13:33 9 August, On a bus to...
As I write this, I am sitting on a moving bus heading... to Thesselaniki? Of course, I do not want to go to Thesselaniki, I want to go to Litochoro, which is what I had in mind when I arrived at the bus station this afternoon. After successfiully making it onto the correct city bus - which is much more difficult than one might assume - I arrived at Athens Bus Terminal A. Excessive online research led me to establish Terminal A as the correct station to catch the 14:00 Athens > Kavala bus, with a stop in Litochoro. The term "station" is misleading, as the primary hub for bus travel (a major form of pubic transportation) in Greece is little more than a parking lot with signs suggesting (not always correctly) where each of the buses are heading. There are no time tables, universal ticket counters, or information booths to be found. So after wandering to the offices of some of the bus agencies, one man was able to confirm that all of my internet research had been in vain. If there even was a 14:00 Athens > Kavala it would be at Terminal B, on the other side of the city.
However, the same gentleman who dashed my hopes and planning was able to point me toward the company whose bus I am now sitting in the back of. Going into the office, I was able to communicate (through the use of painfully slow speech, animated hand gestures, and pen and paper) my intent to go to Litochoro. The company representative, for his part and employing similar methods of communication, was able to suggest that I board a bus leaving for Thesselaniki, which would stop at Litochoro. Exchanging 35 euro for a ticket, the company representative handed my bag off to an attendant, telling him "Litochoro". I swear the attendant gave the company representative a furtive little expression that would translate to something like: "You actually convinced this American that we're going to stop in Litochoro? This guy's going to end up lost in Northern Greece, never to see his friends and loved ones again." But I allowed myself to board the bus, and the driver took my ticket with the kind of disinterested apathy that suggested I was in the right place. Within five minutes, we were off, and are now cruising through the suburbs of Athens.
The view from the bus.
Despite reservations, I am about 80% sure that this will all work out, and that I will arrive in Litochoro, and be able to locate the hotel that I'm booked in for the next two nights. If that fails, I have my tent, a sturdy constitution, and my parent's visa card (to be used in that order).
19:35 9 August, Hotel Park
The last hour has been memorable. After spending the better part of 5 hours cruising through the countryside of Greece, with a short stop at an overpriced roadside rest stop, I was assuming that the bus would be getting close to Litochoro. I was beginning to put my things away, when all of the sudden the bus slowed, and came to a stop by the side of the highway. Concerned about what was going on, I looked around at my fellow passengers for some sense of their opinion on our current condition. Then, faintly at first, I heard mummers coming from the front of the bus. "Litochoro", "Litochoro?" Heads began to turn back at me, "Litochoro?", "Litochoro", "Litochoro!". I half stood up, offered a quixotic grin, and muttered: "really?"
My query was aimed less at discovering whether we were in fact at Litochoro, I assumed we were close, but rather whether I was in fact expected to disembark the bus on the side of the highway. Making my way down to the driver, I found that, yes, this was my stop, and yes, I was expected to disembark the bus on the side of the highway. Assuming an artificial air of complacency, I grabbed my bag from the bottom on the bus, and as the bus sped away toward its final destination of Theselaniki, I was left carrying and wheeling my luggage along the highway. I saw a sign on an overpass for Litochoro, and so making my way around the off-ramp on foot, I was soon across the highway bridge and making my way toward the tranquil mountain town 5 kilometers away.
5 kilometers is not that far, it's just a little over 3 miles. But burdened by luggage, hastened by fast approaching sunset, and harassed by highway traffic, cracks began to show in the wall of my initial optimism. It was just then that a car slowed and pulled to the side of the road. I had already come to the conclusion that I would not be hitchhiking, in so much that I would not be thumbing my way into town. But as the English-speaking, German-born, Swedish expat, stepped out of his car to offer me a ride, I felt comfortable enough to ride with him the 4 kilometers into town. He was a really nice guy, and we chatted about different places he had been in America during our short trip into town. When he asked where I was staying, and I offered "Hotel Park", he confessed that he did not know it, but suggested that I ask at a gas station he was about to pull into. It just so happened that adjacent to the gas station, I saw a sign for Hotel Park. I had basically gone from feeling stranded and a bit insecure, to (once again) seeing everything work out.
