The next morning as everone slept, exhausted from our vigil on the road, I got up and headed down the street to St. Demetrios church. Too late for taking communion, but the huge church was beautiful, full of faithful, fully decorated with icons. I prayed a few moments, lit a candle, and stood quietly looking at the icons. There was St. Emilia! The first time I've ever seen her in a church.
I went back home, hoping the kids were up and could come take communion. Nope, both still sleeping. But Grandma was up and I told her I'd go to the other church then come back. I went down the street the opposite way and came to Agios Nikolaos. This was equally large and majestic, obviously a relatively new church, and also fully decorated with even better icons. This was a real master iconographer. Which church should I bring the kids back to? Grandma was already letting me know she didn't want another night like that and we should just count on getting a hotel early in the day. I wanted to keep room for finding a monastery if we possibly could, and thought I would ask a priest. But which church should we go to?
Of course, we went back to St. Demetrius because of the St. Emilia icon, which Emma had to see. Although I felt wrong doing it, in a way, I snuck the kids in the side chapel behind several Greek mamas bringing their children late -- very late-- like, Liturgy is completely over late -- to have communion. The priest didn't bat an eye.
We went up to get a blessing from the main priest, and when I asked if he spoke English, he said that he lived in Ohio! Fr. Ioannikios ended up taking us downstairs to his office, filling us with cupcakes, and calling a monastery in Lavrio (outside Athens about 45 minutes) and securing a blessing from the Gerondissa for us to stay there for 2 nights. Thank God!
I will have to write later about our experience there, but it was all I had hoped for. We have spent last night (Tuesday) in Athens with Maria and Nikos and will be here again tonight. Our time with them has been wonderful. We fly home tomorrow morning. I will have to tell the final tales either en route or after we are home.
Macrina signing off in a very warm Athens at 4:30PM. I've spent all the money I had on icon books and pigments and am a very happy clam!! I think Grandma will be most relived to get back on US soil, but we will all be happy to be home again, even though Emma and I would stay another month if we could!
Wednesday, July 16, 2008
Crumbs from the Table
This reference to the story in the Gospels where the woman asks for "crumbs" from the master's table seems appropriate for this leg of our journey. We stopped along our 4 hour drive to call both the monastery Taxiarhados in Volos and also Demetrios Karellas, to see if he had any other suggestions for us, to no avail. Neither answered the phone all day.
Thus, we found ourselves driving into Volos and then through Volos in search of the monastery at the height of the afternoon. It is on the water and there are some pretty spots, but the main city seemed congested with tall, ugly buildings that block out the light. Passing through to drive south along a penninsula was much prettier with sleepy seaside towns. Demetrios had suggested this monastery when I told him I hoped very much for an experience in a monastery where there was a family-type atmosphere (not a big pilgrimage location with lots of people streaming through). I wanted to finish our trip in Greece similarly to how we had begun it in Zakynthos: with some quiet days among the nuns. He told me this particular monastery, named for the Archangels, was pretty large, with wonderful singing and some English-speaking nuns.
We had no idea where it was, and were still unable to reach them by phone. We saw signs for an information center and followed it out of town, only to find it closed for the day. Asking locals, we were pointed in a particular direction up a hill. As we came out from some trees, Grandma and I noticed a huge domed structure gleaming in the sun way, way up on the peak of an extrememly high mountain above us. She half-joked that perhaps that was it. I secretly thought to myself: "Surely not!! Not way up there!"
However, as we began to climb the mountain, it became evident that yes, indeed, this probably WAS what we were looking for. We were climbing Mt. Pelion, the place in mythology where Jason of Jason and the Argonauts was educated by a centaur, taught to be a noble hero, fed on the honey of the gods.
I have a usually-latent fear of heights. It hasn't bothered me too much on this trip, despite the extreme places we have travelled. Riding in a car is much worse for me, and I've driven almost all the time. On this trip, however, there was a point at which I looked over the edge to the seashore way down below, and I felt that certain panic begin to rise in my stomach. In a flash, I could see myself becoming paralyzed and convinced that if I tried to move the car at all we would topple over the side, free as it was of any kind of barrier almost all the way up. I forced myself not to look down, and to keep concentrating on the road ahead, which was wide enough and felt safe.... until we came to a fork and turned right. Just ahead, the road was basically gone. Dust on both sides with a little strip of asphalt down the middle and orange construction tape around us. They were obviously doing construction or roadwork. Was this road even safe to travel on? A policeman passed us going down the mountain, and we figured he would have turned us back if it wasn't passable. Others came down, too, so we forged on up.
I thought about how my friend Nikos would be laughing his head off to know I was driving 40kmph almost the entire way up, and even slower on curves. But it helped me keep my head. Up and up we went, to an incredible height. The car was taking it well. We finally reached a driveway up to the monastery.
Reaching the gate, it was shut fast and locked. I looked at the clock. 4PM. The wrong time to arrive at a monastery in Greece, with the afternoon "quiet time" very common. But it was Saturday and I thought for sure they must have Vespers that people can attend. I parked in the shade and tried to read the sign. Not much luck, but it might say that it is closed from 2 - 5. Emma couldn't believe we were going to sit there on the top of the mountain for an hour waiting for them to maybe open the gate. I couldn't believe she wanted to drive all the way back down the mountain without waiting to see the monastery.
So, wait we did. She painted her toenails. Grandma wrote in her journal, I drew, Basil played with a truck. After about half an hour a little man came out and did confirm that they were sleeping and would be up at 5PM. He also turned on the fountain and had us fill up our water bottles. It was cool and delicious water.
The nun did come with a smile, immediately enveloping Emilia in a hug and kiss. She brought us in and showed us the old church in the middle of the monastic enclosure. It was quiet and cool, with shimmering gold and icons shining like jewels. We venerated the icons and then she brought us into a reception room where she gave us some candies, cookies, and cold water. I asked about staying the night, but she said unfortunatley it was a big feast day for them and they would be full, but she assured me they could write down some names for hotels in the 2 neighboring towns.
We had about an hour to wait until Vespers. Some of the sisters talked with us a little, but we only saw 2 or 3. We explored around the outside of the huge new church that apparently has recently been finished. The views from up there were stupendous, and we were content to stand and look for a long time. One thinks of the Archangels being the keepers of the heights, and in that way this seemed a very appropriate place to be dedicated to them. I remembered visiting the Tor in Glastonbury, a tower at the top of a huge, conical hill also dedicated to St. Michael.
As Esperinos began, we moved into the church. Being new, it was completely white, with no frescoes at all. The iconostas in front was simple, carved wood, holding fine icons. There were also a few on the large posts, but the vast white space stretched up and out all around us. It was like standing inside a cloud. To me, it was very striking, and I thought of the purity of our baptismal garment, and the purity of prayer.
As the Hours finished and Vespers began, the nuns' voices rose in prayer. Massive bells pealed out, not tolling, but actually ringing a melodious call to the sisters and the villages around: "Come! Come to worship! The time is at hand!" The rich tones sounded cavernous, ringing with rhythm and melody through the church, spilling down the mountainside. I daresay they could hear it in the far villages below along the seaside.
Their chant was pure, like the white walls, and very strong. It was traditional Byzantine chant with an ison, which reminded me of Ormylia, the women's monastery dependent on Stavronikita (on Mt. Athos) which is known for it's Byzantine chant, where the women are strong and deep in their chanting and prayer. As the melody rose, black robes began to swish in from behind me. Nuns came from all sides, purposefully striding forward to join the chorus of voices.
