Northwest Greek Odyssey -- Ioannina

Ioannina, Greece

Sometimes the guide books grant a favor to a poor traveler. Most of the time, it is a favor granted inadvertently. When some hugely popular guidebook series (not naming names, title has the initials LP) claims that this or that local city is "a transportation hub, not really worthy of an overnight stay..." reader take note. It is possible that the guidebook is correct, as is the case with Udon Thani. UT is a busy, dusty town in Isaan, the rural region of Northeast Thailand, and not much happening there. On the other hand, I have discovered some of my favorite small cities by making careful note of the phrase "Just another provincial city... blah blah blah." 

"What in God's holy name are you blathering about?" Sorry. I'm blathering about our next destination, Ioannina, Greece. Yes, just a provincial city, set on a big lake, a transportation hub, most people give it a pass.  Good for them, off they go, bye-bye.

Parma Cave and a Cute Grrl

We had the grand countryside tour from Meteora to Ioannina. The bus wiggled and squiggled through back roads, climbed hairpins, and generally spent an hour aimed at taunting those prone to motion sickness. The slow first hour was followed by a quicker second hour, whizzing down the modern E90. The E90 is a unique highway in that it is almost entirely composed of tunnels and bridges. The bits of road that actually touch the ground are rare indeed. This is rugged and mountainous country, stark and scenic. 

Deposited in the busy Ioannina bus station, we set off for the village of Parma, famous for the Parma Cave. The budget guesthouses were clustered around this village, so off we went. It was a short two kilometer walk, with full backpacks, and the afternoon Greek sun overhead. Have you noticed that almost everything is a 'short two kilometer walk?'

Parma Cave

Parma was empty, a tourist town without tourists. This little village is a popular destination for Greek tourists looking for a weekend getaway. The big draw is Parma Cave. The cave was discovered by a young boy looking for a safe place to hide from aerial bombing during World War II. It has since been developed into a tourist attraction. The cave is well worth a tour. Being as there were no tourists in the village, we had our own private tour at no extra cost.

After a very quiet night in Parma, and a fabulous dinner at the one Taberna open for an evening meal, we let the day draw to a close, watching the over the quiet main street from out second-storey balcony. The following morning, after touring the cave, we took a city bus into Ioannina town.

Ali Pasha, The Lion of Ioannina

Ioannina is famous for being nestled against a large lake. Steep mountainsides rise from the green waters, making for a lovely vista. Crowded against the lake shore is the Ottoman-era palace and fortress of Ali Pasha. There were several Ali Pashas, it being an title of honour, but there is only one Lion of Ioannina, and he was a certified Bad-Ass.

The Lion started his career as the leader of a band of Albanian Brigands. After battling the Ottomans, he became one of them. Apparently being a leader of brigands was a fine job qualification in the empire. He was many, many things, but weak was not one of them. Ruthless, religiously tolerant, cunning, he ruled the Sanjak of Ioannina for more than three decades. About 1820, he ran afoul of the Sultan by conspiring to kill a member of the court, a member he had strong disagreements with. The Sultan was not pleased, eventually sending troops to Ioannina with instructions to return with Ali Pasha's head.

Ali Pasha's Grave, minus Head (photo: Ferhatbingol)

Ali Pasha did his best to fight off the Sultan's invading army. He was about eighty years old by this time. Finally, his surviving loyal soldiers reduced to a small force, he was tricked into giving up his fortified palace. He removed himself to a monastery, hoping it to be a sanctuary. Such was not to be. The Sultan's forces closed in, surrounded him, and declared that he must surrender and meet his fate. He response is famous, at least in these parts: "My head will not be surrendered like the head of a slave!" With that, the Lion of Ioannina kept fighting. The Sultan's troops finally killed Ali Pasha by firing their muskets up through the floor of the room he occupied. Ali Pasha was dead at the age of eighty-two, fighting until the the end. His head was duly transported back to the Sultan in Constantinople. His body, sans head, lies in a grave in the palace compound.

The Palace Complex, Old Town Ioannina

Ioannina is a fine walking town, flat, pretty, and lively. There are a few more tourists in the town itself, but it is mostly a stop for Greek travelers. The palace and old town are clustered around the shores of the lake, as is a fine lakeside promenade. Little boats ferry folks over to an island across the lake. The grid of the new town sits between the old town and the hills that rise away from the lake.

