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.