Two choirs: one on each side of the alter. During "Lord, I Have Cried" they alternated singing the verses. I have heard quite a bit of singing in Greece since we have been here. The nuns in Zakynthos all singing together in a sweet and homey way, the nuns of Dau Pendeli with their traditional Byzantine chant executed beautifully in their centuries-old church, the master psaltis in Athens with his grand voice projected throughout the huge church, the single man in Thessaloniki quietly chanting the Psalms. But here, in Moni Taxiarchadon, I was completely transported by the chanting. It was other-worldly, in the same way that pure white space was somewhere else -- somewhere farther than I have ever been before, somewhere farther than I can clearly see or comprehend. It flowed like thick, sweet honey, carrying us on its waves, speaking those ancient words of praise and thanksgiving, lauding the martyrs and saints for whose sake the world continues to revolve on its axis. I felt Paradise creep up around me.
I looked up at the round tiny windows in the dome. I looked at the bent heads with black folds cascading down. I looked at the hand holding the compeskini and telling the prayer again and again: "Lord, Jesus Christ, have mercy on me." I looked at the face of the Panaghia in front of me, draped in silver and gold, the gesture of tenderness telling in the shape and movement of her hand.
The Gerondas here, Fr. Antonios, I think, also had a tremendous voice. He was particularly deliberate in his chanting, and one could hear every single word, draw out and given its proper weight. When he called forth the Prokeimenon: "Sofia, Prokeimenos!" it was like a call to battle, the announcement of the great message. Time seemed to stand still for me, as it sometimes does in services. I felt I could stay there all night. And I could not wait for the chance to have Liturgy there the next day. I had been praying to the Archangels and the Panaghia all day to help us find this place, and where we should stay for the extra days in our trip. I felt so full and thankful.
Afterwards, the sister gave us a list of 4 hotels and phone numbers in the nearer and bigger town of Agios Giorgios above the monastery a few kilometers, and another one in the smaller town of Agios Vlaseios down below. As local people gathered outside the church on a small plaza to hear the Gerondas speak, we left, thinking it better to find our hotel and settle in before dark. I asked a blessing from him before leaving to be able to take communion the next morning and assured the sister that we would be prepared and would come in good time for Liturgy.
We headed up to Agios Giorgios, up an even higher road into the familiar narrowed roads of a small mountain town. With steep ascents on either side, the buildings of the town here all clung to the mountainsides and steep stairs led directly from the road up into private homes and dwellings. But so many people!! Where did they all come from? And so much traffic coming and going! Winding our way carefully among the many parked cars, trying desperately to find any of the hotel signs, Grandma looked over and saw a wedding in process at the church down below. Ah, yes. That makes sense. Needless to say, our half-hour's search, including a few unfortunate rabbit trails, ended in disappointment. Absolutely no vacancies in that town that night.
So we drove down to the town below, where we figured that hotel would be happy to see guests, and far enough away from the wedding. I don't know why it was so hard for me to understand the word "No." But it took us about another half hour and the intervention of an English-speaking woman to assure me that there was absolutely no operational hotel or room for rent in that town, and that in fact, I was just calling on the phone the woman I'd just spoken to who had told me she didn't have a room for us. My lack of Greek was seriously apparent up here and we were having quite a difficult time communicating. They suggested the town at the foot of the hill.
Went down. All the way down. No can do. Not a hotel in sight. One would think a beachtown would have a strip of hotels. But the road along the beach was one way going the wrong way and we couldn't see how to get to it. The kids were now quite hungry, it being near to 9PM and dusky. The entire town, it seems, was up at the wedding way up on the hill. Not a single taverna open. We kept driving further and further away from that blessed place, thinking all along that something would pop up. Nope. Not a single thing.
Finally, we found ourselves all the way back into Volos. At least there were hotels. I stopped in 3 of them, none of which had a triple room. I finally decided on the 3rd one just to get 2 rooms if it was a decent price. A halfway decent price it was: 60E. A halfway decent hotel, it was not. The couch I would have to share with Basil was actually tilted backwards. And the decor and everything about it could have been a perfect prop for a B-grade movie on kitsch, or maybe even a horror show from the late 50s.
We pressed on; not as easy as it sounds. Actually, pressed around and around, trying to find the right one-way street to get to a particular hotel sign. We found another strip of hotels and pulled over in a little alley, blocking traffic. I ran in. Told the guy I'd take 2 rooms then asked where I could park the car. He told me to drive around a few streets. Well, that was about it. I began to feel like I desperately needed to get out of that town with all the traffic, darkness, and inhospitable feeling. We were all famished by now. I went in and told the guy our plight, said I just didn't feel like I had the strength to go find a parking place. He told me to go back out on the highway and "very close -- 6 or 7 kilometers" - does that sound familiar? "you will find a nice beach town, easy to get to, nice small hotels." Sounded perfect. We hit the highway.
Grandma was extremely patient, as were the kids. It was now after 10PM. We had no place to stay. We had not eaten since about 2PM, and that was a picnic kind of meal of leftovers. We drove and drove and drove, pulling off now and then, hopeful of finding a town not too far off the highway. After I'd say probably 25 kilometers, we came to a town called Almieros (Almyra) that looked sizable on the map. We followed signs directly to "St. Thomas Hotel" and pulled in.
It was an old hotel, made with cheap materials, rather depressed. The town seemed very small in the dark, we were driving only down small residential roads. But there was a fast-food grill right across the street and he had two rooms across from one another that would work fine. How much? He took me to the desk and showed me his price-list, which said 60E. He crossed this out and wrote with his finger 40E. I sighed a huge sigh of relief, gushed my pleasure and thanks, and unloaded everyone.
I went to pay him and gave him a 50. He put out his hand for more, saying it was 40E for EACH ROOM!! My room had tape over an outlet, no phone, smoke-infested, cheap everything 30 years old, and it was a SINGLE, technically. In the middle of nowhere, 40E!! I was so mad I wanted to cuss him out. I gave him the 100E and went outside, not knowing what to do with myself. Had it been a pleasant place by the sea, I wouldn't have cared so much, but feeling that we were being cheated and being SO very disappointed that we would not be able to return to Taxiarhadon, I was just beside myself for the first time on this trip, really.
I asked Grandma to take the kids across for some dinner and I took a little drive to cool down. I did a little and came back for a few bites of hamburger and fries. Grandma told me to let it go, and I knew she was right.
I laid in bed thinking about all of it. What a bad day. But what a blessed time at the monastery. Why had the Theotokos not answered my prayers and led us to the right place? The hills around Volos have many monasteries. Why didn't she lead us to one where we could stay? Why had the beautiful hope of having Liturgy at Taxiarhadon been taken away from us? Why couldn't I be there?
I went to sleep praying, still clinging to the belief that this all happens for a purpose, that God's will unfolds in our lives in ways we cannot understand sometimes. I asked again that we would be led the next day to the right place for us, to a place where Emma could have the experience of the monastery, where we could all have some peace at the end of our journey. And in the end, I thought about the woman who spoke to Jesus. To our eyes, she seemed degraded, allowed only to gather the words that dropped to her, like a dog eating crumbs fallen from the table. But like her, even though it had been so difficult, I felt that the 2 hours we had at Taxiarhon was enough to fill me for a long, long time.