We had a fine time exploring the place, a good, simple walkabout. There were shopping lanes to poke about in, good eateries, and a very vibrant café scene. Ioannina is home to several colleges and schools, and boasts a large population of young students. They keep the place lively.

Old Bakery

There is the usual grittiness that seems to go with larger Greek towns. Graffiti is a constant, running the gamut from political to street art. This is not some well-preserved UNESCO tourist ghetto, but rather a busy Greek town going about its business.

Ioannina Façade

There are the buildings abandoned and lifeless alongside businesses that are flourishing. The mix is a good one, a sense of the past overlaid with the modern.  

Backstreet, Ioannina

If you are looking for charming lanes devoid of traffic, wander toward the lake and disappear into the maze of the old walled city. Veer back out of the old city, and you will be engulfed in the shopping streets with their rows of competing cafés. Take your time, sit, have a coffee, watch the world walk by.

Old Façade Resurrected

Ioannina does not have any "must-see" sights. It is what it is reported to be: a busy, provincial town. Look past that, however, and I think you will find a charming city that is certainly worth an overnight stay. We enjoyed two nights here without regret. This is one of those places that offers a solid cultural view. Sunning oneself on an island beach is a fine pastime, but spending two weeks on the beach does not mean I have seen Greece. It means I have seen the beach. Ioannina is a place to mingle with locals, talk to them, and get a sense of what the country is all about.

Café Scene, Ioannina

By late afternoon we had found our café. This was one of the hipster spots, with great tunes, great coffee, and a great vibe. The locals were hanging out, greeting one another, and just generally kicking back. If I was to spend a month here, this would be my café. One of the lessons I have learned late in life is that it is very important to have a good café handy.

Speaking of islands, the next day would find us bound for Korfu, but that is the stuff of the next blog post. For this evening, it was a bus ride back to sleepy Parma, a second dinner at 'Our Joint,' and another quiet evening listening to the village folk talk away the night.

Northwest Greek Odyssey -- Meteora

Meteora, Greece - Monasteries on the Rocks

Meteora, Greece, home to the famous monasteries perched on impossible boulders. If you haven't heard of it, you have probably seen pictures of it. An image of Meteora graced an earlier edition of the Lonely Planet guide to Greece. Orthodox monks built the monasteries on top of these incredible rock pillars, for isolation as well as protection. 

Even if you have not heard of Meteora, many, many other people have. It is one of the most visited sites in Northwestern Greece, a firmly established stop on the tour bus circuit. Ack! Tour Buses? Yes, tour buses, lots of them. But there is a secret that a smart visitor needs to know, or rather a few secrets. The first secret is fairly obvious: Don't be here in July or August. It is very hot, and very crowded. The second secret is that Meteora really isn't about the monasteries; it's all about the rocks. Tour bus folks do not like to hike, and Meteora is all about the hiking.

Many millions of years ago, this place was covered with stone and sand and mud, thick layers of it. About sixty million years ago, geological forces pushed lake bed and delta upwards, forming a plateau. Wind and water did their slow, inexorable work, and, Voilá! Crazy stone pillars. 

The monasteries built atop these rock pillars are old, by modern standards. But human history in the Meteora area is far older. There is a cave not far from Kalambaka, the main town at Meteora, or "Clambake" as I like to refer to is. Anyway, the cave is called Theopetra, and it contains archeological records that go back to the time of the Neanderthals. How cool is that? 

Two hours on the train, with one change, brought us to Kalambaka, or Clambake, a town nestled within easy boulder-bouncing range of the strange rock pillars. Let's just say I would not care to live on the north side of town. A very hot and sunny two-kilometer stroll brought us to our digs at the far edge of Kastraki, a smaller satellite village. The Meteora Gardens is funky and old, the campground closed, and the whole thing has a forlorn look. But the host was friendly and the budget room was cheery and cheap. Showered and restored, we set out to explore.

Kastraki Village Square

A short two kilometer walk up a quiet rural road brings one to the village center. Along the way there will be locals sitting on their porches, enjoying cool gloaming of the day. Remember to call out a cheery "YAh-soos" or "Kali-SPER-ah" and they will smile and wave. The second time you pass, they will remember you. It's a pretty friendly place. Kastraki has one of the coolest village squares ever, tucked between the church and school, and hemmed in by improbable rock pillars. It is a marvelous sight when the lamps twinkle on in the evening.