Offering a profusion of thanks and a cheerful goodbye, I walked into the Hotel where I received a slightly less than warm greeting from an ancient women sitting in the reception room. Speaking no English, and probably muttering curses at me in Greek, she spent the next 5 minutes eyeing me and my bags as though I was a terrorist here to blow up Mt. Olympus. But no matter, the hotel manager was helpful and full of good cheer, and I quickly paid for one night, suggesting that I may stay for two depending on how things work out tomorrow. What I'm doing tomorrow is a big surprise. Some people might expect it, some people might infer it, and some people might Google "Litochoro" and figure out what the town is famous for, but for the rest of you, if my venture is successful, I'll be revealing the surprise late tomorrow night or early the next morning. Until then, I'm going to check out the town, and get some rest in the first ensuite single room (meaning: it has a bathroom in the room) I've had yet in the trip.
The last hour has been memorable. After spending the better part of 5 hours cruising through the countryside of Greece, with a short stop at an overpriced roadside rest stop, I was assuming that the bus would be getting close to Litochoro. I was beginning to put my things away, when all of the sudden the bus slowed, and came to a stop by the side of the highway. Concerned about what was going on, I looked around at my fellow passengers for some sense of their opinion on our current condition. Then, faintly at first, I heard mummers coming from the front of the bus. "Litochoro", "Litochoro?" Heads began to turn back at me, "Litochoro?", "Litochoro", "Litochoro!". I half stood up, offered a quixotic grin, and muttered: "really?"
My query was aimed less at discovering whether we were in fact at Litochoro, I assumed we were close, but rather whether I was in fact expected to disembark the bus on the side of the highway. Making my way down to the driver, I found that, yes, this was my stop, and yes, I was expected to disembark the bus on the side of the highway. Assuming an artificial air of complacency, I grabbed my bag from the bottom on the bus, and as the bus sped away toward its final destination of Theselaniki, I was left carrying and wheeling my luggage along the highway. I saw a sign on an overpass for Litochoro, and so making my way around the off-ramp on foot, I was soon across the highway bridge and making my way toward the tranquil mountain town 5 kilometers away.
Walking off the off-ramp.
5 kilometers is not that far, it's just a little over 3 miles. But burdened by luggage, hastened by fast approaching sunset, and harassed by highway traffic, cracks began to show in the wall of my initial optimism. It was just then that a car slowed and pulled to the side of the road. I had already come to the conclusion that I would not be hitchhiking, in so much that I would not be thumbing my way into town. But as the English-speaking, German-born, Swedish expat, stepped out of his car to offer me a ride, I felt comfortable enough to ride with him the 4 kilometers into town. He was a really nice guy, and we chatted about different places he had been in America during our short trip into town. When he asked where I was staying, and I offered "Hotel Park", he confessed that he did not know it, but suggested that I ask at a gas station he was about to pull into. It just so happened that adjacent to the gas station, I saw a sign for Hotel Park. I had basically gone from feeling stranded and a bit insecure, to (once again) seeing everything work out.
Offering a profusion of thanks and a cheerful goodbye, I walked into the Hotel where I received a slightly less than warm greeting from an ancient women sitting in the reception room. Speaking no English, and probably muttering curses at me in Greek, she spent the next 5 minutes eyeing me and my bags as though I was a terrorist here to blow up Mt. Olympus. But no matter, the hotel manager was helpful and full of good cheer, and I quickly paid for one night, suggesting that I may stay for two depending on how things work out tomorrow. What I'm doing tomorrow is a big surprise. Some people might expect it, some people might infer it, and some people might Google "Litochoro" and figure out what the town is famous for, but for the rest of you, if my venture is successful, I'll be revealing the surprise late tomorrow night or early the next morning. Until then, I'm going to check out the town, and get some rest in the first ensuite single room (meaning: it has a bathroom in the room) I've had yet in the trip.
17:40 10 August, Refuge A
Today, I walked amongst the gods. I am currently sitting in Refuge A, on the east face of Mount Olympus in Northern Greece. Getting here, however, was not altogether easy. It all started at 5:00 this morning...
