From Ouranopolis, with my forty pound backpack, mainly filled with books including the Philokalia along with a little Camus and Sartre for reality balancing, I started down the one clear dirt road that ran along the sea and headed toward the Athonite Peak that stood at the far end of the peninsula. About ten minutes into my journey I noticed a monk on the path coming toward me leading a donkey. We smiled as we passed each other and about 10 steps later, as I turned to look back, the monk was doing the same. I approached him and pulled out my Letter of Introduction handing it to him. He read the Greek and said in very broken English, I am Father Paul, we will meet my Father and you will come with us.
A few minutes later, a donkey approached from Ouranopolis carrying a white haired, bearded monk. As he approached, Father Paul fell to the ground in prostration. My thought that he was meeting his genetic father was replaced by the knowledge that this was his Spiritual Father. Father Paul arose, kissed the hand of his Elder, had a conversation in Greek, which I did not understand, and showed his Geronta (literally “old man” used as a term for one’s Spiritual Father) my letter, which was also written in Greek, which I did understand. I had studied Classical Greek for 3 years in college and I could understand some Modern Greek writing.
The Geronta indicated to Father Paul that my backpack should be put on the mule and that I would come with them. It’s a good thing because when we got to the border of Athos, there was a large iron fence and two military guards. Just beyond the fence and the guards were several young monks awaiting their Geronta.
As we approached the guards opened the gate and let us pass without question. The young monks fell prostrate before their Geronta and kissed his hand. I had never seen people behave this way toward another person. As we departed the border, the monks broke into chant. It was a melodic chant with tones I had never heard. It was Byzantine Chant.
We made our way up a ridge which ran for 40 miles culminating in the Peak of Athos. The Geronta riding his donkey, my books riding a donkey and all new sounds. As we crested the ridge, on the other side appeared the Full Moon rising through ancient Russian Cupolas. We continued up the ridge in the bright Moonlight for several hours. Slowly the sea became lower and lower. At some point Father Paul pointed down toward the sea and indicated that the single light we saw was where we were heading.
As we approached the Monastery it was clear that these were the ruins of an ancient Monastery. Outside the Entrance stood a group of monks chanting. The Geronta disembarked the donkey as the monks prostrated, kissed his hand, robed him in a magnificent vestment, and presented him with a large gold covered, jewel encrusted book. The Geronta kissed the book and then held it up and led the procession inside.
We briefly entered the Church and then we processed to the Refectory. A large U- shaped table was set. In the center stood the Geronta with the elder monks at his side. On one side stood the rest of the monks. There were twelve monks and the Geronta. On the third side where workers who were rebuilding the monastery and I was placed between the workers.
We were served salad and fried eggs. My eggs were beautiful. The worker next to me had burned eggs. I noticed him eyeing my eggs as we stood for prayers. As we sat he quickly swapped our plates. I had to bite my lip to keep from laughing. I was not hungry, he obviously had been working hard all day and there was a distinct childhood innocence in his act.
At the end of the meal the Geronta spoke and Father Paul translated, “it is a wonderful thing that someone from America comes to Mount Athos but this is not the place for you. Tomorrow morning we will take you to the sea to catch the ferry to Daphni, the official port to Mount Athos and you will find your way.”
From the meal we processed back to the church were chanting continued for what seemed like hours. At this point I was drifting in and out of consciousness from fatigue. At one point I was startled by a smiling Father Paul presenting to me human body parts, skulls and bones for veneration. OK, that was creepy!
At last I was taken to a simple bed and allowed to sleep. It seemed like only a few minutes passed before I was awakened by Father Paul with the instructions that it was time to go. He lead me, with me carrying my backpack to the sea where there was a small stone dock. After a few minutes a ferry boat came into view and Father Paul waved it to our shore. After some discussion with the ferryman, I was placed onboard with other pilgrims. About an hour later we arrived at Daphni. As we approached I saw uniformed men standing.