Kastraki Evening

We wandered about the tiny village, up and down steep lanes. Pillars of rock towered far above us. We settled on a fine little Taberna off the square and tucked into meal of homemade Moussaka, stuffed peppers and tomatoes, and, of course, Greek salad. We would need the calories, for tomorrow would be another day of steep hiking.

Morning Climb

The morning sun was blasting the sheer rock face above us as we climbed out of the sleepy village of Kastraki. A snarling dog warned us off the dead-end lane we had chosen, barking us toward the proper trail. The path wound its way up between two towers of rock. The dusky-green slot between the cliffs was no more than a hundred meters wide. Winding up and over boulders, under wild olive trees, the trail snaked to the top of the little pass. A rickety set of wooden stairs led up the rock face on our left, a midair climb to a hermitage caves or monastic ruin.

It's really about the Rock

We paused at the top of the tiny pass, dangling our legs off of a natural stone bench. The valley below us was ringed with fantasy towers of wind and water carved stone. Here and there, red-tiled roofs projected from the top of a stone pinnacle, one of the famous monasteries. The light had that Mediterranean crystal sharpness, etching each shadow, spotlighting each sun-drenched rock. All was peace. Then we heard the voices.

Voices rolling down from above? Were the ghosts of long-dead monks communing with us? But wait, the voices were speaking Deutsch. After following the sounds, and squinting in the sun, we finally spotted the two rock climbers on the face above us. If you zoom in on the photo above, you can see them as well. They are the two little dots on the left shoulder, below and to the left of the dominant crack. Looking at the surface of the rock, I decided better them than me. My serious rock days are over, but I never much liked conglomerate rock. Give me a nice granite or basalt any old time.

Into the Valley

There we sat on our little rock shelf, looking down into the valley. The view in the above photo is exactly what we were looking at. Monastery Roussanou is on the narrow pinnacle at the upper right. Monastery Varlamm is the larger monastery on the far upper left. Our plan was to hike across the valley, climb to Roussanou, then circle the upper draw to Varlamm. So we planned out route an set off.   

There was a bit of route-finding, a few twists and turns, but eventually we crossed the road on the far side of the valley and began scrambling up the steep hill to Roussanou. As we reached the base of the rock pinnacle, we broke out into, well, bedlam. Cars, minivans, tour buses; we were in Important Tourist Sight Land.

Oh look! A Monastery!

So: Here is the obligatory bit. The monasteries are pretty cool. When viewed from below they are impressive, when viewed across a fine valley they are sublime. Up close and personal, after walking past two dozen idling tour buses, twenty-five minivans, and ninety-two rental cars, whatever monastery you are approaching loses some of its appeal. There is a scrum to get into the monastery, a long queue that leads up flights of sun-drenched stone stairs. There are a great many people, many of whom avoid sun-drenched stone stairs like they avoid the Black Death. There are individual scrummers, and then there are the tour-scrummers. The tour-group herds will trample you like water buffalo if they think they have been separated from their group. 

So, grit your teeth, chant "Important Sight, Important Sight..." under your breath. Climb the stairs, one slow, agonizing, step at a time. Pay the very reasonable three Euros to get in, then watch your Sweetie have a grumpy fit because she has to tie a loaner skirt over her full length hiking pants. The monks you know, just a glimpse of a woman in pants and, well, you know.....

Grumpy Ikons

We bit the tourist bullet and toured Varlamm Monastery. We toured it like troopers, heads held high, taking in the important, the artistic. I made careful note of the grumpy faces portrayed in the Ikons. Really, really grumpy faces. I suppose they had a right to be grumpy. All those folks taking selfies from the parapets of the monastery walls, ignoring the reasons that the monastery existed. And, admittedly, I was and am being judgemental. Mea Culpa, Mea Culpa.

On the backside of the monastery, away from the selfie views, is a covered timber platform. Supplies are hoisted up from far below, and this platform serves as the landing pad. This arrangement offered the monks a way to resist the Turks and their pesky Ottoman occupation. It afforded us an excellent vantage point into the secluded valley below us, and to the trail that wound down into the enclosed valley.