Thus, we found ourselves driving into Volos and then through Volos in search of the monastery at the height of the afternoon. It is on the water and there are some pretty spots, but the main city seemed congested with tall, ugly buildings that block out the light. Passing through to drive south along a penninsula was much prettier with sleepy seaside towns. Demetrios had suggested this monastery when I told him I hoped very much for an experience in a monastery where there was a family-type atmosphere (not a big pilgrimage location with lots of people streaming through). I wanted to finish our trip in Greece similarly to how we had begun it in Zakynthos: with some quiet days among the nuns. He told me this particular monastery, named for the Archangels, was pretty large, with wonderful singing and some English-speaking nuns.
We had no idea where it was, and were still unable to reach them by phone. We saw signs for an information center and followed it out of town, only to find it closed for the day. Asking locals, we were pointed in a particular direction up a hill. As we came out from some trees, Grandma and I noticed a huge domed structure gleaming in the sun way, way up on the peak of an extrememly high mountain above us. She half-joked that perhaps that was it. I secretly thought to myself: "Surely not!! Not way up there!"
However, as we began to climb the mountain, it became evident that yes, indeed, this probably WAS what we were looking for. We were climbing Mt. Pelion, the place in mythology where Jason of Jason and the Argonauts was educated by a centaur, taught to be a noble hero, fed on the honey of the gods.
I have a usually-latent fear of heights. It hasn't bothered me too much on this trip, despite the extreme places we have travelled. Riding in a car is much worse for me, and I've driven almost all the time. On this trip, however, there was a point at which I looked over the edge to the seashore way down below, and I felt that certain panic begin to rise in my stomach. In a flash, I could see myself becoming paralyzed and convinced that if I tried to move the car at all we would topple over the side, free as it was of any kind of barrier almost all the way up. I forced myself not to look down, and to keep concentrating on the road ahead, which was wide enough and felt safe.... until we came to a fork and turned right. Just ahead, the road was basically gone. Dust on both sides with a little strip of asphalt down the middle and orange construction tape around us. They were obviously doing construction or roadwork. Was this road even safe to travel on? A policeman passed us going down the mountain, and we figured he would have turned us back if it wasn't passable. Others came down, too, so we forged on up.
I thought about how my friend Nikos would be laughing his head off to know I was driving 40kmph almost the entire way up, and even slower on curves. But it helped me keep my head. Up and up we went, to an incredible height. The car was taking it well. We finally reached a driveway up to the monastery.
Reaching the gate, it was shut fast and locked. I looked at the clock. 4PM. The wrong time to arrive at a monastery in Greece, with the afternoon "quiet time" very common. But it was Saturday and I thought for sure they must have Vespers that people can attend. I parked in the shade and tried to read the sign. Not much luck, but it might say that it is closed from 2 - 5. Emma couldn't believe we were going to sit there on the top of the mountain for an hour waiting for them to maybe open the gate. I couldn't believe she wanted to drive all the way back down the mountain without waiting to see the monastery.
So, wait we did. She painted her toenails. Grandma wrote in her journal, I drew, Basil played with a truck. After about half an hour a little man came out and did confirm that they were sleeping and would be up at 5PM. He also turned on the fountain and had us fill up our water bottles. It was cool and delicious water.
The nun did come with a smile, immediately enveloping Emilia in a hug and kiss. She brought us in and showed us the old church in the middle of the monastic enclosure. It was quiet and cool, with shimmering gold and icons shining like jewels. We venerated the icons and then she brought us into a reception room where she gave us some candies, cookies, and cold water. I asked about staying the night, but she said unfortunatley it was a big feast day for them and they would be full, but she assured me they could write down some names for hotels in the 2 neighboring towns.
We had about an hour to wait until Vespers. Some of the sisters talked with us a little, but we only saw 2 or 3. We explored around the outside of the huge new church that apparently has recently been finished. The views from up there were stupendous, and we were content to stand and look for a long time. One thinks of the Archangels being the keepers of the heights, and in that way this seemed a very appropriate place to be dedicated to them. I remembered visiting the Tor in Glastonbury, a tower at the top of a huge, conical hill also dedicated to St. Michael.
As Esperinos began, we moved into the church. Being new, it was completely white, with no frescoes at all. The iconostas in front was simple, carved wood, holding fine icons. There were also a few on the large posts, but the vast white space stretched up and out all around us. It was like standing inside a cloud. To me, it was very striking, and I thought of the purity of our baptismal garment, and the purity of prayer.
As the Hours finished and Vespers began, the nuns' voices rose in prayer. Massive bells pealed out, not tolling, but actually ringing a melodious call to the sisters and the villages around: "Come! Come to worship! The time is at hand!" The rich tones sounded cavernous, ringing with rhythm and melody through the church, spilling down the mountainside. I daresay they could hear it in the far villages below along the seaside.
Their chant was pure, like the white walls, and very strong. It was traditional Byzantine chant with an ison, which reminded me of Ormylia, the women's monastery dependent on Stavronikita (on Mt. Athos) which is known for it's Byzantine chant, where the women are strong and deep in their chanting and prayer. As the melody rose, black robes began to swish in from behind me. Nuns came from all sides, purposefully striding forward to join the chorus of voices.
Two choirs: one on each side of the alter. During "Lord, I Have Cried" they alternated singing the verses. I have heard quite a bit of singing in Greece since we have been here. The nuns in Zakynthos all singing together in a sweet and homey way, the nuns of Dau Pendeli with their traditional Byzantine chant executed beautifully in their centuries-old church, the master psaltis in Athens with his grand voice projected throughout the huge church, the single man in Thessaloniki quietly chanting the Psalms. But here, in Moni Taxiarchadon, I was completely transported by the chanting. It was other-worldly, in the same way that pure white space was somewhere else -- somewhere farther than I have ever been before, somewhere farther than I can clearly see or comprehend. It flowed like thick, sweet honey, carrying us on its waves, speaking those ancient words of praise and thanksgiving, lauding the martyrs and saints for whose sake the world continues to revolve on its axis. I felt Paradise creep up around me.
I looked up at the round tiny windows in the dome. I looked at the bent heads with black folds cascading down. I looked at the hand holding the compeskini and telling the prayer again and again: "Lord, Jesus Christ, have mercy on me." I looked at the face of the Panaghia in front of me, draped in silver and gold, the gesture of tenderness telling in the shape and movement of her hand.
The Gerondas here, Fr. Antonios, I think, also had a tremendous voice. He was particularly deliberate in his chanting, and one could hear every single word, draw out and given its proper weight. When he called forth the Prokeimenon: "Sofia, Prokeimenos!" it was like a call to battle, the announcement of the great message. Time seemed to stand still for me, as it sometimes does in services. I felt I could stay there all night. And I could not wait for the chance to have Liturgy there the next day. I had been praying to the Archangels and the Panaghia all day to help us find this place, and where we should stay for the extra days in our trip. I felt so full and thankful.
Afterwards, the sister gave us a list of 4 hotels and phone numbers in the nearer and bigger town of Agios Giorgios above the monastery a few kilometers, and another one in the smaller town of Agios Vlaseios down below. As local people gathered outside the church on a small plaza to hear the Gerondas speak, we left, thinking it better to find our hotel and settle in before dark. I asked a blessing from him before leaving to be able to take communion the next morning and assured the sister that we would be prepared and would come in good time for Liturgy.
