Visoki Dečani Monastery

Listen first. Water runs over stones somewhere close by, and wind moves through the chestnut trees on the slopes above. Beyond the monastery walls the mountains rise steeply, green and then grey. Then you pass through the gate, and the church appears in front of you. Its walls are striped in pale stone and deep reddish stone, laid in neat alternating bands. In the mountain light the whole building seems to change colour as clouds pass overhead.

You are standing at Visoki Dečani, a Serbian Orthodox monastery in western Kosovo. It lies a short drive south of Peja, at the point where the valley of the Dečanska Bistrica river meets the foothills of the Prokletije range. Locals often call these the Accursed Mountains. The word Visoki means high, or lofty, and it fits. The monastery sits in a sheltered fold of land, and the forest presses close on almost every side.

The story begins in the early fourteenth century, at a time when medieval Serbia was a powerful kingdom in the Balkans. King Stefan Uroš the Third began building here in 1327. He chose this valley as the place where he wanted to be buried. History remembers him by the name of this monastery — Stefan Dečanski, Stefan of Dečani. He did not live to see the work finished. His son, Stefan Dušan, completed the church around 1335.

The king's life was dramatic, and part of it moves into legend. In his youth, Stefan fell out with his father, King Milutin, and he was blinded as a punishment. According to the Orthodox tradition, Saint Nicholas later appeared to him and restored his sight. Historians treat that part as a story of faith rather than record. What is clearer is how his reign ended. He was deposed by his own son and died in captivity at Zvečan fortress in 1331.

Now look closely at the stone walls. There is a surprise here that many visitors miss. This church is not Byzantine on the outside at all. The doorways, the arched windows, and the carved details follow the Romanesque style of the Adriatic coast. Romanesque is the round-arched style of medieval Western Europe, which you see in old churches in Italy and Dalmatia. Inside, however, everything follows Orthodox tradition. The building stands between two worlds of medieval Christianity.

The reason for this mix is written in stone. Above the south doorway, an inscription names the master builder as Fra Vita, a Franciscan friar from the coastal town of Kotor in present-day Montenegro. So a Catholic monk designed one of the great Orthodox churches of the Balkans. The inscription also records that he worked on the building for several years. Few medieval builders in this region are known by name. Here, the builder signed his work.

Walk slowly around the outside and look up at the carvings. Stone animals and creatures guard the portals and frame the windows. You can find lions, birds, and imagined beasts among leaves and vines. The large window at the eastern end, behind the altar, has especially fine carving. Notice too how cleanly the stone bands line up. This is careful, patient masonry, and it has kept its shape for close to seven hundred years.

The church is often described as the largest medieval church that survives in the Balkans. Stand back near the walls of the courtyard and you can feel that scale. Yet it does not feel heavy. The single dome rises from the centre, and the pale and dark stripes make the walls look lighter than they are. The church is dedicated to Christ Pantocrator. Pantocrator is a Greek word that means ruler of all, and it is a common title for Christ in Orthodox art.

Now step inside, and let your eyes adjust. Almost every surface is painted. The frescoes here form one of the largest collections of medieval wall painting anywhere in this part of Europe. Specialists count more than a thousand separate scenes, with thousands of individual figures. Painters worked here over many years in the middle of the fourteenth century. There are saints, prophets, the life of Christ, church councils, the calendar of feast days, and stories from the Old Testament.

Here is a second surprise. Look for an unusual image of Christ holding a sword. In Orthodox art Christ normally carries a book or raises a hand in blessing. A sword is very rare. The image is usually linked to a line in the Gospel of Matthew, where Christ says he came to bring not peace, but a sword. Nearby, look for a large painted family tree of the Nemanjić dynasty, the royal family who ruled medieval Serbia. It shows generations of kings and queens rising like branches.

In front of the altar screen rests a wooden coffin. It holds the relics of King Stefan Dečanski, the founder. Orthodox believers venerate him as a saint, and many people come here to pray beside him. You may see visitors cross themselves, light thin candles, or bend to kiss the coffin. If you are not part of this tradition, simply stand quietly at a respectful distance. For the monks, this is a living church, not a museum.

The recent past is also part of what you see. Since 1999, international peacekeeping soldiers of the NATO-led Kosovo Force have guarded the monastery. You likely passed their checkpoint on the way in. In 2004, UNESCO added Dečani to the World Heritage List as one of the Medieval Monuments in Kosovo. Two years later, the group was placed on the list of World Heritage in Danger. A community of monks still lives here, keeping prayers, services, and daily work going inside these walls.

Before you leave, return to the courtyard and stand still for a moment. Look again at the stripes of stone, and at the dark doorway with the builder's name above it. Listen to the river and the trees. As you walk back toward the gate, glance over your shoulder at the dome against the mountains. The king chose this quiet valley as his resting place, and the valley is still quiet around him.