So we fled. We fled like giggling children, dodging down the stairs, my Sweetie flinging her loaner skirt back onto the stack of tawdry loaner skirts. We eluded the throngs, disappeared down garden steps, and found ourselves on the very trail we were seeking. The way led down into a deep hollow, a circular valley that was almost completely enclosed by sheer rock walls. Only the narrowest of gaps allowed a slanting sun into the shadowed space.

Obligatory Artsy Photo

The rest of the day was spent happily avoiding monasteries. We scrambled over rocks to avoid them, climbed through fantastic gaps to avoid them, boulder hopped to avoid them. If we saw a monastery trying to sneak up on us, we ran the other way, even if the way led up dodgy goat paths to narrow rock slots overlooking the town of Kalambaka. 

There seem to be two distinct dangers to Meteora. One is the monasteries themselves. The second danger is that of getting a crick in ones neck from peering up at amazing rock formations while trying to hike a tiny trail.

Back to Cool Rocks!!

"Yeah, yeah, up through that slot, I see the route!"

By the end of the afternoon, we just started inventing our own hiking routes. The photo above is a good example. We set out from the spot below and managed to get through that little slot in the upper left of the photo. The path was mostly imaginary, but we passed through the slot, descending to the outskirts of Kalambaka and a welcome café.

Climbing the gaps

My One, showing the goats how its done.

"Monasteries, sure, but check out that rock!"

So, in the end, it was as I said, at least for us. Meteora is all about the rocks. Sure, go see the monasteries. Go early in the day, or go late in the afternoon. Try to avoid the late morning or early afternoon. Enjoy the monasteries, poke around, have fun. But don't miss out on the real joy of this region.

The View from the Smoking Room

There was sweat, there was resting, there were cafés and apres-hiking snacks. I enjoyed a lovey cigar and the fine view from our budget-balcony. It was yet another excellent day of hiking on a trip that seemed more and more devoted to hiking. There would be travel on the morrow, but there was the quiet evening to enjoy, and enjoy it we did.

Northwest Greek Odyssey -- Litochoro

The Graffito Treno

Leaving a city by train often offers a non-scenic perspective, and Thessaloniki was no different. Train tracks tend to run past the warty parts of town, the stuff better hidden away from view; literally the wrong side of the tracks. Rolling west and south over the flat, coastal plains, we saw sidings full of rusted rolling stock; passenger cars that would never again carry passengers. Piles of junk and wind-swept loading docks pushed up against the tall plumes of coastal reeds. The train swept past derelict ruins of stone buildings, graffiti-coated to the height of tagger's reach. Then we were out of the city, stopping at each small village on the milk run south. 

Behind us, sitting amongst a crowd of bundles, an African guy engaged the conductor in a game of endurance. When the conductor asked for his ticket, he could not produce one. Though I could not understand the language of the exchange, it was clear that he was claiming he had no money. In the tired voice of someone who has heard it all before, the conductor was telling the African man that he must get off. This scene was repeated several times over the course of several villages. The man managed stay on the train until he reached his destination. Street theater on the train, and the performance did not cost me a dime.

Our destination was Litochoro, a small village at the foot of a canyon that leads to the high peaks of Mount Olympus. A bit more than an hour on the train and we would be at the gateway to the fabled mountain, the home of the vengeful and capricious Greek gods, gods who took the time to meddle in the affairs of mere mortals. And, as we were to find out, gods who still had time to meddle in our own paltry affairs.

Mount Olympus

At each village stop, the small coastal towns had been clustered around the train station. What could be easier? We would hop off the train, have a short walk, and find our lodgings. Simple, no? No. When we arrived at the Litochoro station, we found ourselves standing on an empty platform. To the south were wind-flecked waves shimmering on the Aegean Sea. Turning to the north, we were treated to a sun-drenched view of green hills, the mouth of the canyon, and, far on the horizon, the summit of Mount Olympus. One thing, however, was missing. There was no village, at least not clustered snugly around the train station. 

Baking under a hot afternoon sun, the land sloped up from the station, rising steadily to meet the green walls of the mountains. About ten kilometers away, tucked neatly against the sharp rise of the mountains, we could see a cluster of red-tiled roofs. Oops. We entered the station and inquired. Yes, Litochoro was up on the hill. There was a bus stop, yes, about two kilometers away. Maybe there would be a bus (shrug-shrug) but it is Sunday. Well then, this is why we have rucksacks.

