Panteleimon (the Russian monastery)
our own. We soon retired to our room, fairly certain we would
not be roused for the early morning service at four AM.
The next morning we were up for the end of the morning service, and partook in a light breakfast. After the difficulty
of the previous day’s hike, Evan and I agreed it would be wiser
to find a ferry or bus to the next monastery, rather than wa lking
the twenty-seven kilometer path to Megistis Lavra. None of the
monks we asked knew about ferry times or destinations, so we
followed a group of pilgrims down to the shore and settled in to
wait. The main ferry arrived after a couple of hours to take us
back to Dafni, and from there took a bus to the capital, in reality
simply a collection of houses and shops, from whence we caught
a bus to Megistis Lavra.
At Megistis Lavra we were given the traditional welcome of raki, Turkish delight, water, and coffee, which had been
skipped at Dionysiou. We were also given a full schedule, and
various rules about what to do during the service and meals.
Evan and I both felt more relaxed when we learned these, since
we knew what we were allowed and not allowed to do, unlike at
Dionysiou, where we hadn’t been told much at all. We explored
the grounds, full of interesting relics from older monastery structures, and the impressive watch-tower by the monastery’s port.
During the afternoon service we stayed in the back of the church,
while the monks chanted, swung incense, and gave communion
to the Orthodox pilgrims. After the service everyone followed
the monks to the refectory. The elaborately decorated hall invited immediate Harry Potter comparisons,
with its large tables and long high-ceilinged
wings. All communal meals on Athos take
place in silence, save for one monk at the
front of the room reading aloud from a holy
book. The meals were simple but welcome
after a long day of traveling. After about
twenty minutes, a bell was rung, everyone
put down their forks, and a final blessing
was said. Then everyone stood up, allowed
the monks to exit first, and then followed
them to the church for evening services.
The next day we were off to our
last monastery, Karakalou. We started out
early, but only had a seventeen-kilometer
hike along a gravel road to travel, so we
were able to take a more scenic route higher in elevation away from the coast. The
highest peak of the peninsula
loomed above us at all times,
and occasionally we were able
to see the island of Thassos
through the fog to the east.
The hike was pleasant and a
relatively brief six hours. When
we arrived at Karakalou, the
gate-keeper asked to see our
entry permits and made sure
we had made a reservation beforehand, something that hadn’t
happened at the other monasteries. The host monk greeted us
with raki and Turkish delight,
and then asked where we were
headed tomorrow. Back to Dafni, we said. “Ah, you are going
out. Then I should call a taxi for
you in the morning. Is it ok?” We looked at each other—we
had planned on waking up early to walk to Dafni, but since the
host monk was kind enough to arrange transportation for us, we
gladly accepted.
At the evening service a monk named Father Forerunner
sought us out. He was very kind and made sure we knew what
to do for the evening meal, breakfast, and our transportation the
next day. We retired early to bed, and the next day were put on
a van with the other pilgrims heading for Karyes. We had some
time to walk around and buy some souvenirs, and then caught
the bus to Dafni for our final ferry ride back. We reflected on the
strange characters we had met over the four days—the pilgrim
who tried to explain entirely in Greek that Macedonia was actually part of Greece and not a separate country; the Serbians who
claimed that, just like in My Big Fat Greek Wedding, Greeks really do use Windex for everything; and the French pilgrim who
was traveling to Jerusalem from France exclusively by foot.
Despite the serenity, the stunning scenery, and simply the feeling of being in a truly unique place, by the time of our departure
Evan and I agreed that we were ready to return to the world of
both genders. As our ferry neared the dock in Ourianopolis we
were quickly greeted by all the things we’d left behind—modern
secular buildings, women and young children, the noise of cars
and loud music from cafes. For now, I’ve satisfied my curiosity
to see a bit of monastic life, but I know where I can return should
I ever desire to escape from modern life for a little while.
Karakalou monastery
fall 2009 - 13