A Journey That Began Generations Ago

Every so often, I reflect on how remarkable it is that more than 100 years ago, my grandparents, George Radovich and Anjulina Fazo, left Tivat, Montenegro—then part of Yugoslavia—after an arranged marriage ceremony and immigrated to the United States. They eventually settled in Cambridge, Massachusetts.

I can only imagine the anxiety they must have felt leaving their families behind, knowing they would likely never see them again. Still, they were courageous. They must have believed that America offered better opportunities for their future family than the beautiful but impoverished towns they had known.

The First Return to Tivat

Ten years ago, my husband and I visited Tivat for the first time. It was a memorable trip. My cousins Silvija and Jadra arranged separate gatherings so we could meet many of my relatives. Although the visit lasted only two days, it became a poignant marker in my life, helping me better understand the origins of my grandparents’ emigration.

I remember my father’s late first cousin, Toni, telling me through a translator that the family was happy when Anjulina left because there was little prosperity in Montenegro, and they believed her life would be easier in America. In truth, my grandmother’s life was not easy. She and my grandfather lost their Arlington home during the Depression, and she died of breast cancer in her early fifties.

Her sister, Lubjana, remained in Tivat and lived to be 94, but she endured deep losses of her own: two of her children died during an epidemic, one at age one and the other at age five. Hearing these stories gave me a fuller perspective on my family’s past. Despite the hardship of adapting to life in America, future generations owe much to my grandparents’ willingness to take that risk.

A Desire to Return With the Next Generation

That first visit could have remained a treasured memory, carefully archived as one of life’s meaningful experiences. But after ten years, I felt a growing desire to return to my grandparents’ homeland—this time with our adult children—so they could explore their heritage for themselves.

I wanted them to look back throughout their lives and understand that their ancestors’ story is ancient, complex, and full of unexpected turns. Still, I was apprehensive. I knew this visit would not be the same as the first.

Reuniting Along the Bay of Kotor

Soon after checking into a 300-year-old stone house in Perast, Montenegro, we drove a few miles along the Bay of Kotor to a small outdoor restaurant overlooking the water. My cousin Silvija arrived shortly afterward with her granddaughter Mila, her son Fedja, and her partner Toni.

We recognized one another immediately. When we saw each other, we cried out and embraced for a long time—the kind of hug that makes it clear how deeply someone has been missed. We spent several hours together, eating platters of mussels, oysters, and fish, then washing our hands in seawater, “as our great-grandparents did,” Silvija said.

Sitting with Silvija and her family—our family—I felt love, joy, and connection.

Gathering at St. Anton de Padua Church

The next morning, we met another side of the family at St. Anton de Padua Church in Tivat. My cousin Jadra—whom I affectionately call the “Queen Bee” because she organizes everyone—was waiting with a bouquet of white lilies and several relatives.

There were more long, heartfelt hugs, followed by the joy of reconnecting with family members who were now ten years older—many of the children we had met before now teenagers. Sadly, my father’s first cousins Toni and Zvonko, whom we met in 2016, had both passed away recently in their mid-to-late nineties. Montenegro may indeed be a blue zone.

I regret that we could not communicate more fully with them then. Today, Google Translate might have allowed us to have real conversations in their language. With Toni’s passing, the 300-year-old Fazo family house across from the church was sold, though many family members still live locally in Tivat.

The younger generations are completely fluent in English, their second language. Even the older adults spoke more English than they had before, perhaps reflecting Montenegro’s improving economic climate and growing tourism.

After Mass, our family gathered in the humble parish center for open-faced prosciutto sandwiches, pastries, sodas, and a clear liquid my husband called “funny-tasting water.” It was actually rakija, a very strong double-distilled fruit brandy and Montenegro’s unofficial national drink.

The longtime priest, who has served St. Anton for 52 years, came over after Mass to meet us. He then allowed us to enter the beautiful, unpretentious Baroque church, where our relatives had been christened, married, and laid to rest for the past 300 years. It was a joyful and meaningful reunion of the Fazo family

A Final Evening of Connection

Our final family gathering was spontaneous, planned for our last night in Montenegro by my cousin by marriage, Ana, who had served as our translator in 2016. She wanted us to meet her husband, Ivo, my blood relative, who had not been able to attend the earlier gatherings.

Ivo works as a freight inspector for a marine freight company and was returning from a long trip to Galveston, Texas, the Wednesday night before we left Montenegro. Ana brought him to meet us in Perast, along with their two sons, Krisztian and Nicola.

Meeting Ivo felt like reconnecting with a long-lost brother. Although he is 20 years younger than I am, there was instant camaraderie. As we shared old family photos, we pieced together part of the unfinished Fazo family tree and realized that Ivo and I share a more direct lineage: we have the same great-grandfather.

Over pizza and salad, we also learned that their son Krisztian is an accomplished drummer and multi-instrumentalist who hopes to attend Berklee. By the end of the night, we had agreed to stay in touch. Though the distance between us is great, I have no doubt that our connection will continue.

A Family Story Rejoined

Later that week, my daughter Anna said, “I feel a sense of connection and love for our Fazo family.” It was all I had hoped to hear.

The Fazo family’s past is deeply intertwined. We separated, and then this visit knitted us back together. It felt as though a key had unlocked a door to a magical story—one whose ending remains mysterious and still unfolding.

Susanne LiebichJuly 13, 2026