After spending the night in Litochoro - a charming little town, one of my favorite stops thus far - where I enjoyed a reasonably priced feast of lamb and roasted feta, I made a few snack purchases and returned to my hotel. Packing up my things, and setting my alarm for 5:00, I spent a restless night's sleep anticipating today's climb. I was up and at 'em, showered, dressed, and out the door by 5:30. From this point on, I was following instructions that I had printed out at the Bindery over a month ago on climbing Mt. Olympus. I had already accomplished step one: get to Litochoro, and step two: find a hotel. Step three involved waking up early, and step four instructed me to either drive or catch a taxi to Prionia, the closest road access to Mt. Olympus. Step four was harder than I anticipated. I walked around the sleeping town, hoping to be passed by a taxi for the better part of half an hour. Finally, one went by, and I hailed it down. Unfortunately, I soon learned that making it to Prionia was going to be more expensive that I had anticipated. The driver was asking for 25 euro, and I was unable to talk him down. As 25 euro recently purchased me a 24 hour scooter rental and gas enough to ride around Paros, I was reluctant to fork it over for a 20 minute cab ride.
I disengaged, and allowed the taxi to drive off. I had hoped to either be presented with a more reasonable offer from another taxi, or perhaps luck out and be offered a ride by another climber. I spent the next hour anxiously watching the sky get lighter, unable to accomplish either objective. Finally, I was able to hail another cab, who already had two passengers. It is a common practice in Greece to load up taxis with more than one fare at a time, but in this case, all of us were headed to the mountain. So I hopped in, unsure what I would be paying, but at this point ready to pay almost anything reasonable to get to the mountain.
The drive, though short, was admittedly difficult. The access road is well paved, but it serpentines around along the outline of the cliff faces, often presenting dangerous blind curves. But we made it safe enough, and when the driver demanded 20 euro from me - this in addition to whatever he got from the couple sitting in the back - I paid without visable objection.
Briefly consulting the map, and marking my current location on my GPS, I started up the trail. Because Mt. Olympus benefits from well marked and maintained trails, and because it is a popular mountain - attracting nearly 10,000 climbers a year - I had already decided that this would be my last solo hike/climb before settling into a group approach in Nepal. Mt. Olympus is a truly awe-inspiring sight. Rising up from an otherwise level plain only 6 kilometers from the Aegean Coast, the largest mountain in Greece has extraordinary prominence. Its height and proximity to the ocean also nurture unique meteorological phenomenon. The peak is nearly perpetually shrouded by clouds, from which emanate the greatest frequency of lighting strikes in Europe. It is not hard to understand why the Ancient Greeks saw this towering colossus as the home of their gods. The summit of the peak was not reached until the 20th century, owing to an extremely challenging approach, now well marked and cleared. One is required to make their way through a valley, shrouded in mist before taking the first of several accents.
When the sun breaks through the mist and fog, the landscape is incredible. Pylons of marble point toward the sky, architecture of the ancient gods. The mountain is heavily vegetated, though it sheds its deciduous forest as it climbs higher toward the sky. Conifers and wildflowers dominate as one reaches the halfway point, supporting birds, butterflies, and honey bees. After three and a half hours of climbing, I reached Refuge A. I was completely unprepared for the structure that I was confronted with. Imagining an unwalled wooden great hall, perhaps with cabins and a latrine, Refuge A instead resembled my own images of The Hobbit's Last Friendly House before the Misty Mountains. Rising up on a cliff, the stone complex was like a mirage coming through the mist. Incorporating itself onto the mountain side, the multistory complex could be accessed at many different levels, each with balconies overlooking the vista below. I stopped inside briefly, pausing to devour one of my steadily declining Clif Bars, before continuing up the mountain.
The clouds were thickening on the mountain, reducing visibility to within 50 meters. Steadily onward I climbed for two more hours before I felt the first drops of rain. I was at least an hour above the tree line, and so I hunkered down next to a boulder, counting on my Tilley Hat, and my waterproof Barbour jacket to keep me dry as I waited out the system. The rains of Mt. Olympus, however, was not about to relent. As the rain fell harder, I was faced with the choice to either abandon my bid for the summit, and retreat, or carry on, rain be damned. Concerned that the rocks I had climbed up on, now slick from rainwater, would be more dangerous to descend on, I instead opted to continue to climb higher. I made it to the first peak, 15 meters shorter than the actual summit, before finally submitting to the mountain. My pants were thoroughly soaked, and moisture was leaking through my hat. I accepted the reduced accomplishment of making it to the lesser peak, and carefully began to descend.
