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How Many Mountains?

How Many Mountains?

Greece offers more than just sunny beaches and relaxing tavernas. By venturing beyond the traditional resorts, we can discover the true beauty of Greece. And that means taking to the mountains.

 

Watch out for storms

This morning, we sat on our balcony enjoying the breathtaking sight. The sun was rising over the majestic mountains of Meteora.

Nestled in a picturesque valley, our hotel was surrounded by towering rocks, each crowned with a beautiful monastery. This peaceful morning almost did not happen.

 

Image of a monastery perched at the top of a mountain in Meteora
In Meteora, monasteries perch on mountain peaks.

 

The hotel owner, a delightful elderly gentleman with a warm smile, was accustomed to receiving regular tourists and was completely caught off guard by the unexpected arrival of a powerful storm named Alex.

The poor man couldn’t find our booking as fumbled with papers on his desk while Alex wandered around the lobby. We had left our passports in the car, so I went to get them.

When I returned, there was a fight going on.

“How dare you tell me you’re not Greek anymore? We have just passed Thermopolis and visited the shrine to Leonidas. The 300 Spartans died up there to ensure you now speak Greek, not Arabic.” Alex yelled.

The old man tried to rescue himself from the onslaught.

“Look, all I’m saying is that I made my money in Germany. I brought this hotel, then the Greek government took the rest. So, I feel more German because that is where I made my money. Here, they take it off you.”

Alex was even less happy with this response.

“You were born Greek. Be proud of that,” she told him as I pulled her away from this confrontation.

“Alex, please don’t fight with the locals,” I pleaded. “We are only here for a couple of days. Let’s try to get on with them.”

Alex snatched the room key from the reception desk and angrily marched towards the stairs that led to our room. I responded with a smile to the kind-hearted old man, who gave me a sympathetic look in return.

 

Image of a monastery with a red tile roof perched on a verdant mountain in Meteora
Climbing to the monasteries, you’ll get your steps in for sure.

No goal—or plan–is too lofty

As the sun set behind the mountains, we walked to a nearby taverna with wonderful views of the mountains towering above us. We ordered an assortment of mezze dishes and a generous serving of lamb cutlets.

Seated at the table, Alex’s eyes fixed on the highest mountain peak, where a small building perched on top. She waved a lamb chop in its direction.

“Tomorrow, I want to visit a monastery. Let’s go up to that one!” Her finger pointed confidently at the highest rock, crowned by the tiny structure. According to the guidebook, there are 330 steps to climb.

Whenever Alex and I visited anywhere in Greece, I always end up walking up a mountain, hill, or steps. Everything in Greece seems to be uphill. Despite this, Alex insisted I had the honour of climbing the mountain to visit the monks. I tried suggesting that the view from down there was better, but I knew it wouldn’t work.

After the first hour I lost count of the steps when I looked down into the abyss below me and realised how high we had climbed.

I glanced upwards, hoping to glimpse Alex and perhaps get some sympathy. But she had already become a speck in the distance, effortlessly bounding up the stairs two at a time, while I lagged, drenched in sweat and utterly drained.

With no one to pity me, I mustered the strength to trudge the rest of the way.

I recall little about the monastery because my major goal was to reach it without having a heart attack. I couldn’t see much because of the sweat in my eyes, which made my vision blurry.

But there is an easier way up to these monasteries. Monks haul each other to the top in baskets on ropes. However, the ropes are only replaced when they break, as the monks believe it to be a sign from God. I was beginning to think it would be worth the risk.

 

Image of a woman with long blond hair giving the thumbs up sign on a mountain top in Meteora
Climb 330 steps to the mountaintop? For Alex, it’s literally ‘no sweat’.

Just when I thought it was over

Coming down was an absolute pleasure. No more puffing and wheezing, no more straining to coax my tired legs to climb just one more step. “I’ve done it,” I thought to myself. We could get back in the car, drive down the mountain, enjoy a leisurely lunch and a few glasses of wine to recover. That was until Alex caught up with me and pointed to the next monastery, which was even higher.

“We’ll go up to that one next, “she told me.

That day, we climbed to seven monasteries and one nunnery. I ended up with completely numb legs and drenched clothes, with my hair sticking to my head. However, Alex appeared astonishingly fresh, as if she had leisurely wandered through a garden.

Although Meteora was one of the most incredible places I had ever seen, the visit seemed to comprise steps, and lots of them. I was grateful to leave it behind as we continued to our next destination. Olympus, The home of the Gods.

 

Image of Mt Olympus shrouded in clouds
Alex wanted to visit the immortals. What could go wrong?

Would Alex take on Zeus?

We arrived at our charming hotel in a small village surrounded by snow-covered mountains, in the foothills of Olympus. The aroma of grilled meat and wood-smoke filled the air. Clouds hid the peaks of Mount Olympus, adding to the mythical aura of the 12 gods who resided there. Personally, I preferred not to see the mountain’s top. It was more enchanting to imagine Zeus and the other gods sitting on thrones in their temple above the clouds, crafting the destiny of us mortals.

Feeling hungry, we set out for food. In the beautifully decorated hotel restaurant, jars of home-made preserves and liquors were arranged in display shelves. A log fire roared, and the food rivalled the best French or Italian cuisine. Wild boar casserole, Greek style beef in tomatoes sauce, and elegant salads. We had to remind ourselves we were still in Greece and hadn’t been transported to the French alps.

But we were reassured of our location when the owner dragged a refrigerator into the centre of the restaurant, opened a tin of paint and happily applied two coats of white gloss between serving drinks.

 

Imag of a woman wearing a green shirt painting a cabinet in the middle of a restaurant.
Dinnertime floor show.

 

Yup, we are still in Greece; I thought to myself.

Back in our room, Alex started out of the window up at the cloudy mountain. She opened her mouth to speak. But before she uttered the first word, I took over.

“I know what you are going to say. The answer is no. I am not climbing that mountain.”

The gods of Olympus are safe–for now.

 


 

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The Not-So Ancient Battle of the Sexes

 

Don’t Eat the Oranges!

 

Learn more about Peter Barber’s books