We plodded out into the heat of the day, not a shred of shade, and not a taxi in sight. Under the hot afternoon sun, with fully loaded packs, two kilometers is just about enough of a walk to have one sweating right though the straps on said rucksack. After a good bit of walking, we spied a very empty and very forlorn bus stop. It looked as if it was last used about a decade ago. Score one for the Greek gods, the giggling bastards. But we were saved by the sight of a taxi. The driver was booked, but he was happy to call another driver from town. 

I admit, on my best days, I am inherently distrustful of taxi drivers. Like all preconceived notions, it is an unfair bias, but I have it nonetheless. A taxi driver rescued me from an insane monsoon in Saigon, and all at a fair, metered price. Bangkok hacks are clean and fair, unlike the three-wheeled pirates that pilot the Tuk-tuks. But I digress. Our driver showed up, cheerful and smiling. Dimitrios (Jim) Daviotis loaded us into his Mercedes, cranked up the air-con, and whisked us into the charming village of Litochoro. Along the way he informed us of hiking routes, the wonders of the mountain, and all of the various tour services he could provide for us. A very fair nine Euros for the fare, and a Euro tip, left Dimitrios smiling and ourselves at one of the most charming guesthouses I have seen in a long time.

We Score the Great Digs

Guesthouse Papanikolaou is just off a tiny lane that twists up out of the center of the village of Litochoro. It is the sort of guesthouse that travelers dream of finding, and remember fondly. Our lovely host greeted us, then led us to the top floor. The charming room opened onto a wide rooftop terrace with a stunning view of the mountains. One could not ask for more.

Village Façade

Litochoro is a popular destination for weekend tourists, many of them Greek folks looking for a bit of cooler weather. The town was busy with the last of the weekend's travelers, lounging in the cafés and haunting the shops. One block off the main street and all of the tourist bustle dies away. We toured the town on foot, settled for an early dinner of pizza, then retired to our terrace to watch the sunset. 

Sunset on Olympus

Heading for the Home of the Gods

The next morning found us climbing out of town, and into the narrow canyon that leads to the summit of Mount Olympus. The Greek gods were in no danger of being disturbed, at least not by us. Mount Olympus is 2,918 meters high (9,573 ft) and is a hard two-day climb from the village. The very highest peak, Mytikas, would remain unsullied by our mortal feet. Our goal was to go as far up the canyon as our desire, water, and food would take us. 

Carpeting the Forest Floor

The rocky trail gets right to the business of climbing and sticks with it. The gorge fell away below us, narrowing to a slot canyon cut into fantastic rock formations. Where trees shaded the trail, the forest floor was decorated with delicate pink wildflowers. The fuscia-shaped blossoms pushed up through the green ivy and white stones, an idyllic carpet for the cool shadows. We climbed, dropped down, climbed again, the gorge falling farther below us as the trail hugged the steep walls of the canyon. The climbing turned seriously steep at a long set of switchbacks which were, of course, awash in the bright sunlight.

Bright Sun on Stone Ramparts

It was hot hiking, hard hiking, and very rewarding hiking. We climbed in and out of the shadows, over the rough rocks, and through wonderful (and short) sections of smooth, shaded trail. Rock walls rose above us in the crystalline air. Glimpses of the slot canyon came into view below our tired feet. It was glorious.

Sun and Shadows

There were respites from the heat, sheltered rock faces still holding the cool of the morning. For just a moment, there was a feeling like someone had just opened a refrigerator door, a wave of coolness, and then the return of the sun and the force of the heat.

Shadowed Grotto

Hours into the climb we were getting tired, looking for that special place, something to justify calling it a day. It could be a viewpoint, or a shady rock, whatever the trail had to offer. There is always the pull to go to the end of the next rise, the next viewpoint, but it was time to find our spot.

The Turn Around Bridge

Our turn around proved to be a rickety bridge over a small creek, a cool and shady place with a lovely view. There was even a stone bench next to a stone fountain basin. The fountain had long since ceased to function, but it was a welcome seat nonetheless.

Mount Olympus, Still Far Away

Our legs and feet were voting resoundingly for a turnaround. Three and a half hours up and there was still the climb down. Time to make a whole new set of muscles do their work. There were excellent views of the mountaintop, but we did not see Zeus throwing thunderbolts or Hera throwing fits.