Half an hour into my decent, while the rain kept up, the fog cleared, and I got my first view of the summits of Olympus. With an arrangement that makes it seems volcanic - though it is not - the summits of Olympus circle around a central massive bowl. The bowl collects snowfall during the winter, keeping some areas of the mountain perpetually white. It was an incredible sight.
I met up with some Poles, also fleeing the summit, and spent the duration of our decent to Refuge A chatting with them. Finally making it to the refuge, they continued down the mountain, while I went in to enquire about spending the night. Having thus securred a bed, I enjoyed a light lunch, and then headed back up the mountain. I was at first considering a second bid to the summit, and nearly went for it during a break of sunshine. But the summit quickly clouded over, and the threat of more rain on the only change of clothes I brought along was enough to keep me from making the attempt.
I'll be spending the rest of my evening reading and enjoying the rather impressive, and inexpensive, dinner offerings of Refuge A. I'm looking forward to an early night's sleep, and a brisk decent down to Prionia tommorow morning. From there, rather than forking over more money to the fiendish taxi drivers, I intend to take a highly recommonend four hour hike into town. The trail is supposed to offer scenery even more impressive than the mountain, so I'm opting for a tranquil walk through the woods rather than a manic taxi ride around the mountain.
Today, I walked amongst the gods. I am currently sitting in Refuge A, on the east face of Mount Olympus in Northern Greece. Getting here, however, was not altogether easy. It all started at 5:00 this morning...
After spending the night in Litochoro - a charming little town, one of my favorite stops thus far - where I enjoyed a reasonably priced feast of lamb and roasted feta, I made a few snack purchases and returned to my hotel. Packing up my things, and setting my alarm for 5:00, I spent a restless night's sleep anticipating today's climb. I was up and at 'em, showered, dressed, and out the door by 5:30. From this point on, I was following instructions that I had printed out at the Bindery over a month ago on climbing Mt. Olympus. I had already accomplished step one: get to Litochoro, and step two: find a hotel. Step three involved waking up early, and step four instructed me to either drive or catch a taxi to Prionia, the closest road access to Mt. Olympus. Step four was harder than I anticipated. I walked around the sleeping town, hoping to be passed by a taxi for the better part of half an hour. Finally, one went by, and I hailed it down. Unfortunately, I soon learned that making it to Prionia was going to be more expensive that I had anticipated. The driver was asking for 25 euro, and I was unable to talk him down. As 25 euro recently purchased me a 24 hour scooter rental and gas enough to ride around Paros, I was reluctant to fork it over for a 20 minute cab ride.
I disengaged, and allowed the taxi to drive off. I had hoped to either be presented with a more reasonable offer from another taxi, or perhaps luck out and be offered a ride by another climber. I spent the next hour anxiously watching the sky get lighter, unable to accomplish either objective. Finally, I was able to hail another cab, who already had two passengers. It is a common practice in Greece to load up taxis with more than one fare at a time, but in this case, all of us were headed to the mountain. So I hopped in, unsure what I would be paying, but at this point ready to pay almost anything reasonable to get to the mountain.
The drive, though short, was admittedly difficult. The access road is well paved, but it serpentines around along the outline of the cliff faces, often presenting dangerous blind curves. But we made it safe enough, and when the driver demanded 20 euro from me - this in addition to whatever he got from the couple sitting in the back - I paid without visable objection.
This was the only time I saw the tops of the mountain unobscured.
Looking down into the valley.
When the sun breaks through the mist and fog, the landscape is incredible. Pylons of marble point toward the sky, architecture of the ancient gods. The mountain is heavily vegetated, though it sheds its deciduous forest as it climbs higher toward the sky. Conifers and wildflowers dominate as one reaches the halfway point, supporting birds, butterflies, and honey bees. After three and a half hours of climbing, I reached Refuge A. I was completely unprepared for the structure that I was confronted with. Imagining an unwalled wooden great hall, perhaps with cabins and a latrine, Refuge A instead resembled my own images of The Hobbit's Last Friendly House before the Misty Mountains. Rising up on a cliff, the stone complex was like a mirage coming through the mist. Incorporating itself onto the mountain side, the multistory complex could be accessed at many different levels, each with balconies overlooking the vista below. I stopped inside briefly, pausing to devour one of my steadily declining Clif Bars, before continuing up the mountain.
