A voyage to Mount Athos
Brian Kirman sails through northern Greece’s Halkidiki region in search of spiritual enlightenment
Pushing and shoving to get on a minibus was not the spiritual introduction to the Holy Mountain I was expecting, but there is only one way onto the Mount Athos peninsula, and that is by ferry from the town of Ouranoúpoli. Reluctantly we had joined the crowds. Limited transportation helps the authorities control entry, which is restricted to visa or permit holders. This is to keep out us undesirables and, even today, women. Even priests need to show a visa.
Our sailing trip in my Bavaria 42, Perla, took us from the Sporadic island of Skiathos and through the Halkidiki region to the northeast port town of Kavála. It was October and in northern Greece the winds are unpredictable at this time so nightly stops were planned: the longest day sail was 50 miles. I picked up crew en route to Mount Athos at Thessaloniki’s Aretsou Marina. Stathis, who is English and Greek, had a contact who could wangle visas for Mount Athos.
The Halkidiki area is notable for three finger-like peninsulas. Kassandra and
Sithonia have many fine beaches and tourist resorts, while Athos is rocky and dominated by the Holy Mountain, home to 20 different Eastern Orthodox monasteries. Some of these are spectacular and hang off cliff faces held up apparently by nothing more than faith. They look out to the northern Aegean Sea and have incredible views. The monasteries are stunning when viewed from sea level, especially when the rising sun illuminates their beautiful, daring architecture. It was a sight I never got tired of as we sailed around the peninsula’s southern tip before heading up the east coast.
SAILING INTO SACRED WATER
It was a long day sailing in a northerly Force 4 on the beam. As we turned north, the wind was on the nose so we motored.
In order to shorten the day we anchored in Platy Bay on the north-west of the Athos peninsula: still technically holy ground, but it was so isolated that no one would ever bother a single boat.
There are many stories about the origin of the Holy Mountain. One is that the troops of Alexander the Great returning from conquests in Asia Minor had tired of war and yearned for peace and calm, so Alexander granted them this peninsula as a self governing refuge, cut off from the rest of the world. A more fanciful story is that the Virgin Mary was sailing to Cyprus accompanied by St John the Evangelist. When the ship was blown off course to the then-pagan Athos, the crew were forced to anchor near the south. The Virgin walked ashore and, overwhelmed by the wonderful and wild natural beauty of the mountain, she blessed it and asked her Son if it could be her garden. Jesus agreed, and from that moment the mountain was consecrated as the garden of the Mother of God and was out of bounds to all other women. Even female animals
were barred before the penny dropped about the impracticality of such a regulation. Without nanny goats and ewes there is no milk, and therefore no cheese.
Next day we had a short sail across to Ierissos where we started our attempt to obtain visas. The normal procedure is to visit Thessaloniki in person four days beforehand but it was 80 miles away. Instead, we used Stathis’ contact, a resident priest in one of the monasteries, who was visiting nearby Gomati. He grudgingly wrote a note to the visa clerk. We went overland to Ouranoúpoli the next morning and picked up the visas before taking the 0630 ferry to Dáfni port.
After disembarking there was a scramble to get on the minibuses up to the main village of Karyes. It soon became clear that local knowledge was all important and we were quickly left behind in the scrum, watching the last bus as it disappeared up the track to the village. Two hours later another bus appeared, driven by a priest. He charged €5 a head to take us up the bumpy track to Karyes; prayers were played from the bus’s tape deck, blessing our journey. Karyes was pretty enough, with stone buildings, a few shops and a central church, as well as a motor spares shop selling the usual engine oil and fan belts and a mini market offering cut-price alcohol.
After a coffee, we took the short walk, shaded by walnut trees, to Koutloumousiou Monastery, the only one our visa granted us access to. On arrival we walked around the cloisters looking for someone in authority to present our visas to. Finding no one receptive, we wandered through the ornate, baroque Orthodox church before being told by a priest to return to Karyes. Disillusioned, we decided to head back to Dáfni port for the last boat of the day. Boarding the ferry we had to pass through ‘customs’, a euphemism for ‘check-their-bags-in-case-theynicked-some-icons’.
The Mount Athos peninsula is a state within a state and the Greek authorities have no jurisdiction there. All 20 monasteries are under the direct jurisdiction of the Ecumenical
Patriarch of
Constantinople.
On reflection, perhaps it was naïve to expect a spiritual experience. It may be that other visitors were moved and had lifechanging experiences, they may have had wonderful hospitality and eaten the food of the gods, and I wouldn’t discourage anyone who has the opportunity to go there. My advice would be don’t expect too much and you won’t be disappointed, and go with someone who has been before and knows the ropes. Then, who knows, you may even get on the first minibus.