We headed up to Agios Giorgios, up an even higher road into the familiar narrowed roads of a small mountain town. With steep ascents on either side, the buildings of the town here all clung to the mountainsides and steep stairs led directly from the road up into private homes and dwellings. But so many people!! Where did they all come from? And so much traffic coming and going! Winding our way carefully among the many parked cars, trying desperately to find any of the hotel signs, Grandma looked over and saw a wedding in process at the church down below. Ah, yes. That makes sense. Needless to say, our half-hour's search, including a few unfortunate rabbit trails, ended in disappointment. Absolutely no vacancies in that town that night.
So we drove down to the town below, where we figured that hotel would be happy to see guests, and far enough away from the wedding. I don't know why it was so hard for me to understand the word "No." But it took us about another half hour and the intervention of an English-speaking woman to assure me that there was absolutely no operational hotel or room for rent in that town, and that in fact, I was just calling on the phone the woman I'd just spoken to who had told me she didn't have a room for us. My lack of Greek was seriously apparent up here and we were having quite a difficult time communicating. They suggested the town at the foot of the hill.
Went down. All the way down. No can do. Not a hotel in sight. One would think a beachtown would have a strip of hotels. But the road along the beach was one way going the wrong way and we couldn't see how to get to it. The kids were now quite hungry, it being near to 9PM and dusky. The entire town, it seems, was up at the wedding way up on the hill. Not a single taverna open. We kept driving further and further away from that blessed place, thinking all along that something would pop up. Nope. Not a single thing.
Finally, we found ourselves all the way back into Volos. At least there were hotels. I stopped in 3 of them, none of which had a triple room. I finally decided on the 3rd one just to get 2 rooms if it was a decent price. A halfway decent price it was: 60E. A halfway decent hotel, it was not. The couch I would have to share with Basil was actually tilted backwards. And the decor and everything about it could have been a perfect prop for a B-grade movie on kitsch, or maybe even a horror show from the late 50s.
We pressed on; not as easy as it sounds. Actually, pressed around and around, trying to find the right one-way street to get to a particular hotel sign. We found another strip of hotels and pulled over in a little alley, blocking traffic. I ran in. Told the guy I'd take 2 rooms then asked where I could park the car. He told me to drive around a few streets. Well, that was about it. I began to feel like I desperately needed to get out of that town with all the traffic, darkness, and inhospitable feeling. We were all famished by now. I went in and told the guy our plight, said I just didn't feel like I had the strength to go find a parking place. He told me to go back out on the highway and "very close -- 6 or 7 kilometers" - does that sound familiar? "you will find a nice beach town, easy to get to, nice small hotels." Sounded perfect. We hit the highway.
Grandma was extremely patient, as were the kids. It was now after 10PM. We had no place to stay. We had not eaten since about 2PM, and that was a picnic kind of meal of leftovers. We drove and drove and drove, pulling off now and then, hopeful of finding a town not too far off the highway. After I'd say probably 25 kilometers, we came to a town called Almieros (Almyra) that looked sizable on the map. We followed signs directly to "St. Thomas Hotel" and pulled in.
It was an old hotel, made with cheap materials, rather depressed. The town seemed very small in the dark, we were driving only down small residential roads. But there was a fast-food grill right across the street and he had two rooms across from one another that would work fine. How much? He took me to the desk and showed me his price-list, which said 60E. He crossed this out and wrote with his finger 40E. I sighed a huge sigh of relief, gushed my pleasure and thanks, and unloaded everyone.
I went to pay him and gave him a 50. He put out his hand for more, saying it was 40E for EACH ROOM!! My room had tape over an outlet, no phone, smoke-infested, cheap everything 30 years old, and it was a SINGLE, technically. In the middle of nowhere, 40E!! I was so mad I wanted to cuss him out. I gave him the 100E and went outside, not knowing what to do with myself. Had it been a pleasant place by the sea, I wouldn't have cared so much, but feeling that we were being cheated and being SO very disappointed that we would not be able to return to Taxiarhadon, I was just beside myself for the first time on this trip, really.
I asked Grandma to take the kids across for some dinner and I took a little drive to cool down. I did a little and came back for a few bites of hamburger and fries. Grandma told me to let it go, and I knew she was right.
I laid in bed thinking about all of it. What a bad day. But what a blessed time at the monastery. Why had the Theotokos not answered my prayers and led us to the right place? The hills around Volos have many monasteries. Why didn't she lead us to one where we could stay? Why had the beautiful hope of having Liturgy at Taxiarhadon been taken away from us? Why couldn't I be there?
I went to sleep praying, still clinging to the belief that this all happens for a purpose, that God's will unfolds in our lives in ways we cannot understand sometimes. I asked again that we would be led the next day to the right place for us, to a place where Emma could have the experience of the monastery, where we could all have some peace at the end of our journey. And in the end, I thought about the woman who spoke to Jesus. To our eyes, she seemed degraded, allowed only to gather the words that dropped to her, like a dog eating crumbs fallen from the table. But like her, even though it had been so difficult, I felt that the 2 hours we had at Taxiarhon was enough to fill me for a long, long time.
Greek Driving
The drive out of Thessaloniki was pretty tedious. Although we had one less body, leaving Christopher off and allowing Grandma to get up in the front and the kids to have some stretching room in the back, it's almost as if the extra freedom goes to Basil's head. He was like a little monster through part of the drive, aggravating his sister, generally misbehaving and causing everyone grief.
We took the National Road which is beautiful to drive. It is a great road, easy, well-laid, quite straight. Driving partially along the coastline, we began to climb a little and went through another series of tunnels, but nothing like the huge series we came down from Meteora through. Still, seeing these wide, well-lighted tunnels through the mountainside is quite impressive. Highway driving is also much easier than city driving, of course. Besides not having all the congestion, the only thing that breaks your motion is the occasional toll booth.
In the cities, what I found challenging (besides the other drivers!) was the lack of consistency with road signs. When a stoplight or stop sign popped up, it always surprised me, unless it was a very major thoroughfare. Most of the streets were small and it seemed pretty random to me when they had a stop posted.
When there is a stoplight, you also have to stop well back from what we are used to in the States. There's no line on the road. But even after almost 2 weeks of driving, I still pull up too far at lights, the unfortunate consequence being that you cannot see the light anymore!! They are all on the street, not overhead, and if you pull up to what I think of as the beginning of the intersection, it's too far. Emma has gotten good at looking for the light change, as she's usually the one able to see it. The up side is that in Greece it only takes seconds for those behind you to lean on their horns and let you know the light has changed. So we've gotten by alright.
The conclusion I've come to about driving in Greece is that it's a whole different set of skills one must acquire. But if you do acquire them, it actually works pretty well. Poor Grandma has not as easily adapted to nor appreciated these "skills", and being in the front seat is perhaps an additional trial rather than a blessing for her. But I've rather come to like Greek driving.
Most everyone drives a stick shift here, which gives one more control, particularly over faster acceleration. This enhances the ability to dart around in between other cars, around corners, and to take advantage of the straight shot by accellerating very quickly. People here also drive very small cars. In fact, I've seen few cars in America this size. I remember the old Honda Rabbits, I think they were, but most of even our "compact" cars are much sturdier and larger than what most people drive here. This certainly does make it easier to squeeze down a narrow road between cars parked on both sides of the street (and sidewalks).
