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Published: February 16th 2023
Constant dripping will wear away a stone… ~ Greek Proverb
HE SAID... Today we were travelling southwest from Thessaloniki to
Kalambaka– by train.
We woke early and organised our packs, then headed down to the welcoming and well organised breakfast room at Le Palace Hotel, where I enjoyed yoghurt and muesli, fresh bread and jam, and a few cups of tea and juice.
Our time in Thessaloniki was transitory. We arrived late on a Sunday night, wandered its gritty hilly streets all day Monday, then left early on Tuesday morning. I would love to have spent a few more days here, getting under the skin of this austere yet beautiful city. As I said in our Hydra blog: ‘Time will always be the enemy of travel.’
We checked out of Le Palace Hotel and caught a public bus to the train station – in peak hour traffic. The bus was crammed full of commuters, and we had hefty backpacks on our shoulders, which is not an ideal travel scenario in anyone’s book. We edged our way onto the bus, found a space to occupy and stayed there for the short journey. I think most of the locals were indifferent to our presence.
The sight of
the station was a welcome relief. We clambered off the bus, made our way through the turnstiles and headed to the open-air platform, where we waited patiently until we could board our train. Having settled in our seats, we left Thessaloniki just before 9am. It wasn’t long before we were speeding through flat rural fields on our way to Kalambaka, with the deep blue waters of the Gulf of Thessaloniki coming into view every now and then.
As we travelled further south, distant mountains (including Mt Olympus and Mt Ossa) became more apparent, and derelict brick structures dotted the landscape. For reasons known only to the driver, we occasionally slowed to a crawl. We were retracing our train journey to Palaeofarsalos Station in Stavros, which we had passed through two days previously on our trip from Athens to Thessaloniki.
We arrived at Palaeofarsalos Station just after 10:30am and waited on the empty open-air platform for about 30 minutes. There were few (if any) people around. This rural outpost in the middle of the Greek mainland felt strangely familiar. We had temporarily disembarked here because we needed to make a change in direction. Up until this point we’d been
travelling southwards, but we now needed to travel northwest to Kalambaka – and this change necessitated a different train and track.
The train to Kalambaka rolled in around 11am, and we boarded without too much drama. However, the notion of sitting in your allocated seat seems to be a bit hit-and-miss in Greece. How difficult is it to find the seat that corresponds to the number on your ticket? Quite difficult, apparently.
Anyway, seat issues aside, it wasn’t long before we were gently rolling towards Kalambaka. We were now travelling westwards, but the landscape remained much the same – flat rural fields stretching to hills in the mid-distance, with mountains jutting into the sky on the horizon. Every so often we would pass through a small village or a larger town, but most of the scenery was a rambling rural landscape with cotton, corn and tobacco crops.
The biff surrounding allocated seats continued at every station. People would board the train, only to find other people in their seats. Tickets would be bandied around, numbers would be pointed to, shoulders would be shrugged, faces would look bemused. These exchanges were mostly polite, and the seat stealers were
mostly apologetic – they’d simply move to the nearest empty seat with their belongings in tow. And like clockwork, the same scenario would play out again at the next station. Some of the exchanges were aggressive. While I couldn’t translate the words, I knew what was being said. Anger is a universal language.
Anyway, enough about train tickets, seat stealers and awkward public interactions. We arrived in Kalambaka around midday, and like every other visitor to this small unassuming town, we stood in awe of the Meteora, a towering rock formation that shadows the town’s north-eastern boundary. Enormous columns of rock jut high into the sky, creating an almost alien backdrop to the array of whitewashed buildings with terracotta roof tiles in the valley below. It’s a surreal vista, and one that would take the breath of even the most hardened traveller.
We walked from the train station to Hotel Alexiou, our accommodation for the next two nights. The place was basic, but it offered amazing views of the Meteora from its upper rooms facing northeast. Luckily for us, we were allocated an upper room facing northeast, and it had a small balcony! Bonus! The smallest things can
make so much difference in travel.
We dropped our packs and headed out to lunch at the very local and very friendly Valia Calda, which marketed itself as serving ‘authentic local cuisine’. We settled at a long table outside the eatery and shared the pie of the day (
spanakopita) and the walnut balls with potato and green salad and porcini mushroom sauce. The food was excellent, as was the service. This was a very local place, and we felt very much at home. The friendly waiter tried his best to ensure we enjoyed our meal, so we turned a blind eye to his occasional forgetfulness. I cooled down with a couple of Vergina beers, which had become my local beer of choice.
