritual of dropping a stone on the spot every time they sailed by. Eventually the island we see today was created, and upon that island was built a fine little “Our Lady of the Rocks” Church.

I hired a Montenegrin dinghy captain, cruised out, and was met by an English-speaking young woman. (The language barrier is minimal here, as English is taught from first grade in school.) She gave me a fascinating tour.

There's a buzz among travelers that humble little Montenegro is becoming a new Mediterranean hotspot. Once part of Yugoslavia and then allied with Serbia, this tiny mountainous nation on the Adriatic achieved independence only recently, in 2006. In the summer of 2009, my film crew and I set out to capture the country for a public television show.

For me, rugged and forested Montenegro — tucked away in the Balkans — used to evoke the fratricidal chaos of a bygone age. It made me think of a time when fathers taught their sons "your neighbor's neighbor is your friend" in anticipation of future sectarian struggles. My visit changed my view. My impressions — of impressive infrastructure improvements, a welcoming tourist trade, well-educated young people, and an enthusiasm for Europe — left me feeling the country is on an upward trajectory. Still, the Montenegrin road is bumpy.

Driving south from Croatia’s Dubrovnik, I soon hit the border of Montenegro, once part of Yugoslavia and now its own nation. By European standards, Montenegro is about as poor as it gets. They don’t even have their own currency. With just 600,000 people, they decided, heck, let’s just use euros. And since it’s such a tiny place, the official Eurozone countries are willing to look the other way.

I leave the little country’s idyllic Bay of Kotor, which cuts into the mountains like a Norwegian fjord, and climb 26 switchbacks, ascending into another world. At switchback #18, I pull out for a grand view of the dramatic bay and marvel at how the vegetation, climate, and ambience are completely different just 18 switchbacks above sea level.

Croatia’s Istrian Peninsula, in the northwest corner of the country, is an inviting mix of pungent truffles, Roman ruins, striking hill towns, and pastel coastal villages, with a breezy Italian culture (left over from centuries of Venetian rule).

While the wedge-shaped Istrian Peninsula has many tacky and forgettable resort towns, the seafront port of Rovinj — like a little Venice on a hill — is one of my favorite small towns on the Mediterranean.

While most of Croatia’s coastal towns seem tailor-made for tourism, Split is real and vibrant. Lounging alongside the Adriatic Sea on the famed Dalmatian Coast, Split is Croatia’s second-largest city (after capital Zagreb), making it a bustling metropolis, serious port city, major transit hub, and top sightseeing destination, all rolled into one.

Split has all the trappings of a modern city. But a close look at the surviving facade of the Roman palace fronting its harbor reveals its ancient roots. In the fourth century A.D., when the Roman emperor Diocletian retired, he built a vast residence for his golden years here in his native Dalmatia. When Rome fell, the palace was abandoned. Eventually, a medieval town sprouted from its abandoned shell. And, to this day, the maze of narrow alleys — literally Diocletian’s hallways at one point in time — makes up the core of Split. Today’s residents are actually living in a Roman emperor’s palace.

Budapest, the cultural capital of Hungary and much of Central Europe, has no shortage of nightlife. You can go there for grand opera, folk music and dancing, a twilight boat trip, or live music in a nightclub.

But there's also an edgy side to Budapest evenings — "ruin pubs" (romkocsma), which are smoke-filled, ramshackle bars crammed with twentysomethings. To find them, you'll have to explore the dingy streets of the city's Jewish Quarter. After World War II, this area was deserted, then resettled by mostly Roma (Gypsies). It remained dilapidated even after the Iron Curtain fell, and the rest of Budapest was rejuvenated.