So driving in Greece is just much more interesting in the towns. You have to always be aware of people around you -- both other drivers, pedestrians, and the ubiquitous motorcyclists, that fly through the streets like little sparrows, darting back and forth, never stopping in one place or going in one direction very long. It's rather amazing to watch them at a stoplight on a busy road. With all the cars stopped, the motorcycles all snake up around them until you have this glut of shiny chrome and bare legs all around you, kind of like silt piling up at a river's delta. When the light changes, they are all off, zipping forward and fanning out into the empty concrete ahead.
The one thing I would probably change or improve, however, is the street signs. We have probably spent hours on our trip, if you tally it all up, trying to figure out where we are. A large part of this is the lack of street signs. Even in big towns like Athens and Thessaloniki, you don't have signs posted on street corners (or, very rarely). Rather, you have to look at the corners of the corner buildings to see the street name, and it is small white letters on a blue background in Greek and sometimes the English version is in gold (harder to see!). It's impossible for me to read from the road as we're passing by. My only hope is to have a stoplight where I have the leisure to sound out the little Greek letters to see where we are. And the larger roads sometimes have signage for the area you are going to, but not the name of the street, when a larger street splits in different directions. This has gotten us going wrong many times.
Oh, and lines on the road? I've learned that they are simply mere suggestions, not rules, as they are in America. This drives Grandma crazy, as does people opening car doors into traffic. But the thing I've come to appreciate, is that all the drivers know that the lines are not much more than suggestions, and they fully appreciate the actuality of a body in motion. In other words, if you go over the line separating you from oncoming traffic because someone has opened his door or parked his car on your side of the road, the oncoming driver will notice this and swerve over. It may not be pretty, but it works. And I think it's kind of fun. But I don't think Grandma will ever be a believer.
We took the National Road which is beautiful to drive. It is a great road, easy, well-laid, quite straight. Driving partially along the coastline, we began to climb a little and went through another series of tunnels, but nothing like the huge series we came down from Meteora through. Still, seeing these wide, well-lighted tunnels through the mountainside is quite impressive. Highway driving is also much easier than city driving, of course. Besides not having all the congestion, the only thing that breaks your motion is the occasional toll booth.
In the cities, what I found challenging (besides the other drivers!) was the lack of consistency with road signs. When a stoplight or stop sign popped up, it always surprised me, unless it was a very major thoroughfare. Most of the streets were small and it seemed pretty random to me when they had a stop posted.
When there is a stoplight, you also have to stop well back from what we are used to in the States. There's no line on the road. But even after almost 2 weeks of driving, I still pull up too far at lights, the unfortunate consequence being that you cannot see the light anymore!! They are all on the street, not overhead, and if you pull up to what I think of as the beginning of the intersection, it's too far. Emma has gotten good at looking for the light change, as she's usually the one able to see it. The up side is that in Greece it only takes seconds for those behind you to lean on their horns and let you know the light has changed. So we've gotten by alright.
The conclusion I've come to about driving in Greece is that it's a whole different set of skills one must acquire. But if you do acquire them, it actually works pretty well. Poor Grandma has not as easily adapted to nor appreciated these "skills", and being in the front seat is perhaps an additional trial rather than a blessing for her. But I've rather come to like Greek driving.
Most everyone drives a stick shift here, which gives one more control, particularly over faster acceleration. This enhances the ability to dart around in between other cars, around corners, and to take advantage of the straight shot by accellerating very quickly. People here also drive very small cars. In fact, I've seen few cars in America this size. I remember the old Honda Rabbits, I think they were, but most of even our "compact" cars are much sturdier and larger than what most people drive here. This certainly does make it easier to squeeze down a narrow road between cars parked on both sides of the street (and sidewalks).
So driving in Greece is just much more interesting in the towns. You have to always be aware of people around you -- both other drivers, pedestrians, and the ubiquitous motorcyclists, that fly through the streets like little sparrows, darting back and forth, never stopping in one place or going in one direction very long. It's rather amazing to watch them at a stoplight on a busy road. With all the cars stopped, the motorcycles all snake up around them until you have this glut of shiny chrome and bare legs all around you, kind of like silt piling up at a river's delta. When the light changes, they are all off, zipping forward and fanning out into the empty concrete ahead.
The one thing I would probably change or improve, however, is the street signs. We have probably spent hours on our trip, if you tally it all up, trying to figure out where we are. A large part of this is the lack of street signs. Even in big towns like Athens and Thessaloniki, you don't have signs posted on street corners (or, very rarely). Rather, you have to look at the corners of the corner buildings to see the street name, and it is small white letters on a blue background in Greek and sometimes the English version is in gold (harder to see!). It's impossible for me to read from the road as we're passing by. My only hope is to have a stoplight where I have the leisure to sound out the little Greek letters to see where we are. And the larger roads sometimes have signage for the area you are going to, but not the name of the street, when a larger street splits in different directions. This has gotten us going wrong many times.
Oh, and lines on the road? I've learned that they are simply mere suggestions, not rules, as they are in America. This drives Grandma crazy, as does people opening car doors into traffic. But the thing I've come to appreciate, is that all the drivers know that the lines are not much more than suggestions, and they fully appreciate the actuality of a body in motion. In other words, if you go over the line separating you from oncoming traffic because someone has opened his door or parked his car on your side of the road, the oncoming driver will notice this and swerve over. It may not be pretty, but it works. And I think it's kind of fun. But I don't think Grandma will ever be a believer.
Alms
Throughout our travels we have met impoverished people in need of help, begging alms. Having read on travellers' websites about problems with aggression from beggars and also scams where people who really are able to work try to beg instead, we were initially wary. We set aside small amounts to hand out as we felt so moved in Italy, but passed many by as well.
In Greece, perhaps time has softened us a bit and also the fact that people gather at the church steps to ask for help makes it seem less "risky" to give. I noticed that Fr. Nicholas and Gabriel had developed the same habit we have: carrying some change easily accessible and dropping it in most cups we pass by, even just a little bit. The beggars I have seen here have had obvious physical impairments that could not be "faked".
In downtown Thessaloniki, I saw a man on the street with legs completely shrivelled below the knee, so that they were useless. Although I passed him by, I looked him in the eye. Later in the day, I passed again and dropped a little change in. And for a third time, just after we had met up with Fr. Nicholas and Gabriel, I passed him a third time. This time Fr. Nicholas, in front of me, dropped some change in his cup. As I passed by, he spoke to me in English asking "Who are you? Where are you from?"
I stopped and began to talk with him. His name is Nebojsa, and I believe later Fr. Nicholas learned he is Yugloslavian. We talked with him for quite some time, learning that he has a dream of coming to the States for an operation for his legs, but has no idea how he could raise the money to pay for it. He says he feels for his three children he should try to do this if there is any way.
Christopher and I had just come from Vespers with Fr. Methodios at St. Gregory Palamas. He had given us the name of a Greek man in Seattle who is a doctor, and we thought that perhaps things could come together in a way for us to help this man. With Fr. Nicholas' blessing and some more visiting he did with Nebojsa the next day, we hope that somehow we might be able to help him. Having an actual name, face, and story to connect with was a wonderful thing, I think, for all of us. Greece has many refugees from impoverished countries all around it. One passes many, wishing to be able to help more. Perhaps God will give us a task for one man. We will all pray and see what happens.