Feeling suitably refreshed after our three-hour train journey, we headed back to the hotel to freshen up before embarking on a scheduled Sunset Tour with Visit Meteora, a local travel agency. We’d had a few mediocre experiences with tour guides on our Greek adventures to-date, so I was more than a little sceptical of this minibus tour of the Meteora. My scepticism was completely unwarranted. The tour was great, and our hosts – a local guide
and a bus driver – were exceptional.
The Meteora monasteries The main focus of the tour was to visit some of the monasteries that sit precariously on top of the Meteora’s high cliffs and narrow rock columns. My use of the word ‘precariously’ here is subjective and ironic. Built in the 14th and 15th centuries, the monasteries are rock solid. However, if you have even the slightest fear of heights, anything situated on top of a narrow rock column with sheer 300+ metre drops to the valley below is precarious. We only entered one of the monasteries (Moni Agiou Stefanou) on the Sunset Tour, and I realised I would struggle the following day, as we were returning to explore a few more.
Anyway, enough about me and my fear of heights. The monasteries were spectacular, the views were stunning, and our guide’s local knowledge was insightful. We stood in awe of the following monasteries on our Sunset Tour:
> Moni Agias Triados
> Moni Agias Varvaras Rousanou
> Moni Agiou Nikolaou
> Moni Megalou Meteorou
> Moni Varlaam
> Moni Agiou Stefanou (St Stephen’s Holy Monastery)
St Stephen’s Holy Monastery was my favourite. We entered the monastery
(now a nunnery) via a narrow bridge, and the atmosphere within its stone walls and leafy courtyards was calm and meditative. The panoramic view of Kalambaka in the valley below was amazing, and we managed to pinpoint our hotel among the miniature white buildings and terracotta tile roofs. The nuns were very friendly, and some were surprisingly young. I imagined their monastic life to be quiet and reclusive. I also imagined their sense of being close to God. Maybe the high location of St Stephen’s drew them to the Meteora in the first place. We purchased a few wooden icons from the gift shop before we left, and the nun who served us was so warm-hearted and genuine.
As we waited for the sun to start its picturesque descent below the western horizon (noting this was a Sunset Tour), we circumnavigated the Meteora a few times, stopping on the side of the road every so often to admire the rock formations and monasteries from different viewpoints. The following is a transcript from my notebook:
> We stopped at Efrosino (a local cafe in Kastraki) for Greek coffee
> We drove past a couple of wedding shoots, but didn’t get
a chance to photograph the brides
> In years past, monks lived in basic wooden frames fixed to the rock face, as this allowed them to exist in a suspended manner (hanging in the air)
> In years past, monks were banished to caves high in the rocks (known locally as ‘monk jails’) if they strayed from the rules of the monkhood
> If I was a Greek monk, I would have avoided the Meteora monasteries at all costs!
At around 7:15pm, we settled on a high rocky outcrop with hordes of other tourists to watch the sun set over a distant mountain range in the western sky. This extraordinary vantage point, located along the monastery route, afforded majestic views of Kalambaka and beyond. The setting sun silhouetted the rock formations beautifully, and for a few fleeting moments we lost ourselves in the golden dusk light and forgot about the crowds and buses and mayhem around us.
Talking about crowds and buses and mayhem, I need to applaud our Visit Meteora hosts. They were great. Our driver in particular was amazing. He knew everyone who lived locally, he knew every nook and cranny on the Meteora, and he
was very friendly. He somehow managed to memorise our faces, and he could pick us out from the multitude of tourists at each site. Our guide was also very friendly. He’d lived in Kalambaka all his life, and his local insights were engaging and entertaining. The two of them knew the Meteora and its monasteries inside out.
They dropped us back at the hotel in the mid-evening (around 8:30pm). We picked up some snacks and drinks from a nearby mini-mart and relaxed in our room. This had been a long travel day, and we were exhausted. It was so relaxing to catch up on our travel notes in the comfort of our room, which had a fantastic view of the Meteora from its tiny balcony.
We loved the remote location and relaxed atmosphere of Kalambaka. Tourists and tour groups flock here in droves, and we were very much part of this flock. Pilgrims also travel here, but for different reasons. Despite this constant influx of visitors, the local people we’d met were incredibly friendly.
