One does not usually expect a tennis short to arrive with a decade attached to it, and yet the Santiago Bold turns up in full 1990s dress and refuses to apologise. Loose in the leg. High and deeply curved at the hem.
A woven shell rather than a knit, with that faint papery rustle a woven short makes when the wearer changes direction — the sound of a shorts family that was designed for running tracks long before it was asked to stand at a baseline.
What one can describe with confidence, having looked closely: the waistband is elasticated and carries an external drawcord, so tension is set by the wearer and not by a factory's idea of a waist. Down each side seam runs a taped stripe in yellow over black, applied rather than printed, which is why it holds a hard edge.
The colourway is Bold Green, and it is bold in the way the name promises rather than the way marketing usually means it. Now the candour. The published fibre content for this particular colourway one could not verify from any source one would care to be quoted on.
The hem sweeps up at the outer thigh into a curve generous enough that nothing binds at the top of a stride.
Its sibling in the same Santiago family is a plain-woven polyamide, lined in the same cloth, and this short has precisely that hand in every photograph one can find — but a family resemblance is an observation, not a laboratory result, and one declines to dress the first up as the second.
Podgorica, meanwhile, is the correct laboratory for a loose woven short, because Podgorica in summer is an oven with rivers running through it. The city sits where the Ribnica joins the Moraca, low in a basin that catches the heat and then declines to give it back, and the water that comes down out of the mountains is the only honest air conditioning in the place.
One begins at the Sahat Kula, the clock tower of 1667, one of the last Ottoman buildings left standing here — and note how few of its neighbours made it. Then down to the old stone bridge on the Ribnica, where Roman footings carry Ottoman arches, two empires stacked in one small crossing that most visitors walk over without looking down.
Then the Cathedral of the Resurrection of Christ, gilded from floor to dome, which is a great deal of gold to meet on a hot afternoon. And one finishes at the Millennium Bridge, a single pylon fanned with cables over the Moraca, and if one has any sense at all one arrives there at dusk, when the valley finally exhales.
“One does not dress for the court. One dresses for the walk back from it, in August, in a valley that keeps what it is given.”
Buy on Amazon