Advertisement
The notes of "Zorba the Greek" had accompanied us throughout the "Olympic" London-Athens flight. Radio cabled with gentle insistence, had somehow alleviated the suffering of bodies shaken by the turbulent central European winter skies.
In Athens there was snow. Juan, at his first overseas journey, had joined me in London and after a few (but eternal) days of intolerable cold and wet weather we had decided to fly to Greece. The southernmost country in Europe, a promise of sunshine and
sirtaki . Instead, there was snow. It had been announced while boarding at Heathrow. Too late to step back. And there we were in the middle of the least European capital of Europe, without a map or a guide or any knowledge of the Greek language. At night. In the snow.
Apart from its supposed benevolent climate, we had chosen Greece to go trekking on Mount Athos, a narrow strip of land on the southernmost tip of the Chalkidiki peninsula. A finger diving into the Aegean from the Macedonian hand. The peculiarity of this place lies in being the last theocracy in the present day laity devoted Europe. But not only that. Mount Athos lives on the model, the
time and rules set by the Byzantine Empire. To resume, what ended in the rest of the Balkans with the fall of Constantinople (1453) persists here almost six centuries later. Somehow like that Japanese soldier who, thirty years after Hiroshima and Nagasaki, was found on a Pacific atoll that he obstinately kept defending in the conviction that second world war was not over yet.
Among the many anachronistic rules in force in this semi-autonomous republic, there is one that sounded plainly impossible to me when I first read of it but is actually true: the unquestionable ban for women to get closer than 500 metres away from Mount Athos shores. And if that prohibition (dating from the eleventh century) could be explained with the wish to keep the monks, only inhabitants of the mountain, protected from the temptations of the flesh, less understandable is the extension of such a ban on females of all animal races! So, either these monks are a bunch of unforgivable libidinous with more testosterone than John Holmes, or someone should explain the ecclesiastical authorities that milking a cow is a nutritional, not an erotic act.
However, Juan and I thought that for a
while we could have done without of those goodies mother nature gives to us (I’m talking about milk) and that would have been foolish indeed to waste the change of such an experience. Nevertheless, cold weather hadn’t given us quarter in those first days and that could have turned this trek on almost-heaven-Mount Athos into hell. Sitting in the nicotinic warmth of a
kafeneia in Omonia, we were recovering drinking rosé
retzina (resin flavoured wine) while following the weather forecast in Greek on the TV set. We couldn’t understand a word, but the weather forecast that day was like a Charlie Chaplin’s film: hilarious in his dramatic silence.
After a moment of silent observation of the map of Greece we had just seen covered with symbols of minus something, Juan asked me: "Where precisely is this Mount Athos?"
"In the north. On the peninsula that looks like a open hand."
"Where it says -9?"
"Exactly."
"Marco, do you realize that here in Athens we are suffering like dogs and it’s only zero degrees? Do you understand that we are using retzina as antifreeze and that we are just a step away from turning into alcoholics only to fight the
cold? And you want me to hike for kilometres and kilometres on a women-less mountain, with probably no wine either and where we should choose between sleeping outdoor or in cells shared with a bunch of misogynous friars who live in the stone age, and all this at nine degrees below zero?" Then, shaking his head: "These are the moments when I realize that nobody loves you. But I have a one year old daughter and I’d strongly like to see her again."
It was one of those moments of tension inevitable when two people travel together, especially when things aren’t going too well. And, in fact between the UK and Greece the journey hadn’t hitherto spared us nuisances: the truce-less London rain, a flight that seemed a rollercoaster ride rather than regular commercial air travel, the unexpected Athenian snow, a dishonest taxi driver, a lousy, heating-less (and customers-less) hostel managed by a scoundrel. And, to top it off, we were drinking like Kazaks. It wasn’t my fault, but I was the one who had planned, organized and proposed this "excursion".
Besides, my enthusiasm for this trek that begun to look somehow extreme was fading quickly into the
Athenian frost. Maybe I was just expecting Juan to pull back so to avoid to be the one doing it first. Of course, the usual, hiper-direct way used by my friend to say what could have been expressed with less politically incorrect circumlocutions do not reserves him a great future in politics in case he ever decided to give it a try. Nor, on the other hand, helps to keep an interpersonal balance, very important when travelling, absolutely indispensable when travelling as duo.
In the evening, once definitively (half tacitly) decided to abort our unborn Mount Athos trek, we were in the hostel with our fix of
retzina while an interview with Al Gore, recently awarded with the Nobel Prize for peace for his ecologist efforts against climate change, was been aired on TV. The interview was dubbed and therefore, as already happened with the weather forecast in the afternoon, what they were they saying was unknown to us. But it was obvious the talk was about climate change and global warming.
Juan: "Where the fuck has this guy found those data on temperature rising?"
Me: "Certainly not in this hostel, or either he would have announced a
forthcoming new Ice Age."
J: "Have you seen his film?"
M: "No".
J: "In my opinion it’s too strong. I mean, maybe what he denounce and what he announces is true, but the tone is too apocalyptic."
M: "What do you mean?"
J: "I think the message should always be positive, hopeful. Just by saying that we are practically at the end that leads nowhere, means those who perhaps would do something if they knew they had a hope, just give up and everything falls down. No hope, no future."
My hands were freezing and I couldn’t bear to hear talks about global warming when I was only dreaming of a beautiful day of
desertificating sunshine. However my facetious vein got the better of me: "After all, it wouldn’t be that bad. Think of it: temperatures rise, there would be no longer winter frosts, the poles would melt, oceans would rise a few meters, coasts would be flooded and then -watch this- you buy a house today in central Sweden for a tuppence, tomorrow that house will be on the beach, first line and always warm."
And if I didn’t switch the heating on to accelerate the process
Perfect Greek Sunset
Photo: Christophe Menage it was only because in the hostel there wasn’t such a device.
ITALIANO La versione italiana di questo blog la trovi sul sito Vagabondo.net
Link:
Noi, Al Gore e il Mancato Trekking del Monte Athos
Advertisement
Tot: 0.21s; Tpl: 0.016s; cc: 40; qc: 153; dbt: 0.0937s; 1; m:domysql w:travelblog (10.17.0.13); sld: 1;
; mem: 1.5mb
maria
non-member comment
Males only
Males only allowed on Mt Athos to honour our most pure and holy mother the Virgin Mary who lived much of her life there. We honour her memory with this tradition. There have been exceptions to the tradition. During the second world war some Jewish women were taken in for their protection.