SHE SAID... I felt rushed from the very second I opened my eyes that morning. We were travelling to
Kalambaka to
visit the unique landscape and monasteries of
Meteora, but I’d been too tired to pack the night before. So there I was running around like a headless chook trying to pack and get ready… as well as charging all my electronics for the day.
Breakfast at Hotel Le Palace in Thessaloniki was also a super rushed affair – we had just 30 minutes between the start of breakfast and when we had to leave. Sadly, the breakfast buffet didn’t have any rice pudding like the day before, so I was forced to have a sensible meal of bread, tomatoes, cheese and a boiled egg. I did sneak in a couple of sweet pastries as compensation, but I had been really really really looking forward to that luscious rice pudding!
After checking out and waiting for a couple of stragglers in the group, we walk-ran the 100 metres or so to catch a local bus to the train station. It was peak hour, and I felt bad when we crammed into an already packed bus. People were rushing to get to work, and there we were, jamming the doorways with all our luggage. Thankfully it wasn’t a long ride.
We had a collective moment of panic when the bus drove past the train station without any sign of stopping or even slowing down! I may have mentioned before that this is Georgia’s (our group leader) first time leading this trip, and she was as panicked as we were… until a local passenger noticed our concern and reassured Georgia that the bus stop was at the back of the station. Phew!
We were catching two trains that morning, and the first train to Paleofarsalos Station was a relatively short trip of 1 hour and 20 minutes. It was a lovely sunny morning and the vista through the train window was gorgeous. Endless squares of farmland with crops of cotton, corn and tobacco sped past. The faraway hazy range of mountains hinted at where we were heading, but we soon realised it was Mt Olympus we could see in the distance! 😊
Like the day before, we had reserved seat tickets. However, because the carriage was relatively empty, we all spread out. Georgia assured us that locals would sit in any empty seat and not ask us to move out of ‘their’ seats. Andrew and I randomly sat
in seats across the aisle from four young teenage girls whose conversations appeared very intense and engaging. They didn’t stop chatting for the whole trip, and we were very curious about their topics of conversation. 😊
It didn’t take long for our group to regret the decision to spread out and not sit in our allocated seats. Every small station along the way brought in a new wave of passengers who invariably demanded their allocated seats from the group! However, our allocated seats had by now been taken by other people (some by families with small children) and it was a case of moving to any spare seat. This game of musical chairs got more and more problematic as the carriage filled up.
Luckily no one came to claim the seats Andrew and I were sitting in, but every station was a source of tension, and I couldn’t really relax. If we’d only just sat in our own seats from the start! When two girls in our group had to move for the third time, I had an overwhelming urge to ask everyone to systematically stand up and move to their allocated seat. I mapped it all out
in my head and calculated that it would have taken about 10 minutes to sort out… if everyone fully cooperated and followed the strict rules of: leaving luggage where it was, didn’t negotiate to swap seats, and agreed to leave the carriage if they couldn’t show a valid ticket and seat number. My brain works in strange ways sometimes 😄
Our somewhat disparate group was slowly starting to bond. Things like sitting together on public transport and killing time while waiting at train stations was helping the process. Some groups (like our previous one) bond immediately, while others take more time. We’ve even experienced an extremely rare case where the bonding never happened. It was a short trip with nine people, and we all had such incredibly diverse and conflicting fundamental human values, that everyone kept to themselves for the whole trip. It wasn’t a great situation.
After a 30-minute wait at the Paleofarsalos Station, we boarded the train to Kalambaka. This time I was focussed on sitting in our allocated seats. However, it meant that Andrew and I would be separated on opposite ends of the carriage. As Andrew helped me with my luggage and started walking
off, I realised a local lady seemed to be talking animatedly at us. After a bit of to-and-fro with her talking in Greek and us speaking in English, it was clear we were getting nowhere. Georgia eventually stepped in and translated that the lady was supposed to be sitting next to me but had decided to sit two rows along at another seat with her friend. She was insisting that Andrew should sit in her seat next to me. We thanked her and Andrew happily settled in with me.
Not 30 minutes later, a very flustered guy with two large suitcases and an Australian accent politely informed the lady that she was sitting in his seat. Oh dear. Here we go again. Andrew started preparing to vacate her seat, but the lady wasn’t giving up without a fight. She demanded to see his ticket, but still didn’t move. The guy was struggling to find space for his oversized suitcases, and in-between rearranging everyone’s luggage in the overhead racks, he kept reminding her that she and her friend were in his seats.