A Cool Afternoon Freshet

Halfway back, we found a trail slanting down a scree field. It would mean climbing back up again, but the thought of a cool break along the river was too much of a temptation. We dropped down into the canyon and enjoyed a long sit along the river. We perched ourselves on some rocks along the clear water, content to watch the river run. There was a small army of frogs clustered amongst the rocks and ferns. We watched them hunting bugs and cheered them on when one of the froggies made a successful leap. The afternoon light was moving on and eventually so were we. Back up the scree field we climbed.

Orthodox Cemetery in the Gloaming

We left the trail behind, stepping out onto the road that leads down into the village. At the very edge of the hamlet sits an Orthodox Cemetery. Who can resist a well-kept cemetery at the gloaming of the day? The tombs are all raised above ground, most topped with clean, white gravel. The headstones are adorned with photos of the dearly departed, and tiny oil lamps burn at the foot of most of the graves.

A Well-Earned Cigar

Finally back at the digs, after almost seven hours on the trail, it was time for a cigar on the terrace. Showering and dinner would come afterwards. It was a sublime hike, hard, sweaty, and rewarding.

Greek Salads for Everyone!!

Cleaned up and hungry, we set out through the small lanes of town above our guesthouse. The evening was cool and wonderful, the food was great, and the begging cats were reasonably well-behaved. 

Litochoro had proved to be a fantastic choice for our first small village. The town is picturesque, the scenery is wonderful, and the hiking was challenging and beautiful. Tomorrow would bring another train journey to yet another hiking destination. The rest of our evening was dedicated to romance on our perfect rooftop terrace, watched over by the Greek gods from their lofty perch.

Northwest Greek Odyssey -- Thessaloniki

The view from our balcony

I had just returned from the USA, an almost four-week journey filled with friends and family. My time in the states was full of the joys of friendship, and of seeing my son. It was also punctuated with sadness at the pervasive sense of anger and division I felt in my former home. After but a few days back in Vienna, it was time to repack the faithful Deuter backpack for a new journey, a trip to Northwestern Greece. My Heart had remained in Vienna whilst I was in the USA, and she was yearning to travel. And so we set out. It was a short ride on the miraculous Vienna public transit system to the airport, and a short flight to Thessaloniki, the second largest city in Greece.

 

Thessaloniki Façade

Thessaloniki sits on the Northwest corner of the Aegean Sea, at the end of the Thermaic Gulf. It is a vibrant city, busy and bustling. Thessaloniki reminds me of Napoli, my favorite city in Italy. It is vibrant, lively, and worn hard around the edges. Thessaloniki is a modern city laid over a tangle of history that dates back to the Byzantine Empire, when it was the co-capital of the Eastern Roman Empire. The history of the city is much older than that, as is the case with most Mediterranean towns. Founded in 315 BCE by the Macedonians, Thessaloniki has been host to the usual cast of characters down through the epochs. The Romans followed the Macedonians, then the Byzantine Empire, Crusaders and the Latin Empire, then the Ottomans. The more modern history of the city is a complicated affair, including the early Balkan Wars, two World Wars, and the Greek Revolution. The city has a diverse religious history as well. Paganism, Orthodox Christianity, Christian Zealots, Judaism, and Islam have all flourished here.

We made our way from the airport on a cramped city bus, standing up the entire way. Thessaloniki is a hot, sunny city. It is also a city that climbs the steep hills from the long port-side promenade. The bus deposited us in the center of the city, and we reconnoitered our route to our digs. Shouldering our rucksacks, we set out on our walk, climbing under a bright sky and hot afternoon sun. We walked, we climbed, we walked and climbed, until we were running with sweat. This is September, the shoulder season, when many of the tourist have departed. Yet it is still 32 Grad, or about 90 Fahrenheit. I cannot imagine why anyone would want to go to a Greek city in July or August, when the heat soars higher, and crowds of tourists are melting everywhere. Three-quarters of an hour of steep climbing brought us to Neapoli, a vibrant neighborhood far above the city where a pair of wandering travelers attract studied glances.

Vibrant Café Nightlife

The streets were quiet under the hot afternoon sun. The smart Greek folks were sitting in the shade of the many small cafés, drinking thick coffee. The soft click of worry beads could be heard at the tables occupied by groups of older men. If there was an Olympic event for best café sitters, I think it would be tough competition between the old guys from Italy, Turkey, and Greece. No self-respecting Greek business is complete without two or three men hanging out in front of the door. They sit at a rickety table in the shade, click their worry beads, and watch the world go by. A simple "YAH-soos" as we pass produces smiles and nods all around.

