Lukovska Banja

Lukovo occupies a singular place among the settlements that fringe the southern reaches of Serbia’s Kopaonik massif. Perched at an elevation of 681 metres on the mountain’s eastern slopes, this village and its spa enclave, Lukovska Banja, together constitute a climatic health resort of rare distinction. With just 275 residents recorded in the 2011 census, Lukovo spreads across some 134 square kilometres of sparsely populated terrain, serving as the administrative, economic and social nexus for eight neighbouring hamlets whose combined populace numbers fewer than 900 souls. Situated approximately 300 kilometres south of Belgrade and linked by a gentle ascent from the municipality centre of Kuršumlija, Lukovo’s spa owes its renown to 37 thermal springs whose temperatures range from 35 °C to nearly 70 °C, offering a year-round source of warmth and healing against the backdrop of sub-alpine evergreen forest.

The landscape that embraces Lukovska Banja is at once austere and inviting. Cradled between the ridges of the Kopaonik chain, the spa region enjoys temperate-continental weather: winters are moderately cold, summers pleasantly mild, and autumn days often outshine their spring counterparts in clarity and dryness. The surrounding peaks channel cooling gusts that temper summer heat, while snow-laden slopes yield a serene tableau in mid-winter. It is in this setting—where dense stands of beech and fir merge into rocky outcrops—that Lukovo’s mineral waters surface, their hydrocarbonate-rich composition of sodium, magnesium and calcium offering therapeutic benefit for disorders of the musculoskeletal system, ailments of the skin and certain gynecological conditions. At a collective discharge of roughly 100 litres per second, these springs rank among Serbia’s most prolific, their year-round warmth providing both relief and recreation to those who seek them.

Evidence of Lukovska Banja’s restorative reputation extends back millennia. Archaeological remnants attest to Roman engineering: fragments of aqueduct piping and the foundations of bath complexes lie scattered across the spa’s upper terraces. It was here, according to local lore, that the Romans first harnessed the thermal flows, fashioning stone pools for soldiers and merchants traversing the metal-rich veins of the Karadjica mines. The remains of a medieval bathhouse further attest to the waters’ enduring appeal. Constructed during the reign of King Stefan Uroš II Milutin in the late thirteenth century, these ruins—diminished now to low stone walls—once served royalty whose oversight of nearby silver and gold workings drew him to this remote borderland.

Throughout the Ottoman era, Lukovska Banja maintained its function as a place of respite. Records from the Kruševac census of 1575 identify “Banja Lukova” as a hamam equipped with a single bathing chamber. The continuity of usage is underscored by the local populace’s tenacity: even when formal facilities fell into disrepair, visitors continued to bathe directly in the warm springs, drawn by their reputed efficacy. After liberation from Ottoman rule in 1878, modest efforts were made to reinvigorate the spa. A wooden bathing pool appeared around 1900, and by the eve of the First World War an estimated fifteen hundred guests sought its waters each season. Despite the tumult of global conflict, the memory of these springs endured in regional consciousness.

Reconstruction of bathing amenities resumed in the aftermath of the Second World War. By 1948, a modern complex had been erected, featuring separate male and female pools. Yet it was only at the close of the twentieth century that Lukovska Banja achieved broader recognition. In 1999, the “Kopaonik” hotel—set amid manicured lawns and spruce glades—opened its doors, positioning the spa among Serbia’s more prominent thermal resorts. Since then, incremental investments in infrastructure and accommodation have attracted visitors from across the Balkans and beyond, drawn by the promise of high-altitude tranquillity and mineral-rich immersion.

The region’s biodiversity provides a verdant foil to the spa’s stony terraces. Dense forests harbor red deer, wild boar and the occasional brown bear, while upland meadows yield mushrooms and medicinal herbs gathered each July during the festival of Ivandan. Rivers that carve through the valleys—Štavska, Trebinjska and Lukovska—teem with trout and crayfish, sustaining generations of fisherfolk who favour fly-fishing amid the cool currents. Hunters once followed in the footsteps of King Milutin, who reputedly favoured these woodlands for their abundance of feathered game and large mammals. Folklore preserves his presence here in tales of midnight hunts beneath a star-laden canopy and feasts shared beside crackling bonfires.