Andrew and I were watching this scene with vested interest. He kept disappearing and reappearing with more
and more bags. And then finally he brought his wife and son with him. We heard the wife before we saw her. A very loud and aggressive Australian accent asked: ‘Who is sitting in my seat?’ as she thumped her way towards us. Thankfully by now an old man sitting close by had disembarked, and the Greek lady had moved to his seat. Grateful that there wasn’t an altercation, we all relaxed. In a very weird turn of events though, the Australian family (who were of Greek heritage) ended up chatting to the Greek lady for the rest of the trip.
I had been so engrossed in the drama that I hadn’t noticed the landscape around me had started changing significantly. The flat fallow fields we’d been passing were now filled with giant black rock pillars protruding from the earth in a most unnatural and dramatic manner. And as if that wasn’t spectacular enough, some of the far away rocks were topped with buildings! This was the other-worldly landscape of Meteora (pronounced MET-eora) in the Thessaly region of Central Greece, and the buildings were the monasteries we were there to visit.
The village of Kalambaka sits at the
base of these prominent rock formations, and I couldn’t help being totally enthralled by their large presence from the moment we got off the train. They sat like stone sentinels, constantly observing and judging the activity of the tiny mortals below.
It was probably only a ten- or so-minute walk to our hotel from the train station, but we were slowed down by carrying / dragging our luggage and navigating uneven pavements. In our last blog I mentioned how I’d noticed changes in the habits of fellow group members over time (in relation to reading ‘proper’ books and using dedicated cameras etc.); and on this trip in Greece, I was very aware that only a few of us were still travelling with backpacks. Intrepid Travel encourages the use of backpacks on its trips because passengers frequently need to navigate public transport hubs with flights of steps or potholed streets to get to their hotels. However, suitcases definitely seemed to be the favoured type of luggage on this trip.
After a wrong turn and Georgia asking for directions at a restaurant, we got to Hotel Alexiou – our home for two nights. It was a quirky little place, and
our room was tiny… but all was forgiven when we walked onto our balcony and saw the magnificent outlook! We had a panoramic view of the colossal rocks and could see two of the rock-top monasteries.
I could have spent hours on that balcony, but our hungry tummies required us to go looking for lunch. Not long afterwards, we settled at an outside table at Valia Calda with fellow group members Tom, Alex, Romy, Sophie and Cilla. The restaurant was known for serving regional food, and their menu was divided into ‘From the mountain’ and ‘From the valley’. Our lunch of walnut and potato balls (with porcini mushroom sauce) and
spanakopita (spinach and feta phyllo pie) was utterly delicious. I had hoped to go back and try their meatier ‘From the valley’ dishes, but we ran out of time.
After a lovely complimentary dessert of rice pudding, we walked the short distance back to our hotel via a clothing shop to check out their wraps and long skirts. We had been warned that the monasteries had a very conservative dress code. To gain entry, everyone must cover their shoulders and knees, but women are not permitted to wear
trousers. I had packed a skirt that covered my knees, but I wasn’t sure if it was long enough.
For a village that was a gateway to a very big tourist and religious attraction, I was very surprised that Kalambaka wasn’t more touristy. It looked and felt like a small Greek village would. Apart from a handful of hotels and the few tourist shops capitalising on the sale of long skirts, there was nothing to hint at the hordes of tourists who visit the extraordinary monasteries of Meteora every day.
That afternoon the whole group opted to do a Sunset Tour with the Visit Meteora company. Dimitri and George picked us up from our hotel in a minibus. We drove down the main road of Kalambaka and noticed a few small squares and interesting looking shops we could explore the next day. The road took us into the next village of Kastraki, which is located at the other end of the rock formations. Kastraki is small and charming, and I now realised where all the other tourists were!
We pulled into the driveway of a hotel and picked up the rest of the people on our tour.
On entering the minibus, one of the tourists exclaimed quite pointedly: ‘There are already people on here’! I involuntarily chuckled at this absurd comment, and she shot me a very dirty look. As the rest of them filtered on, they made it very clear that they thought they should have had the minibus to themselves. Well, if they wanted a private tour, they should have paid the cost of a private tour! You can only laugh at such entitled tourists. 😄
With the minibus full, we started climbing up into the landscape of giant rocks. It was awesomely beautiful. The hillsides were covered in Mediterranean oak, wild pistachio trees, and an undergrowth thick with wild herbs like sage, mint and thyme. There were also fenced off garden plots, most of which were owned by the monasteries.