After the men left Saturday morning for Mount Athos, I left Grandma and the kids for a short time and went up to get some more cash and bid St. Demetrios goodbye. I also had the important task of trying to call the monastery we hoped to stay at next. Since some of the group plans had changed, we were left with 3 nights and no plan. Fr. Nicholas had called his friend Demetrios Karellas the night before and he gave me many suggestions and 4 phone numbers for monasteries around Volos, which is about halfway between Thessaloniki and Athens.
Beginning to call first thing in the morning, I quickly found that 3 numbers were non-operational. The fourth number was for the monastery which was his first choice for us. I called and called many times that morning; it rang, but no one answered. Because in the monastery different hours for work and prayer take precedent over the telephone, I hoped perhaps I'd hit the right time eventually.
Meanwhile, we got the car packed up and headed out, searching for a particular bookstore where I could find some icon books. After parking, walking, asking directions, we finally found it, but alas, it was closed on Saturday. Too bad!
The last errand I had in town was to drop off a letter for Fr. Methodios regarding Nebosja. In trying to handle all the one-way streets and finally arrive at the church we'd been seeing from a block away for several minutes now, I must have run straight through a stop sign. I heard Grandma scream and saw 2 cars approaching us from the right, as we were in the middle of the intersection; they were going probably 30mph. We all slammed on our brakes, and I think there may have been 4-6 inches between our front right end and one of them. I looked up and St. Gregory Palamas church was right in front of us. Thank God and our guardian angels and St. Gregory for protecting us and averting what probably would have been a pretty nasty accident.
At long last, we were out of Thessaloniki and on our way to the next adventure....
In Greece, perhaps time has softened us a bit and also the fact that people gather at the church steps to ask for help makes it seem less "risky" to give. I noticed that Fr. Nicholas and Gabriel had developed the same habit we have: carrying some change easily accessible and dropping it in most cups we pass by, even just a little bit. The beggars I have seen here have had obvious physical impairments that could not be "faked".
In downtown Thessaloniki, I saw a man on the street with legs completely shrivelled below the knee, so that they were useless. Although I passed him by, I looked him in the eye. Later in the day, I passed again and dropped a little change in. And for a third time, just after we had met up with Fr. Nicholas and Gabriel, I passed him a third time. This time Fr. Nicholas, in front of me, dropped some change in his cup. As I passed by, he spoke to me in English asking "Who are you? Where are you from?"
I stopped and began to talk with him. His name is Nebojsa, and I believe later Fr. Nicholas learned he is Yugloslavian. We talked with him for quite some time, learning that he has a dream of coming to the States for an operation for his legs, but has no idea how he could raise the money to pay for it. He says he feels for his three children he should try to do this if there is any way.
Christopher and I had just come from Vespers with Fr. Methodios at St. Gregory Palamas. He had given us the name of a Greek man in Seattle who is a doctor, and we thought that perhaps things could come together in a way for us to help this man. With Fr. Nicholas' blessing and some more visiting he did with Nebojsa the next day, we hope that somehow we might be able to help him. Having an actual name, face, and story to connect with was a wonderful thing, I think, for all of us. Greece has many refugees from impoverished countries all around it. One passes many, wishing to be able to help more. Perhaps God will give us a task for one man. We will all pray and see what happens.
After the men left Saturday morning for Mount Athos, I left Grandma and the kids for a short time and went up to get some more cash and bid St. Demetrios goodbye. I also had the important task of trying to call the monastery we hoped to stay at next. Since some of the group plans had changed, we were left with 3 nights and no plan. Fr. Nicholas had called his friend Demetrios Karellas the night before and he gave me many suggestions and 4 phone numbers for monasteries around Volos, which is about halfway between Thessaloniki and Athens.
Beginning to call first thing in the morning, I quickly found that 3 numbers were non-operational. The fourth number was for the monastery which was his first choice for us. I called and called many times that morning; it rang, but no one answered. Because in the monastery different hours for work and prayer take precedent over the telephone, I hoped perhaps I'd hit the right time eventually.
Meanwhile, we got the car packed up and headed out, searching for a particular bookstore where I could find some icon books. After parking, walking, asking directions, we finally found it, but alas, it was closed on Saturday. Too bad!
The last errand I had in town was to drop off a letter for Fr. Methodios regarding Nebosja. In trying to handle all the one-way streets and finally arrive at the church we'd been seeing from a block away for several minutes now, I must have run straight through a stop sign. I heard Grandma scream and saw 2 cars approaching us from the right, as we were in the middle of the intersection; they were going probably 30mph. We all slammed on our brakes, and I think there may have been 4-6 inches between our front right end and one of them. I looked up and St. Gregory Palamas church was right in front of us. Thank God and our guardian angels and St. Gregory for protecting us and averting what probably would have been a pretty nasty accident.
At long last, we were out of Thessaloniki and on our way to the next adventure....
Friday, July 11, 2008
They are off to Mount Athos
It is just after 5AM here in Thessaloniki and I just saw Christopher, Fr. Nicholas, and Gabriel off in the taxi to meet Scott and Ethan at the bus station. They are now on their way to Mount Athos: tired, but excited. Fr. asked me to give his greetings to everyone, especially our family back home at St. Herman's. He was very glad to hear the report Stephen left us which I got late last night, that the church had not burned down and all was fine. He said he knew it would be, and to tell everyone that he will have us all in his prayers as they journey to that holy place.
Signing off and going back to bed...... it is still a bit warmish outside, but feels pretty good, Macrina
Signing off and going back to bed...... it is still a bit warmish outside, but feels pretty good, Macrina
Thessaloniki, Second Day
Today we all got up a little earlier with a plan. I was going to drive one group up to St. Nicholas Orphanos, a tiny chapel with encredible frescoes – some of the best and most completely intact in the world. Then I would go back to the hotel and “ferry up” the next group. It sound so easy on paper!!
Maps are great, but sometimes obsolete, especially when they do not indicate one-way streets. Thessaloniki is full of them. I remembered how difficult it was for me to find St. Nicholas on foot years ago, tucked way up in a residential district with scads of tiny twisting streets. With a car, you’re often limited by 50%. We found the exact road we needed, but it went the wrong way! It took us almost 45 minutes to get there with group #1.
Then going back to the hotel? Although it would have been probably a 7 minute straight shot drive, had the roads been amenable, it took me a good 30 minutes. I had to backtrack and go around blocks over and over to get going the right way, then had to circle many times before I could find a parking place. I finally did, though, unsure if the men would even still be there waiting, as I’d taken so long. They were. Happily checking up on email and making fun of the British Greek phrase book. It's pretty easy to make fun of these little "mistakes" in translations, and also to muse over what the phrase book people have chosen to include and to leave out!
We all thoroughly enjoyed St. Nicholas Orphanos, and took our time examining the exquisite frescoes everywhere. Even the kids, there for well over an hour, were well-occupied because there happened to be 4 turtles on the grounds there. After this, I ferried the men down nearby Aghias Sofias and turned them loose there. We followed soon after but finding a parking place was horrific. I got one pretty much right away, actually did the parallel parking quite well, and then a local guy pointed out that we were in a no-parking zone. (indicated by tiny little reflectors on the street!). He suggested we could probably get away with staying there, as the traffic police (what? there are traffic police in Greece? We had just been musing that we haven’t seen a single highway patrol for 3 weeks now.) had just come by. I asked him how much the ticket would be if we got one. He said they don’t give you a ticket, they just SNATCH YOUR LICENSE PLATE RIGHT OFF YOUR CAR!!! And he pointed to the one directly in front of us who had this happen 10 minutes ago. No more discussion. Christopher handed me the keys and I was out of there, leaving them to visit the church while I found other parking… which took well over 30 minutes!
