A striking comparison from Mohamed Alabbar has reignited debate over Montenegro’s tourism strategy: the country, he argues, has more coastline than Dubai but receives up to ten times fewer tourists, a gap he frames as evidence of missed economic opportunity rather than structural limitation.
The comment comes at a moment when Montenegro is actively positioning itself for a new wave of large-scale foreign investment, particularly from Gulf capital. Alabbar, founder of Emaar Properties and Eagle Hills, has emerged as one of the most visible proponents of a more aggressive development model, advocating a transformation of the Adriatic coastline into a higher-density, higher-value tourism platform.
At the core of his argument is a simple asymmetry. Montenegro’s coastline—stretching across high-value assets such as Velika Plaža, Budva Riviera, Bay of Kotor and Luštica—remains structurally underutilised compared to global benchmarks. Locations like Velika Plaža, spanning over 12 km of largely undeveloped beachfront, represent what investors describe as rare “greenfield coastal inventory” in Europe.
Yet despite that natural advantage, tourism volumes remain relatively modest. Montenegro has historically attracted around 2 million visitors annually, a figure that, while strong relative to population size, sits far below major global destinations and significantly behind the scale implied by its coastline capacity.
For Alabbar, the gap is not about demand, but execution. His position reflects a broader investor view that Montenegro has not fully industrialised its tourism model. Infrastructure constraints—particularly in airports, highways, and large-scale resort capacity—continue to limit throughput, while fragmented planning and regulatory uncertainty slow down project delivery. Even Alabbar himself has pointed to the need for new airport infrastructure and improved connectivity as a prerequisite for scaling tourism volumes.
This framing aligns with the investment logic behind recent UAE–Montenegro agreements, which opened the door for large-scale tourism and real estate developments, potentially valued in the tens of billions of euros. These agreements aim to accelerate project execution by enabling direct negotiations and long-term land leases, effectively compressing development timelines compared to traditional European processes.
However, that same model has triggered significant domestic and European scrutiny. Critics argue that fast-tracked investment frameworks risk bypassing standard procurement and planning safeguards, potentially distorting competition and undermining environmental protections. Concerns have been particularly acute around projects targeting ecologically sensitive areas such as Velika Plaža, which hosts hundreds of plant and animal species and is considered one of the last large undeveloped coastal zones in the Adriatic.
This tension—between rapid capital deployment and regulatory alignment—sits at the heart of Montenegro’s tourism debate. On one side is the “Dubai model” referenced implicitly in Alabbar’s comparison: high-density, master-planned coastal developments driven by large investors, designed to maximise visitor numbers and asset values. On the other is a more incremental, EU-aligned approach, focused on sustainability, spatial planning discipline, and preserving natural assets as long-term economic value drivers.
Montenegro’s current tourism structure already reflects elements of both models. Coastal hubs such as Tivat have evolved into high-end luxury micro-markets anchored by developments like Porto Montenegro, attracting ultra-high-net-worth visitors and commanding nightly rates of €300–800. Meanwhile, destinations such as Kotor operate under strict heritage constraints, prioritising pricing power over volume growth.
What remains underdeveloped is the middle layer: large-scale, integrated resort capacity capable of materially increasing total visitor numbers while maintaining price segmentation. This is precisely the segment that Gulf investors are targeting, viewing Montenegro as one of the last European coastal markets where such developments can still be built at scale.
The macroeconomic implications are substantial. Tourism already represents a cornerstone of Montenegro’s economy, contributing a significant share of GDP and foreign exchange inflows. Expanding visitor volumes—even by a factor of two to three—would have direct effects on current account balance, employment, real estate valuations, and fiscal revenues. Conversely, the failure to unlock that capacity risks leaving high-value natural assets under-monetised.
Alabbar’s comparison with Dubai, therefore, is less about geography and more about economic philosophy. Dubai’s coastline is fully financialised—integrated into a system of aviation hubs, global branding, and large-scale real estate development. Montenegro, by contrast, still operates a partially fragmented model, where infrastructure, planning, and investment frameworks have not yet converged into a unified growth strategy.
The outcome will depend on how Montenegro navigates its next phase. Large-scale capital is clearly available, particularly from Gulf investors seeking diversification into European-adjacent markets. The question is whether the country can absorb that capital while maintaining alignment with EU standards, protecting environmental assets, and ensuring that long-term value is not sacrificed for short-term growth.
Alabbar’s message, framed through a simple coastline-to-tourist ratio, ultimately highlights a structural reality: Montenegro is not constrained by natural resources, but by the way those resources are deployed.