Our guide George provided some interesting commentary along the way. He first gave us a brief explanation of the formation of the rocks, before talking about the history of the monasteries. He was a local with long family ties to the area, and I think this helped him paint a fuller picture for us.
Here’s a brief note about the geology
of the area: To one side of the Meteora rocks sits the Pindos Mountain range, and on the other, the vast valley of Thessaly. According to geologists, Thessaly was an enormous lake thousands of years ago, but a catastrophic event caused the lake walls to collapse, and it was emptied into the sea. This left behind a very fertile lakebed (which is now the valley of Thessaly). However, before this event, one edge of the lake had a delta with rivers and streams emptying their waters into the lake. These waterways had deposited their sediment at the edge of the lake for thousands of years, and the mixture of stone, sand and mud formed a conglomerate. When the lake dramatically emptied and dried up, the softer sandstone around the conglomerate rock eroded away with time, leaving the weirdly shaped pillars of rocks we now see in Meteora.
With regards to the monasteries, their origins lie in the hermits of the early Christian era who sought out and found solitude on the inaccessible summits of these steep rocks. After years of hermit seclusion, more permanent structures were eventually built. The earliest basic wooden structures on the rocks and caves high
above the ground have been dated as early as 11th century AD. They slowly evolved into the major monasteries which now occupy the rocky terraces.
A monk called Athanasios founded the first monastery in the 14th century – now called Moni Megalou Meteorou (Great Meteoron Monastery). It’s thought that it was also Athanasios who conceived the name Meteora (which means ‘suspended in mid-air’ and lends itself to the English word ‘meteoroid’).
In the 700 years since then, the monastic community has had multiple periods of growth and decline. George reminded us that there were once 24 active monasteries in the area, but many external factors, including the Ottoman occupation, caused their deterioration. The most prosperous period was in the 16th century when the buildings were extended and lavishly decorated. However, by the 18th century they had fallen into a decline, which continued into the mid-20th century when the monasteries were again revitalised. I wondered if the revival process was prompted by religious, cultural or tourism reasons.
The drive took us on a road that twisted past the six active monasteries of Meteora. They are run by small numbers of monks and nuns who reside in each one,
and I couldn’t help wondering what their motivation to join such a monastery or nunnery these days would be. By this, I’m not questioning their religious reasons, but rather that they would be knowingly joining an institution that has aggressively embraced tourism… and a large part of their days would be dominated by playing host to the thousands of tourists who visit annually. I wondered how they felt about that.
We soon pulled over on the side of the road and got off at our first lookout. We were directly under the Moni Varlaam (Varlaam Monastery), with the petite Moni Agiou Nikolaou (St Nicholas Anapafsas Monastery) a bit further along in the distance. The monasteries all sit precariously above cliff faces, hugging a finite flat surface on the summit. Despite knowing that they are hundreds of years old and not likely to go anywhere in a hurry, it was hard not to fear for the inhabitants of some of the smaller looking monasteries.
We had a couple more stops at strategic spots along the road, and each gave us a different sense of the landscape. The scene before us got exponentially more remarkable the higher we climbed up
the snaking road. The valley below us was a juxtaposition of wilderness and neatly sectioned farm plots… and framing this view were four of the monasteries of varying sizes. George was constantly naming all the monasteries, but to be honest, from this distance they all looked the same to me – cream stone buildings with terracotta roofs sitting precariously on rock pillars. Even the ones we’d seen earlier were now at a different angle, and the distinguishing features I’d seen (such as a particular tower or overhanging wooden balcony) were lost because we were looking at them from a different side. I was hoping that I would be able to distinguish them after we’d had a closer look.
Soon afterwards, our driver had to slow down to let a herd of goats cross the road. To us it was extremely extraordinary that there wasn’t a shepherd with them – just two dogs guiding the goats. Encouraged by our sounds of delights, the driver pulled over and we all piled out to look at this quintessential Greek scene. They thought we were interested in the goats… but we only had eyes for the big sheepdogs! I’d never seen this breed
before, and I was informed they were a local breed called Greek Shepherds.