From earlier reading about Mount Athos I knew that visitors were required to have a VISA that could only be obtained in Thessaloniki. Since I had arrived in Thessaloniki on a Sunday with an oath not to sleep until I was on Mount Athos, I jumped the bus provided thinking that the isthmus boarder was unguarded. I was hoping for the same luck passing the guards as I had with the monks the night before.
As I disembarked the ferry, from behind a hand landed on my shoulder and turned me to find a policeman asking for my papers. I presented my Letter of Introduction. The policeman said “no, where is your VISA?” I shrugged my shoulders. He called another policeman and gave him instructions to escort me to the police chief in Karyes, the Capital of Athos.
There was a fifties-style green bus that took us from Daphni to Karyes on a well worn dirt road and I was escorted to the Office of the Police Chief. He immediately quizzed me in an angry tone, “how did you get here without papers?” I explained my oath and my need to get to Athos. He was unsympathetic and said “Tomorrow you return to Thessaloniki where you can get a VISA, and only with a VISA can you enter the Holy Mountain. Stay here until then.”
As soon as I was alone, I thought to go to the nearby Monastery of Stavronikita, one of two monasteries I had learned about that had Gerontas well known for their spiritual prowess. Leaving my backpack behind at the Police Station, I walked for about 20 minutes and arrived at the Monastery. Along the way I passed an old monk who shook his head at me disapprovingly. Inside the Monastery it was dead silent with no one in sight. I entered the Monastery Church to find magnificent wall-to-wall ancient frescoes. As I was admiring the art and architecture, I heard outside the approaching grinding sound of an engine. Exiting I saw a white Landrover with the word “Police” written on the side coming over the ridge. As the Police Chief arrived, a monk appeared from the bowels of the Monastery. The Chief stormed toward me, lifted me by my collar and said, “I told you that you cannot enter the Holy Mountain without a VISA, why are you here?” I shrugged. The monk intervened by offering us coffee and fresh fruit. The Chief’s composure suddenly changed and we sat for refreshment.
Upon our return to the Police Station I was locked in a room with guards outside the door for the evening. My only time in jail, so far, turns out to have been on Mount Athos.
The next morning I was escorted by a policeman to Daphni, on the boat to Ouranopolis and then on the bus all the way to Thessaloniki. Exiting the bus the policeman said, “don’t come back without a VISA!”
I found a hotel room for the night and the next morning somehow I found my way to the three different offices that had to rubber stamp my VISA and I immediately made my way back to Karies where the Chief smiled and said, “Welcome to the Holy Mountain, you have three days and then you must leave. Don’t make us come looking for you!”
As I exited the Police Station with my backpack, I noticed a stack of luggage outside a nearby Church and as I approached a monk appeared and I asked him if I could leave my backpack with him. He agreed.
As I came to the fork in the road that lead to Stavronikita, since no magic had happened there and I was burden free, I decided to go in the other direction to the Monastery where I knew there was also a wise Geronta, the Monastery Simonopetra. It was a much greater distance, on the other side of the ridge. As I walked, it rained, then a hail storm with golfball size hail stones pelted me and as I crested the ridge there was suddenly several inches of snow on the ground. By the time I had descended the ridge I was in a hot desert environment. Finally as Sunset approached I rounded a corner on the dirt road and beheld Simonopetra. A magnificent 12th century structure rising twelve stories, build into the side of a cliff, with the peak of Athos beyond, overlooking the Aegean Sea.
As I approached the monastery’s fortified entrance, an old monk stood outside feeding a herd of cats and he vigorously waved me in saying “grigora” meaning quickly. I knew from my previous reading that the doors to Athonite Monasteries closed at Sunset and if you were left outside, you would not get in until the next morning.
Entering the Monastery I arrived in a small courtyard next to the central church overlooking the peak of Athos and the sea below. There were stair cases going up and down like in a M.C. Escher painting and suddenly I saw a black blur come up and down and then in my face was a young monk with the most magnificent blue eyes saying in English, “we have been waiting for you.”