Refuge A, from higher up the mountain.
The clouds were thickening on the mountain, reducing visibility to within 50 meters. Steadily onward I climbed for two more hours before I felt the first drops of rain. I was at least an hour above the tree line, and so I hunkered down next to a boulder, counting on my Tilley Hat, and my waterproof Barbour jacket to keep me dry as I waited out the system. The rains of Mt. Olympus, however, was not about to relent. As the rain fell harder, I was faced with the choice to either abandon my bid for the summit, and retreat, or carry on, rain be damned. Concerned that the rocks I had climbed up on, now slick from rainwater, would be more dangerous to descend on, I instead opted to continue to climb higher. I made it to the first peak, 15 meters shorter than the actual summit, before finally submitting to the mountain. My pants were thoroughly soaked, and moisture was leaking through my hat. I accepted the reduced accomplishment of making it to the lesser peak, and carefully began to descend.
I completely, water-running-off-my-hat, soaked in this picture.
The peak of Mt. Olympus.
I met up with some Poles, also fleeing the summit, and spent the duration of our decent to Refuge A chatting with them. Finally making it to the refuge, they continued down the mountain, while I went in to enquire about spending the night. Having thus securred a bed, I enjoyed a light lunch, and then headed back up the mountain. I was at first considering a second bid to the summit, and nearly went for it during a break of sunshine. But the summit quickly clouded over, and the threat of more rain on the only change of clothes I brought along was enough to keep me from making the attempt.
I'll be spending the rest of my evening reading and enjoying the rather impressive, and inexpensive, dinner offerings of Refuge A. I'm looking forward to an early night's sleep, and a brisk decent down to Prionia tommorow morning. From there, rather than forking over more money to the fiendish taxi drivers, I intend to take a highly recommonend four hour hike into town. The trail is supposed to offer scenery even more impressive than the mountain, so I'm opting for a tranquil walk through the woods rather than a manic taxi ride around the mountain.
15:38 11 August, Nearing the end of trail E4
The view from where I'm writing this has to be one of the best I've come across thus far in my travels. Collums of solid rock jut out from the canyon below, while trees take advantage of every vestige of soil to grow in the imperceptible cracks in near vertical clif faces. Farther out, nestled at the foot of the mountain, is my destination: the town of Litochoro. A few kilometers of farmland seperate the town from the coast, and the vast, blue Aegean Sea. The sea blends with the horizon such that, in the words of Forest Gump, "I couldn't tell where heaven stoped and earth began. (It was so beautiful Jenny)." I have been hiking now for seven and a half hours, and I must admit that though it has been incredibly beautiful, comming up over the last ridge and seeing the town below was quite a relief.
I've down the mountain, passed the basecamp where the taxi driver left me off yesterday, and down into the valley. I stopped at the Abbey of St. Dyonisis, destroyed during the Second World War, but slowly being rebuilt with help from the local population. I visited the Holy Caves that sheltered Orthidox Monks for centuries, small buildings tucked into the mountainside. I traced the path of the river as it cut its way through the mountain, and climbed to the top of several small peaks as I followed the trail into town. It has been a fantastic hike, and I'll be using the rest of this post for pictures because at this point I'm rather anxious to get into town and take a nice long Greek shower.
If you've ever boarded a form of public transportation, unsure as to which stop you're meant to depart at, you'll be able to empathize with me. I had hoped that the train station would be an obvious stop, and when, ten minutes later and unbeknownst to me, we arrived there, I remained on the bus. Almost an hour later, having been through the entire city squeezed with my luggage onto a jerky city bus, we reached the end of the line. I found another bus number eight which took me on a repeat tour of the city, until I finally disembarked at what I had determined (though careful personal inspection of all available options) to be the most likely stop for the train station. My suspicions were confirmed and after buying a ticket for the overnight train from Thesselaniki to Istanbul, and securing my luggage in a locker, I was off to see the city. Thesselaniki was the second city of the Byzantine Empire, and it was for this reason that I was visiting. Today, it's the second city of Greece, and like Athens, it's mostly dirty, ugly, and hot. But I made the best of the city, and when I ran into an open air market, I was able to procure enough bread, feta cheese, olives, grapes, and sour cherry juice to feed a small army. Spending only about 6 euro, I made my way to the park and had my picnic in the shade.