One of the dogs took their guardian role seriously. Even though she let us pat her, as soon as the goats crossed the road and disappeared down the hill, she followed them. The other dog was as old as the hills, with a slight limp. He seemed glad to take a break in the shade and bask in our attention. It was a very hot afternoon, so our driver cut a water bottle in half as a modified water bowl for him, but to my surprise, the old dog wasn’t interested in this offering.
My heart warmed to our driver, but he was told off by our guide for doing this. George thought the tourists would think the dogs weren’t well looked after by the locals. He insisted that he knew the owner of the goats – Mario who drives a red car – and apparently all his animals were very well taken care of. I guess there are multiple Marios in the area and they are differentiated by their cars. 😊
Our next stop was at Moni Agiou Stefanou (St Stephen’s Monastery). George
admitted that even though the monastery had been converted into a nunnery when the last monk of the order had died many years ago, everyone still called it by its original name.
St Stephen’s Monastery sits at the end of the road and is the most accessible monastery of the six. Most of the monasteries were built during the Byzantine era, and apparently haven’t changed much over the centuries. There are stone steps and/or bridges to access all the rock-top monasteries, but original access would have been via rope or wooden ladders (that could be pulled up after themselves) as well as baskets or nets on a pulley system for produce and elderly monks unable to climb the ladders. However, St Stephen’s Monastery doesn’t have any steps, and it has a carpark right near its entrance… which makes it the busiest of them all.
Our driver parked alongside a jumble of massive tourist buses, minibuses, cars, motorbikes and push bikes! A small bridge connected the hill we were standing on with the rock pillar the monastery was built upon. We crossed the bridge and found ourselves in a small dark entry foyer of the monastery. Andrew isn’t very
good with heights, but he managed to cross the bridge by focussing straight ahead and walking very fast.
After all the stress of whether our skirts were long/conservative enough, the very friendly nuns at the ticket office didn’t so much as glance at what we were wearing. However, I didn’t wish to cause offence so checked with an equally friendly security guard who nodded that it was ok. But I noticed that he also had a whole rack of long skirts for those who needed them. I didn’t see any signage, so I assume there wasn’t a hire charge.
We entered a large rose and marigold filled central courtyard from which we could access the small church, various walkways, a balcony, and a museum. The museum is in the old refectory and holds all the significant relics of the monastery – icons, wood-carved and silver crosses, gold-embroidered vestments, ornate silverware, and other textiles.
There were beautifully tended herb gardens, and many little gates with paths to various buildings that were closed off to the public. I’m sure these areas would have told a much truer story of the monastery than the public access areas did. To be
honest, I was a bit disappointed that nothing I saw gave me an indication of the daily lives of the nuns. This visit was very much about the building and the history of the building, with no insight into the residents of the building.
The terrace and balcony gave us a fabulous view of hazy blue mountains in the distance and the village of Kalambaka laid out below us. I could almost spot our small hotel along one of the neat little roads.
Despite the crowds and the fact that not much of the monastery was accessible to us, I really liked the energy of this place. I wouldn’t say it was spiritual, but there was something calm and grounding (excuse the pun) about the place. We wanted to support the nuns and decided to buy a few souvenirs from their gift shop, including two little wooden icons for both our mums.
Our next visit was the 14th century Byzantine Church of Dormition of the Virgin Mary in one of the oldest districts of Kalambaka. It had an interesting history of being built on a site of a previous temple, with imagery from that era still visible
in the stonework. For some reason neither of us were interested in paying the fee to have a look inside. So Tom, Alex, Andrew and I sat in the lovely courtyard admiring the flourishing herb pots and the view of Kalambaka from this highest part of the town.
Next, we drove to a spot to observe the old cave dwellings of the hermits from centuries ago. It was fascinating to think that they desired solitude so intensely that they resorted to such literally on-the-edge living. We were surprised to see that a bit beyond these cave dwellings sat a solid looking stone hut that blended into the rocks behind it. I only noticed it because of the curl of smoke coming out of its chimney. George seemed to think that the guy who lives there has done so on and off for many years. It was interesting that modern day hermits were still using this landscape as a refuge.
There was still a bit of time before the sunset, so we drove back down into the village of Kastraki and visited Cafe Efrosini for a coffee and toilet stop. It was nice break, but I got the sense
we were killing time.
Back on the minibus and up into the hills we went again. This time we stopped outside the Great Meteoron Monastery. We were visiting this particular monastery the following day, so our quick stop was just to have a look at it and the glorious landscape from the carpark lookout.
