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.