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Published: November 22nd 2015
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So I climbed Mt. Olympus. It’s possibly the most incredible and most taxing adventure I’ve ever had. I knew it would be strenuous. I knew it would be amazing. It was definitely worth every step and every sore muscle that I found.
The bus left Thessaloniki at 11ish on Saturday and took us the two hour drive to the trail head, where cold fresh mountain water spouted from a hole in a stone wall. We filled up our water bottles as our guide reminded us that we needed to stay together and stay on time. This is the first serious hike I’ve been on in a large group, and by large group I mean about 35 of us. I don’t know if I’ll ever hike in such a big group again, but I couldn’t have done the second day without a guide.
As we started the climb, the fog crept around the mountains and settled into the valley. It was cool and damp from the fog, but I was comfortable in a tank-top and I rolled up my long pants as we climbed stairs and donned our hiking legs. In the fog and the evergreens it felt like home,
until we found some Paok graffiti. Paok is a soccer team, here in Greece, and the fans are very serious – my Ancient Greek Mythology professor says that is it their new religion. At any rate, Paok graffiti means you are in Greece, not Oregon. We continued to climb up and out of the fog. And when we turned around for our final break a strip of blue sparkled between the clouds and the sky. I could not believe that we could see the ocean!
We finished the slow six mile climb that brought us to the refuge where we stayed the night. There is one main building where they sell food, and a few other buildings behind where you can reserve beds for the night. You are not allowed to wear shoes in the buildings, but you can leave your shoes in a cupboard and borrow a pair of house sandals for your stay. The sleeping buildings are not heated, but blankets galore are provided, and with 20 people sleeping in the same room, the body heat collects in no time.
The next morning we work up at 6:30 and sipped hot chocolate while the sun rose.
I don’t have the right words for the beauty and simplicity of this morning, but I have plenty of pictures.
By eight we were packed up and on our way. The trail to the plateau, where we headed on day two, was a lot narrower and a lot steeper than the trail to the refuge from day one. With six miles behind us and twelve miles ahead of us anyone who didn’t feel up for it was encouraged to stay at the refuge where we would meet up with them before heading the rest of the way to the bus. One girl had already opted out and about five minutes up the trail another turned back. Two students left their bags at the refuge. And the girl who was throwing up on Friday and was unable to carry her backpack on Saturday continued up the mountain. It seemed odd to me that our guides let this girl continue, they must have known that she was in no condition to make the trek, but they still let her come. She ended up throwing up a couple of times and also twisted her ankle. Her illness caused an injury which caused
her to take nearly twice as long to hike out - she and those who walked with her did not reach the bus until after dark.
Day two, on the way to the plateau, was not so much hiking as bouldering. The trail often was unclear, crossing large sections of rock with few footings or scrambling across lose rock. We climbed for three hours, reaching the second refuge just as the fog began to curl about the tip of Zeus’ throne. We spent an hour or so on the plateau, eating warm soup, exploring, resting and taking in the breathtaking views of the surrounding mountains.
The route up was steep and seemed it would be impossible to descend. Luckily we took a different route down. It still crossed lose rocks and as the fog engulfed us the visibility dropped, but it wasn’t nearly as steep and we just took baby steps all the way down. The switchbacks were cut out of sheer cliffs, so we – a large group with beginners – took our time. Some people, however, were not concerned and came running down the path behind us, telling us to either go faster or get out
of their way. The path was not a consistent width and at a particularly narrow section, as the nervous girl in front of me took her cautious steps, a clearly experienced hiker skirted the cliff behind her at a clip. We all thought we were going to watch him die when some rocks below one of his feet shook loose and tumbled into the foggy abyss. As we looked over the side of the path all we could see was white. It was a fascinating, alienating feeling to be up among the clouds and gods.
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