I’d noticed that the traffic had suddenly got significantly busier. In all my reading I’d totally missed that watching the sunset in Meteora is considered a ‘must-do’ activity. There seemed to be a few popular places to watch the sunset from, and it was also a popular time for wedding photography (we saw at least three photoshoots).
The two most crowded sunset viewpoints were on the road near Moni Agias Triados (Holy Trinity Monastery), and I was disappointed that we stopped at one of these spots. It was a large rock with a flattish surface that protruded out over the valley. By the time we got there, it was already crowded at the front part of the rock, and Andrew had no intention of walking out over the overhang. We were happy at the back of the pack, and it gave me an
opportunity to observe our fellow sunset watchers while we waited for the sun to do its thing.
Meteora seems to attract a curious mix of run-of-the-mill tourists like us, outdoorsy types (hikers and rock climbers), and large groups of religious tourists. I hadn’t realised that Meteora was an important place of pilgrimage for Orthodox and other Christians (both local and from overseas). The Greek lady on the train was going to volunteer at one of the nunneries, and from what I could gather, has done so regularly for a while.
The sunset itself was lovely enough, but it was the foreground of rock pillars that made it absolutely unique. We waited for the afterglow of the sunset, but the clouds started setting in and everyone dispersed. I love a good sunrise or sunset, but I would never be the type of person who would camp for hours to get the best spot for an event that’s over in 30 minutes. Although if we were camped at a cafe or bar, that would have been a different story! 😊
The minibus dropped us off at our hotel. Given my tummy was a bit unsettled after the strong coffee
I’d had earlier, we decided to skip the group dinner that night. We visited a minimart near us and had fun stocking up on packets of chips (crisps) and a variety of biscuits. The Lays oregano flavoured chips were delicious, and they’ve been my favourite of all the new chip flavours I’ve tried in Greece.
Our quiet night was great for catching up on travel notes, sipping on cups of tea and munching on chocolate wafer biscuits. Every now and again I looked up at St Stephen’s Monastery on top of its gigantic rock… and as I watched the lights gradually come on, I wondered what nightly routine the nuns were engaging in.
The Sunset Tour with the Visit Meteora company had been very good, and I’d highly recommend it. However, it comes with a small disclaimer – given the sunset times vary, there may be a little bit of killing time involved. We drove up and down the hilly road a few times, doubling back on ourselves for coffee in Kastraki, to look at the church in Kalambaka etc. Having said that, I have to admit that driving up and down that road multiple times led to
my great accomplishment of the day – being able to recognise some of the monasteries (sort of!). It helped if I thought of them in the order they sat on the map our hotel gave us. From left to right:
1) St Nicholas Anapafsas Monastery
2) Great Meteoron Monastery
3) Varlaam Monastery
4) Varvaras Rousanou Monastery
5) Holy Trinity Monastery
6) St Stephen’s Monastery
I also have to say that I couldn’t fault our Visit Meteora driver and guide. They were both excellent. And I was extremely impressed with our driver’s memory and customer service – he would stand at our minibus and wave to each of us as we returned from lookouts or exited the monastery. This bloke had only just met us, yet he remembered all our faces in the sea of tourists around us. 😊
Before I end the day, I wanted to record a story about the other tourists we’d shared the sunset tour minibus with. Sophie and Nina from our group told us the most hilarious story about them afterwards. Apparently, they had been really displeased that our group had been picked up first and got all the ‘best’ seats (which explained the
grumpy comment when they first got on). Their grumpiness led them to pull the very crappy move of returning earlier to the minibus from the first stop and sitting in Sophie and Nina’s seats. Seriously, what sort of adults do that???
Anyway, the girls hatched a plan and returned early from our second stop and paid back the favour by moving back into their original seats. This had drawn much huffing and comments of ‘how childish’. For every stop thereafter, the girls made sure they left jackets and water bottles etc. on their seats to prevent a repeat performance. I should point out that it was a small minibus. How much difference could there have been between the few rows that separated the front seats from their ‘bad’ seats? Andrew and I had been blissfully unaware of the silent war being waged behind us. 😄
Tomorrow we’ll be visiting two more monasteries and exploring more of the villages of Kalambaka and Kastraki.
See you around in Meteora!
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Jasmin Baker
non-member comment
Wow!
Just Wow! 🤩 So mind boggling to look at!