Cultural landmarks punctuate the natural setting with layers of history. In the village of Štava, a five-kilometre walk—or a 90-minute amble—leads to the Church of Saint Mina. Also known locally as Mrkša’s Church, this simple, single-nave structure sits beside the hamlet’s cemetery, its stone-slate roof rising above the treeline. Constructed between 1614 and 1647, as noted on its lintel, the church bears inscriptions from the era of Patriarch Paisius and displays remnants of frescoes executed in the Byzantine style. Though fires and the ravages of time have effaced much of its decoration, the remaining scenes—rendered in stable pigments—depict key events from Christian history with a restraint and precision befitting its modest scale. The edifice stands as the most significant monument of post-Patriarchate restoration in the Toplica region.

Climbers and contemplatives alike are drawn to Nenad Kamen, or “Stone of Nenad,” a rocky outcrop rising to 975 metres above sea level. On its summit stands the Church of St. George, erected in 2002 yet enveloped in myth. Tradition holds that St. Sava once planted a cross at this vantage point, declaring it a site of spiritual import. Two trails ascend from the hotel: a longer, gentler route of 1,900 metres and a steeper, more direct path of 900 metres. Those who reach the top speak of a palpable sense of renewal, attributing physical well-being to the panoramic views that stretch across Kopaonik’s serrated ridges and down into the sunlit valleys below.

Another emblem of Lukovo’s intertwining of nature and heritage is Štava Treska, a subsidiary peak that rises to 1,439 metres north of the village of Štava. First chronicled by the ethnographer Tihomir R. Đorđević some 110 years ago, Treska is crowned by twin outcrops—Big and Small Treska—that emerge like twin horns above a forested mane. Here lie the vestiges of an unexplored cave church, the remnants of ancient shelters and scattered stone crosses. An old beech forest blankets the flanks, its understory rich in herbs that locals harvest for their therapeutic properties. From the hamlet of Jagnjilo, a strenuous 4.5-kilometre trek with 535 metres of ascent leads to the summit, while a second, better-maintained trail begins at the Church of Saint Mina, passing through the village of Željevo and the spring known as Suva Česma.

Return journeys to the valley bring one to the Church of the Holy Apostles Peter and Paul, nestled within the cemetery of Lukovo itself. This modest building—measuring roughly ten by five metres with a matching ceiling height—bears a storied lineage. Folklore credits its foundation to King Milutin, who reputedly harnessed local mines for lead, copper, silver and gold. Ottoman forces demolished the original structure, yet villagers undertook successive restorations in 1871, 1895 and again in 1983 following a seismic event. Though its interior paintings lack grand artistic flourish, they convey a humble devotion that resonates among parishioners and travellers alike. Accessed by a fifteen-minute walk from the spa or via asphalt road from Kuršumlija, the church anchors Lukovo’s spiritual life even as winter snows seal the high passes.

Today, Lukovska Banja remains intimately bound to the rhythms of a small rural community. The spa lies some 1.5 kilometres upstream from the village proper, yet serves as a local centre for education, health services and commerce. Eight outlying villages depend on its amenities, and the spa’s medical facilities complement the traditional rhythms of agriculture and forestry that define daily life. Regional roadways connect Lukovo to Kuršumlija (34 kilometres), Niš (101 kilometres) and Kruševac (107 kilometres), while Belgrade lies nearly 300 kilometres to the north by winding highway. Seasonal festivals—ranging from traditional herb-gathering rituals in midsummer to church patronal feasts—imbue the settlement with communal vitality.

The enduring appeal of Lukovo’s spa derives from its balanced convergence of natural bounty and cultural resonance. Its thermal springs continue to flow as they have for centuries, offering warmth and solace beneath a sky that reveals both the solemn grandeur of winter and the vibrant bloom of spring. The surrounding peaks and valleys shelter both wildlife and legend, their silent presence bearing witness to Roman engineers, medieval monarchs and generations of villagers whose livelihoods have intertwined with the mountain’s resources. Churches dedicated to saints who span the arc of Serbian history—Saint Mina, Saint George and the Holy Apostles Peter and Paul—stand as testaments to resilience and faith, their stones warmed by the sun and shadowed by ancient timbers.

In Lukovo, the passage of time is marked by the ebb and flow of its waters, the slow turn of seasons and the constant renewal of memory. Here, a traveller may feel the weight of history beneath foot and finger, the pulse of the earth beneath chest and palm. The village’s modest population belies its extraordinary heritage: each spring that bubbles forth carries with it echoes of soldiers and shepherds, artisans and pilgrims. Each church bell that tolls summons voices long departed, even as fresh footsteps tread the forest trails. In this high-altitude enclave, the healing power of water converges with the strength of stone and the persistence of story, inviting contemplation that moves at its own pace, shaped by the contours of mountain and memory alike.