Climbing a last hill up a small street, we found our digs and, after a bit of calling and searching, we found our host. Thessaloniki is proud of the hotels down on the promenade, the narrow flat part of the city. A traveler can expect to pay 100 Euros a night for a room. Up here, in the hills above the city, we found a spacious apartment for 50 Euros. That is the price of sweaty walk. A cool shower amended everything, followed by a well-earned cigar on the shady balcony. Refreshed and hungry, we were ready to sample what the evening had to offer.

When the sun goes down the streets come alive. A cool breeze off the Aegean Sea brings folks thronging to the cafés and eateries. It seems that no one wants to sit at home in a stuffy apartment when they can be sitting at a café or bar table. We tucked into a Gyros (pronounced "Gee-Ros") joint for some cheap eats. Dinner and drinks set us back seven Euro. Then it was off to a lovely sidewalk café for coffee; a long, slow, leisurely affair. It was street theater on a warm evening, and we the only foreigners in sight.

Street Art

Morning came hot and bright. One of my greatest joys in life is a walkabout in a new city. Thessaloniki is a great walking town, as long as one doesn't mind steep hills and hot weather. The hillsides above the narrow strip of the center are a tangle of crooked streets and lanes, each one climbing or falling as the cityscape dictates. We made out way down to the train station, inquired about trains for the next day, then set out across the long southeast strip of the main city. The promenade runs from the busy port at the northwest end of town out past the iconic White Tower at the southeastern end. One can walk along the water for a good bit more than two miles. During the heat of the day, there are a smattering of tourists, a few fishermen, and not much more.

Turn left, away from the water, you will find yourself amongst the storefronts and cafés that crowd the tight grid of streets. At intervals, there are several wide boulevards that lead away from the water and into the city itself. Some of these are lined with a mix of modern and period hotels. Others are the broad remnants of the imperial roads, leading to Byzantium ruins. Scattered amongst the grid of streets are squares with the squat stone rotundas of orthodox churches, some of which were transformed to mosques, and back again, as the empires changed. 

Add frequent breaks for thick, sludgy Greek coffee, more pauses for fresh Greek salads, and the heat of the day becomes a very bearable presence. There are churches to explore, ruins to inspect, and plenty of museums for the culturally inclined.

One of many churches

One excellent way to cool off and soak up a bit of art and culture is a detour into one of the many Orthodox churches. The icons are worth the time spent, not to mention the shady coolness inside the stone sanctuaries. It is a good idea to be mindful that the churches are places of worship and the Orthodox folks are conservative. Tank tops and shorts are frowned upon.

The iconic White Tower

The iconic White Tower rises where the seaside promenade doglegs to the south. The Ottomans built the existing tower upon the foundation of an even more ancient Byzantine fortification. During the Ottoman rule, the place served as protection for the harbor, as well as a prison and a place of execution for the unfortunates who ran afoul of the Sultan. Today, the tower serves as a nexus on the promenade. It is a busy evening gathering place to enjoy the evening breeze off the bay, let the children run wild, and just generally hang out.

Neighborhood Cafés

A hard climb above  the narrow strip along the sea will bring one to the remains of the city walls. There are some great little neighborhoods tucked above and below the walls, clinging to the steep hillsides. We discovered one such enclave on our way back to the apartment. The cool of the evening found us walking back down a section of the hill for our evening meal. It proved to be well worth the hike.

Splendid Eats

Walking and climbing the city under the hot sun left us with some serious appetites. Our hosts did their best to satisfy. We indulged in the full Greek meal of starters, Greek salad, and main dishes. we dug into creamy, garlicky tzatziki, chewy bread, stuffed eggplant, grilled octopus, and roast lamb. All the while the local cats vied for tidbits. To dine out in Greece is to get used to street cats. Small sweets are almost always included at the end of the meal. Our total bill for this huge feast was 27 Euro.

Graffito Train to the West

The next day we enjoyed a leisurely morning of coffee and watching the world. Eventually, it was time to move on. We sweated our way, downhill this time, to the train station. Our next destination was southwest, along the coast, to the fabled slopes of Mount Olympus. I was glad that we would be returning to Thessaloniki for another night before our return flight. This was a great city with which to begin our travels in Northwestern Greece.