Arrival on Mount Athos

As the tale of my pilgrimage has ended for the time being, I am so pleased to contribute some writings from my husband, Christopher, and his experience of the Holy Mountain.

***

Dawn had not showed herself when we got the taxi. By the time we were dropped off at the bus station, the east was discernable.

The bus traveled its roads and off-roads through my sleep and half-sleep. We were climbing a mountainous ridge and came down into an idyllic village, narrow streets and houses of old stone. The sun came up in an orange blanket of sleeping dust. I dreamed. At a sharp turn I awoke and saw the sea. Sitting up, I saw the sea on both sides of the narrow ridge we were descending.

Ahead in the hazy horizon, an unmistakable mountain mass rose to a sharp and, from this angle, slightly leaning, peak.

The Holy Mountain.

Christopher