Meteora

We boarded the bus for the trip up into the rocks that have been used by religious hermits for hundreds of years. Views along the way were spectacular, and the bus stopped several times along the way for photo opportunities.

Religious hermits established monasteries
atop the rocks

We first visited a convent called Saint Stephen’s, which had an interesting little museum and a typically Orthodox chapel. It is now quite easy to get to, thanks to a bridge built across the gorge, on which the founders of the order would no doubt have frowned. Women had to wear skirts, even if they had slacks on underneath.

View of the valley from St. Stephen's

Next we visited a monastery that now has only six remaining monks. One can now cross a bridge and climb 130 steps to get to it, but until the steps were built in the 1930s, there was only a treacherously narrow path or, alternatively a ride up in a rope cargo net attached to a line being pulled up by a team of four monks running a primitive wooden spindle winch. It was said that if you weren’t at prayer already at the bottom, you would be before you reached the top!

A rope from the balcony used to be the main way up!

We got to have a Q & A session with one of the monks in their chapel. Among the relics to be found there were the preserved feet, in little silver shoes, of the founding hermit. Apparently the saint had lost his footing at some point (ba-dum-pah!). These were in silver caskets under glass, and we watched several pilgrims come kiss the glass and cross themselves there before moving on into the church.

Now a bridge and 130 steps provide "easy" access.

The bus dropped us back in the center of Kalabaka, where most of our group went to a little restaurant run by a 90+ year old woman who cooks big pots of food each day. We feel as if we've been eating so much, we passed on the buffet and went to a bakery down the street.

This is just the foyer before entering the church.

After lunch, Mary and I set out on our adventure of the day. We decided to find the local government health clinic and get Mary’s stitches removed. We asked at a nearby pharmacy, where the pharmacist spoke passable English, but gave directions that were slightly vague. We asked several other times along the way, sometimes having to point to Mary’s head and make scissor motions with our fingers. Apparently, “clinic,” “medical,” “doctor,” and “physician” are not words with Greek roots to be readily understood.

A steep walk up hill the Paul & Betty's house

After a half hour or so we found it. Lots of people were sitting around doing nothing, but no one was waiting for service. The nurse, doctor, PA, or medical student who came out to us spoke a bit of English. She did not exude confidence in the removal of the stitches, but got the job done. After finishing, they asked her name, country, and year of birth, which they wrote in a large ledger book -- no computer. That was it. No charge.

Paul and Betty with their young nephew

In the evening, the bus took us to the center of the village (which was larger than it had appeared to us on foot in the afternoon) where we met three families who would be our hosts for home meals. Our group climbed up hill quite a ways to the home of “Betty” and “Paul,” who is also known as “The Captain,” because he is a retired cruise ship captain.

Beautiful sunset from Paul & Betty's front porch

Their lovely home is one of two they occupy -- an apartment in Athens in winter, and this house in summer. Both of them spoke English pretty well. Paul is a private pilot, so we talked flying, ships, family and the Greek economy. Betty was quite a cook and we had an excellent meal that was over much too soon.