Basil and I went to a bookstore, visited another church called “Panaghia on the Right”, and also the icon painters again. It was funny when I was asking around to find the church. I was asking for “Panaghia Thextero” instead of “Panaghia Thexia”. So I was asking for the church of Mother-of-God-I-don’t-Know instead of Mother of God on the Right (meaning the right side of the arch of Galerian).
We all went out for dinner again tonight down in an area kind of like the Plaka in Athens. Christopher, Basil, Grandma and I had been to Vespers at St. Demetrius. I feel like I could never spend enough time there with his relics, which are encased in a large silver box covered by plexiglass and still incredibly fragrant. Fr. Nicholas, Gabriel and Emma went by Hagia Sophia, an immense but mostly bare church sunk down in the pavement several feet. Unfortunately most of the mosaics were removed and destroyed during Turkish rule here. They went by to retrieve her backpack, which she left earlier in the day, then walked 2 blocks down to the Metropolis Church, where St. Gregory Palamas' relics are. They had Vespers there with Fr. Methodius, which we had done the previous night. All of them came to our meeting point glowing, having had a wonderful and intimate experience there, actively feeling the presence of the great saint who established our understanding of the heights that can be reached through contemplative prayer. It was our last time before the men head out at 4:45AM tomorrow for Mt. Athos. We found a very typical Greek restaurant and enjoyed our food as well as the folk music played live behind us. It has been really nice in Thessaloniki, especially being here all together. We’ve been to some amazing churches and several very nice services.
Tomorrow we aren’t sure what we’re doing. The monastery we had hoped to go to near Larissa is now full. But a friend of Fr. Nicholas’ is helping us to find another place, hopefully somewhere in Volos. It’s always an adventure….
Our last 2 nights will probably be in Athens with Maria-Meredith. Grandma Coco is beginning to talk about how much she will enjoy her Martini Night. And she said tonight that one week from now she will be eating a plain old hotdog at the Mariner’s game. She said it with great relish!
Macrina signing off at midnight from Thessaloniki where the air conditioner is cool and it’s pleasant outside.
Maps are great, but sometimes obsolete, especially when they do not indicate one-way streets. Thessaloniki is full of them. I remembered how difficult it was for me to find St. Nicholas on foot years ago, tucked way up in a residential district with scads of tiny twisting streets. With a car, you’re often limited by 50%. We found the exact road we needed, but it went the wrong way! It took us almost 45 minutes to get there with group #1.
Then going back to the hotel? Although it would have been probably a 7 minute straight shot drive, had the roads been amenable, it took me a good 30 minutes. I had to backtrack and go around blocks over and over to get going the right way, then had to circle many times before I could find a parking place. I finally did, though, unsure if the men would even still be there waiting, as I’d taken so long. They were. Happily checking up on email and making fun of the British Greek phrase book. It's pretty easy to make fun of these little "mistakes" in translations, and also to muse over what the phrase book people have chosen to include and to leave out!
We all thoroughly enjoyed St. Nicholas Orphanos, and took our time examining the exquisite frescoes everywhere. Even the kids, there for well over an hour, were well-occupied because there happened to be 4 turtles on the grounds there. After this, I ferried the men down nearby Aghias Sofias and turned them loose there. We followed soon after but finding a parking place was horrific. I got one pretty much right away, actually did the parallel parking quite well, and then a local guy pointed out that we were in a no-parking zone. (indicated by tiny little reflectors on the street!). He suggested we could probably get away with staying there, as the traffic police (what? there are traffic police in Greece? We had just been musing that we haven’t seen a single highway patrol for 3 weeks now.) had just come by. I asked him how much the ticket would be if we got one. He said they don’t give you a ticket, they just SNATCH YOUR LICENSE PLATE RIGHT OFF YOUR CAR!!! And he pointed to the one directly in front of us who had this happen 10 minutes ago. No more discussion. Christopher handed me the keys and I was out of there, leaving them to visit the church while I found other parking… which took well over 30 minutes!
Basil and I went to a bookstore, visited another church called “Panaghia on the Right”, and also the icon painters again. It was funny when I was asking around to find the church. I was asking for “Panaghia Thextero” instead of “Panaghia Thexia”. So I was asking for the church of Mother-of-God-I-don’t-Know instead of Mother of God on the Right (meaning the right side of the arch of Galerian).
We all went out for dinner again tonight down in an area kind of like the Plaka in Athens. Christopher, Basil, Grandma and I had been to Vespers at St. Demetrius. I feel like I could never spend enough time there with his relics, which are encased in a large silver box covered by plexiglass and still incredibly fragrant. Fr. Nicholas, Gabriel and Emma went by Hagia Sophia, an immense but mostly bare church sunk down in the pavement several feet. Unfortunately most of the mosaics were removed and destroyed during Turkish rule here. They went by to retrieve her backpack, which she left earlier in the day, then walked 2 blocks down to the Metropolis Church, where St. Gregory Palamas' relics are. They had Vespers there with Fr. Methodius, which we had done the previous night. All of them came to our meeting point glowing, having had a wonderful and intimate experience there, actively feeling the presence of the great saint who established our understanding of the heights that can be reached through contemplative prayer. It was our last time before the men head out at 4:45AM tomorrow for Mt. Athos. We found a very typical Greek restaurant and enjoyed our food as well as the folk music played live behind us. It has been really nice in Thessaloniki, especially being here all together. We’ve been to some amazing churches and several very nice services.
Tomorrow we aren’t sure what we’re doing. The monastery we had hoped to go to near Larissa is now full. But a friend of Fr. Nicholas’ is helping us to find another place, hopefully somewhere in Volos. It’s always an adventure….
Our last 2 nights will probably be in Athens with Maria-Meredith. Grandma Coco is beginning to talk about how much she will enjoy her Martini Night. And she said tonight that one week from now she will be eating a plain old hotdog at the Mariner’s game. She said it with great relish!
Macrina signing off at midnight from Thessaloniki where the air conditioner is cool and it’s pleasant outside.
Thessaloniki, First Day
The drive into Thessaloniki was pretty incredible. There is a vast ravine, I guess you’d call it, with a huge lake at the bottom. You begin from way, way high up in the mountains and wind down to a long stretch through a series of probably a dozen tunnels, with bursting windows of amazing heights in between them. It was really gorgeous.
We arrived in Thessaloniki planning for the women to stay at the monastery in Panorama, a village outside the city about 30 minutes away. With no directions and no phone number, it took us awhile, but we did find it. I had the name wrong, which was a big part of the problem in trying to get accurate information. Sadly, we finally arrived to learn that it was completely closed on Wednesdays and Fridays. Had we been able to call, they may have come and opened the door for us, but as it was we had no recourse. We enjoyed talking to the other pilgrims and 2 priests haging around outside the locked gates as disappointed as we were.