There wasn't too much else available in town, as all of the sites closed at 15:00. So I saw the outside of a lot of buildings, searched in vain for the Byzantine Baths, and after making my way along the Byzantine Walls, I was back at the train station by 18:00. Intending to have a genuinely health dinner, I ordered the worst Caesar salad of my live (40% Parmesan cheese 30% bizarre yellow dressing, and the remaining 30% was shared by limp lettuce and "chicken"). I boarded the train by 19:10, and at 19:38 on the dot, we were off. The train ride has been interesting. I chatted for a while with the Greek guy who's sharing my two-person berth. Like most of the people on the train, he's my age, and traveling to Istanbul as a tourist. Soon, we were joined by other tourists in their early 20's, attracted by the seductive sound of spoken English. I made my way to bed at around 22:00, with the knowledge that we would all be woken up at 2:00 when we reached the border.
My mental clock dutifully woke me just before 2:00, and I staggered out of bed to prepare for the visa process. However, we must have been delayed, because after waiting for an hour, nothing was happening. So I went back to bed and slept until 4:00, when I was awoken by a Turkish guard asking for passports. Surrendering mine, I went back to sleep until 4:30, when all the internationals requiring visa were rounded up and sent off the train.
Sunrise from the mountain, you can see the reflection off the Aegean.
I've down the mountain, passed the basecamp where the taxi driver left me off yesterday, and down into the valley. I stopped at the Abbey of St. Dyonisis, destroyed during the Second World War, but slowly being rebuilt with help from the local population. I visited the Holy Caves that sheltered Orthidox Monks for centuries, small buildings tucked into the mountainside. I traced the path of the river as it cut its way through the mountain, and climbed to the top of several small peaks as I followed the trail into town. It has been a fantastic hike, and I'll be using the rest of this post for pictures because at this point I'm rather anxious to get into town and take a nice long Greek shower.
The Monestary of St. Dyonisis, the only working monestary with an old-world feel I've ever visited.
The Holy Caves, where a natural spring cut through the rock.
The water comming down off the mountain.
One of several such bridges I came across on the trail.
The river.
These rock formations were all over the place.
9:29 13 August, The sunflower fields of Turkey
Since my last update, I made it down from the mountain and into town. There, at the information center, I was able to offer some other climbers advise on the accent while myself getting directions to the grocery store. After much deliberation, I acquired the necessary ingredients to prepare dinner and breakfast (both based largely around the two key ingredients of Rice Krispies and Milk) and made my way back to my hotel. There I took my final Greek Shower, which are similar to western showers, but with a few key differences.
The first and most obvious difference is that a full bathroom may not actually include a shower stall. Rather, the shower apparatus will be secured to the side of a wall, perhaps in between the sink and toilet, and a drain in the center of the floor is all the keeps the entire room from turning into an indoor swimming pool. The second key difference is that the shower head is not itself attached to the wall. Much like the removable shower heads found all over the United States, Greek shower heads simply cannot be attached to the wall to allow for hands-free showering. Anyway, I've been getting by alright with this system over the last 12 days, so I was quite used to it.