But we headed back into town hoping we could still get a room in the same hotel Fr. Nicholas had booked for himself, Gabriel and Christopher. Thankfully, they could accommodate us in a beautiful room for a good price – 60E, situated on a block in between St. Demetrios church (major monument) and the ancient Roman Forum which is being excavated and is fascinating to see. We decided to forego the monastery altogether and spend more time with the men and less time on the road, so we booked our room for 3 nights, too. We all went out to dinner around the corner and hit our beds pretty quickly. Poor Fr. Nicholas and Gabriel were extremely tired from several very late nights and a long train ride. We were all very happy to be together, though.
Scott and Ethan, staying with friends outside the city, also made it into town. They came to the hotel the next morning and we all set out for Agios Demetrios, venerating his wonderfully fragrant relics, standing in awe inside the beautiful bascillica, and exploring down in the crypt where the origianal bascillica from the 4th century has been unearthed and the site of his martyrdom is commemorated. It was marvelous.
After that we split up. The walking tour which sounded wonderful, passing by many of the major sites, would be too much for Grandma and me. So Emma went with Fr. Nicholas, Gabriel, Scott, and Ethan. They visited the house where Attaturk was born and walked by the Turkish baths, which were closed. They also went to the Rotunda, the Byzantine Museum, and the White Tower, which was also closed. It was a lot of walking and Emma came home beat, but happy.
While Christopher and Basil napped, Grandma and I walked uphill 3 blocks to St. Elias church, which was also closed for the day. I had hoped that most of the churches remained open all day, but they do not. So the only time you can visit is from 9-12, usually, and then during Vespers for an hour or so around 7PM. Only a couple of the most active churches are open all day.
Heading back toward the hotel, we passed a small electrical shop and I tried to go in and get a plug Fr. Nicholas needed. I couldn’t find the door, however, and kept trying a door that belonged to the space next door where there was a guy inside musing at me. About the 3rd time I looked in there, still not able to locate the right door, I saw that he had a paintbrush in his hand, and then, that he was painting a huge icon of the Dormition of the Theotokos on the wall. We stood at the window for a minute marveling at the four painters working within. They seemed to be amused that we were standing there watching them. I finally motioned them to let me in and told them that I paint, too. One girl spoke English and we talked for at least a half hour. It was just incredible.
They were a group of 4 painters working together to do huge paintings on linen to be glued onto church walls. We compared notes and talked trade for awhile, also telling the story of why we were here. I thoroughly enjoyed this and it was a high point of the trip for me. We exchanged numbers and addresses, and I went back later to give them a CD.
That evening, Christopher and I went down to the Metropolis church for Vespers, where St. Gregory Palamas lies. It was an incredibly sweet service and the priest who served spoke with us afterwards and was very kind, Fr. Methodius. We had also visited St. Theodora monastery and church earlier in the day, venerating her relics and those of Osios David.
We met up with everyone else and headed to dinner. We ended up at a Weinerschnitzel German restaurant of some sort and had the best meal yet. We ordered dishes to share altogether, and got some incredible food for about 10E each. We had a whole plate of various sausages and another of grilled meats. The salad stands out in my mind: arugula, very thin hard cheese, pine nuts, raisins, croutons, fried wild mushrooms, and a light balsamic dressing. Gabriel and Fr. Nicholas each had a halfpint of beer and Grandma indulged in a glass of red wine. The kids fed the stray dogs as a quartet of South American singers serenaded us. The table next to us was full of young people in their early 20’s on a study abroad program. Three of them were Orthodox and very enthusiastic to talk with us about their studies and travels and experiences in Greece.
We arrived in Thessaloniki planning for the women to stay at the monastery in Panorama, a village outside the city about 30 minutes away. With no directions and no phone number, it took us awhile, but we did find it. I had the name wrong, which was a big part of the problem in trying to get accurate information. Sadly, we finally arrived to learn that it was completely closed on Wednesdays and Fridays. Had we been able to call, they may have come and opened the door for us, but as it was we had no recourse. We enjoyed talking to the other pilgrims and 2 priests haging around outside the locked gates as disappointed as we were.
But we headed back into town hoping we could still get a room in the same hotel Fr. Nicholas had booked for himself, Gabriel and Christopher. Thankfully, they could accommodate us in a beautiful room for a good price – 60E, situated on a block in between St. Demetrios church (major monument) and the ancient Roman Forum which is being excavated and is fascinating to see. We decided to forego the monastery altogether and spend more time with the men and less time on the road, so we booked our room for 3 nights, too. We all went out to dinner around the corner and hit our beds pretty quickly. Poor Fr. Nicholas and Gabriel were extremely tired from several very late nights and a long train ride. We were all very happy to be together, though.
Scott and Ethan, staying with friends outside the city, also made it into town. They came to the hotel the next morning and we all set out for Agios Demetrios, venerating his wonderfully fragrant relics, standing in awe inside the beautiful bascillica, and exploring down in the crypt where the origianal bascillica from the 4th century has been unearthed and the site of his martyrdom is commemorated. It was marvelous.
After that we split up. The walking tour which sounded wonderful, passing by many of the major sites, would be too much for Grandma and me. So Emma went with Fr. Nicholas, Gabriel, Scott, and Ethan. They visited the house where Attaturk was born and walked by the Turkish baths, which were closed. They also went to the Rotunda, the Byzantine Museum, and the White Tower, which was also closed. It was a lot of walking and Emma came home beat, but happy.
While Christopher and Basil napped, Grandma and I walked uphill 3 blocks to St. Elias church, which was also closed for the day. I had hoped that most of the churches remained open all day, but they do not. So the only time you can visit is from 9-12, usually, and then during Vespers for an hour or so around 7PM. Only a couple of the most active churches are open all day.
Heading back toward the hotel, we passed a small electrical shop and I tried to go in and get a plug Fr. Nicholas needed. I couldn’t find the door, however, and kept trying a door that belonged to the space next door where there was a guy inside musing at me. About the 3rd time I looked in there, still not able to locate the right door, I saw that he had a paintbrush in his hand, and then, that he was painting a huge icon of the Dormition of the Theotokos on the wall. We stood at the window for a minute marveling at the four painters working within. They seemed to be amused that we were standing there watching them. I finally motioned them to let me in and told them that I paint, too. One girl spoke English and we talked for at least a half hour. It was just incredible.
They were a group of 4 painters working together to do huge paintings on linen to be glued onto church walls. We compared notes and talked trade for awhile, also telling the story of why we were here. I thoroughly enjoyed this and it was a high point of the trip for me. We exchanged numbers and addresses, and I went back later to give them a CD.
That evening, Christopher and I went down to the Metropolis church for Vespers, where St. Gregory Palamas lies. It was an incredibly sweet service and the priest who served spoke with us afterwards and was very kind, Fr. Methodius. We had also visited St. Theodora monastery and church earlier in the day, venerating her relics and those of Osios David.
We met up with everyone else and headed to dinner. We ended up at a Weinerschnitzel German restaurant of some sort and had the best meal yet. We ordered dishes to share altogether, and got some incredible food for about 10E each. We had a whole plate of various sausages and another of grilled meats. The salad stands out in my mind: arugula, very thin hard cheese, pine nuts, raisins, croutons, fried wild mushrooms, and a light balsamic dressing. Gabriel and Fr. Nicholas each had a halfpint of beer and Grandma indulged in a glass of red wine. The kids fed the stray dogs as a quartet of South American singers serenaded us. The table next to us was full of young people in their early 20’s on a study abroad program. Three of them were Orthodox and very enthusiastic to talk with us about their studies and travels and experiences in Greece.
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