Having showered, and eaten my well-balanced dinner (Rice Krispies & Milk), I pretty much slumped right into bed and fell asleep. The night before I had been so exhausted from the early morning wake up, and the full day of climbing, that for probably the first time since I was 9 years old, I went to bed at 8 o'clock. So staying up even two hours later was, for me, one of the minor accomplishments of the day. I set my alarm to wake me up early enough to pack, and eat a well-balanced breakfast (Rice Krispies & Milk) before making my way to the bus station. I caught the 8:30 bus to Thesselaniki, and settled down to what I thought would be an hour and a half long bus ride. 30 minutes later, the bus stopped, and everyone got off. I looked out at the station, and seeing no names or placards to indicate where I was, I followed my famous "if everyone gets off the bus, you probably should too" rule, and got off the bus. There I asked the driver if we were in Thesselaniki. "Yes, Thesselaniki!" he impatiently replied. Okay, I thought to myself, but the brevity of the ride was still nagging at me. So after unloading all of my things, and before I started to look around, I went back to the bus and asked the attendant, "Are we in Thesselaniki?". "Yes, yes, Thesselaniki" he said in such a way that I could not determine whether we were in Thesselaniki, or if the bus was going to Thesselaniki. So I improvised with my famously effective hand gestures. Point at the ground, I asked "Thesselaniki?" and when he looked at me quizzically, I pointed at the bus and asked "Thesselaniki?". I repeated this process a second time before I felt reasonably sure that we were not in Thesselaniki, but had instead stopped along the way. So I hastily reloaded my things onto the bus, and got back into my seat for the hour-long drive to the city. Arriving in Thesselaniki, I found that my travels woes were just beginning. I wanted to make my way to the train station, that I might buy a ticket, and find a locker for my luggage. As all of the maps were in Greek, and there was no information booth, I finally went up to one of the bus ticket counters and asked the attendant if she knew how to get to the train station. "Oh yes, bus number eight," she helpfully informed me, and so I made my way to the city bus stand and hastily boarded a number eight bus that was idling there. So began my two hour tour of the city.
Since my last update, I made it down from the mountain and into town. There, at the information center, I was able to offer some other climbers advise on the accent while myself getting directions to the grocery store. After much deliberation, I acquired the necessary ingredients to prepare dinner and breakfast (both based largely around the two key ingredients of Rice Krispies and Milk) and made my way back to my hotel. There I took my final Greek Shower, which are similar to western showers, but with a few key differences.
The first and most obvious difference is that a full bathroom may not actually include a shower stall. Rather, the shower apparatus will be secured to the side of a wall, perhaps in between the sink and toilet, and a drain in the center of the floor is all the keeps the entire room from turning into an indoor swimming pool. The second key difference is that the shower head is not itself attached to the wall. Much like the removable shower heads found all over the United States, Greek shower heads simply cannot be attached to the wall to allow for hands-free showering. Anyway, I've been getting by alright with this system over the last 12 days, so I was quite used to it.
Having showered, and eaten my well-balanced dinner (Rice Krispies & Milk), I pretty much slumped right into bed and fell asleep. The night before I had been so exhausted from the early morning wake up, and the full day of climbing, that for probably the first time since I was 9 years old, I went to bed at 8 o'clock. So staying up even two hours later was, for me, one of the minor accomplishments of the day. I set my alarm to wake me up early enough to pack, and eat a well-balanced breakfast (Rice Krispies & Milk) before making my way to the bus station. I caught the 8:30 bus to Thesselaniki, and settled down to what I thought would be an hour and a half long bus ride. 30 minutes later, the bus stopped, and everyone got off. I looked out at the station, and seeing no names or placards to indicate where I was, I followed my famous "if everyone gets off the bus, you probably should too" rule, and got off the bus. There I asked the driver if we were in Thesselaniki. "Yes, Thesselaniki!" he impatiently replied. Okay, I thought to myself, but the brevity of the ride was still nagging at me. So after unloading all of my things, and before I started to look around, I went back to the bus and asked the attendant, "Are we in Thesselaniki?". "Yes, yes, Thesselaniki" he said in such a way that I could not determine whether we were in Thesselaniki, or if the bus was going to Thesselaniki. So I improvised with my famously effective hand gestures. Point at the ground, I asked "Thesselaniki?" and when he looked at me quizzically, I pointed at the bus and asked "Thesselaniki?". I repeated this process a second time before I felt reasonably sure that we were not in Thesselaniki, but had instead stopped along the way. So I hastily reloaded my things onto the bus, and got back into my seat for the hour-long drive to the city. Arriving in Thesselaniki, I found that my travels woes were just beginning. I wanted to make my way to the train station, that I might buy a ticket, and find a locker for my luggage. As all of the maps were in Greek, and there was no information booth, I finally went up to one of the bus ticket counters and asked the attendant if she knew how to get to the train station. "Oh yes, bus number eight," she helpfully informed me, and so I made my way to the city bus stand and hastily boarded a number eight bus that was idling there. So began my two hour tour of the city.
The White Tower, so named when a prisoner being held there won his freedom by white washing the entire structure.
If you've ever boarded a form of public transportation, unsure as to which stop you're meant to depart at, you'll be able to empathize with me. I had hoped that the train station would be an obvious stop, and when, ten minutes later and unbeknownst to me, we arrived there, I remained on the bus. Almost an hour later, having been through the entire city squeezed with my luggage onto a jerky city bus, we reached the end of the line. I found another bus number eight which took me on a repeat tour of the city, until I finally disembarked at what I had determined (though careful personal inspection of all available options) to be the most likely stop for the train station. My suspicions were confirmed and after buying a ticket for the overnight train from Thesselaniki to Istanbul, and securing my luggage in a locker, I was off to see the city. Thesselaniki was the second city of the Byzantine Empire, and it was for this reason that I was visiting. Today, it's the second city of Greece, and like Athens, it's mostly dirty, ugly, and hot. But I made the best of the city, and when I ran into an open air market, I was able to procure enough bread, feta cheese, olives, grapes, and sour cherry juice to feed a small army. Spending only about 6 euro, I made my way to the park and had my picnic in the shade.
The Byzantine Wall of Thesselaniki was reinforced by Emperor Justinian I in the 6th century. I think it's wicked cool that, a millenium and a half later, it's still there.
There wasn't too much else available in town, as all of the sites closed at 15:00. So I saw the outside of a lot of buildings, searched in vain for the Byzantine Baths, and after making my way along the Byzantine Walls, I was back at the train station by 18:00. Intending to have a genuinely health dinner, I ordered the worst Caesar salad of my live (40% Parmesan cheese 30% bizarre yellow dressing, and the remaining 30% was shared by limp lettuce and "chicken"). I boarded the train by 19:10, and at 19:38 on the dot, we were off. The train ride has been interesting. I chatted for a while with the Greek guy who's sharing my two-person berth. Like most of the people on the train, he's my age, and traveling to Istanbul as a tourist. Soon, we were joined by other tourists in their early 20's, attracted by the seductive sound of spoken English. I made my way to bed at around 22:00, with the knowledge that we would all be woken up at 2:00 when we reached the border.
My mental clock dutifully woke me just before 2:00, and I staggered out of bed to prepare for the visa process. However, we must have been delayed, because after waiting for an hour, nothing was happening. So I went back to bed and slept until 4:00, when I was awoken by a Turkish guard asking for passports. Surrendering mine, I went back to sleep until 4:30, when all the internationals requiring visa were rounded up and sent off the train.
Who's got two thumbs and made it into Turkey at 4:00 in the morning? This guy!
There, for a half hour, we band of merry pajama-clad English-speakers shuffled around in the cold, making light of the situation, and waiting to be called in for a visa. When my name was called, I went into the office, affirmed that my name was Patrick Ives, presented the guard with a twenty dollar bill, and was sent back to the train. By 6:00, my passport had been returned to me with a 90 day Turkish visa, and I promptly went back to sleep.
I awoke a little before 9:00, and have been watching the Turkish countryside give way to the urbanization surrounding Istanbul. The countryside blossomed with more sunflowers than I have ever seen in my life, and while I was at first tempted to say I saw thousands, it must surely have been millions. We're already two and a half hours late getting into Istanbul, so I'm starting to think that we must be reaching the city soon. I'd best back up my things and prepare to meet the first non-European overseas country I've ever visited on this, the one month anniversary of my departure.
Sunflowers. Lots of 'em.
I awoke a little before 9:00, and have been watching the Turkish countryside give way to the urbanization surrounding Istanbul. The countryside blossomed with more sunflowers than I have ever seen in my life, and while I was at first tempted to say I saw thousands, it must surely have been millions. We're already two and a half hours late getting into Istanbul, so I'm starting to think that we must be reaching the city soon. I'd best back up my things and prepare to meet the first non-European overseas country I've ever visited on this, the one month anniversary of my departure.
