It's five days later, and we're back on the same train we took to come into this small town in central Greece, headed in the opposite direction. Kalambaka is the end of the line in these parts. Doesn't matter if you're heading north or south; there's one way in and one way out.
Outside, the train is toddling through an ancient riverbed thick with farmland. The Greeks, it seems, will waste none of this rich soil. It's been raining off and on for the last few days, so the land looks especially green. I don't know if it's the fresh water stimulating new growth or if my eyes are just drawn to the bright green spring leaves amidst the clouds overhead. Whichever it is, it's beautiful. And the snow-capped mountains towering in the distance certainly don't hurt the eyes.
Arriving in Town
We came to this area for one purpose really - to see the cliff-top monasteries of Meteora. We'd heard a lot about this incredible UNESCO world heritage site and needed to see it for ourselves. The problem was the rain. According to the forecast, a storm the size of the country would be rolling through at the same time we wanted to arrive. Not exactly the conditions you hope for when going for a long hike. We have good shoes, but those old worn stones are slippery even when dry. So we'd have to wait it out.
According to the weather report, there would be a break on Tuesday. So we found lodging and booked ourselves a room until Wednesday. It meant spending five days in Kalambaka (Kalabaka? Kalampaka? How are you actually supposed to spell it anyway?). Five days was a lot more time than we meant to give to this place, but so what? We're not in a rush; we've got all year. And besides, we needed time to plan our next steps.
We arrived at sunset, which was beautiful, but largely obscured by the clouds. The cliffs of Meteora loomed over the town, impossible not to notice. As we stepped off the train, our excitement was palpable.
My first impression of the town was that, much like other cities and towns we'd traveled through in Greece, it was still dealing with the results of a prolonged economic depression. The country has been hammered economically. In 2007 there was the global financial crisis, in 2012 the EU-imposed austerity measures, in 2015 a default on their loan to the IMF, and of course most recently the COVID crisis. That Kalambaka might have fallen on some hard times is to be expected.
And yet, the town has this amazing natural and cultural wonder mere steps away and there is no doubt that it has given some degree of life to this town. Coffee shops, bakeries, restaurants, and souvenir shops have all sprung up to cater to the many tourists who pass through. I don't know if it's a testament to the Greek education system or the power of the tourism industry, but everyone we interacted with seemed to have incredible English too. Certainly it was miles better than our nearly non-existent Greek. They made us feel welcome and showed us so much generosity. Several restaurants we went to, for example, gave us free desserts at the end of our meal. And maybe it was just part of business, but it felt like people were genuinely happy to chat with us. One waiter on our first night alternated between Greek, English, and Spanish, which felt very much like it came from a place of wanting us to feel welcomed. Though who knows, perhaps he just wanted to show off!
To be honest, I'm not sure I was able to get a good feel for the soul of the town. I think their place on the tourist trail is fairly well solidified, and will only get stronger as summer comes around and the pandemic truly ends, but how do the locals feel about that? And is that enough to revive the town in the face of the country's problems at large? Judging from the interactions we had, people seemed to genuinely appreciate our presence in the town. Does that mean they feel hopeful for the future and enjoy the gifts tourism has to offer? I don't think I could say. And I suppose that, as some guy just passing through, I'll never really know.
The First Hike
There are a few routes to get to the monasteries. There's a paved road that goes east out of town and slowly curves up top of the cliffs and a road that goes west out of down and does the same thing. Or, if you like to walk, there's an old path that goes up the middle.
The path starts at the northern edge of town and winds its way up to the Monastery of the Holy Trinity and the main road, from which you can reach all the other monasteries. As I walked along the path, I pictured the monks of centuries past walking the same route to get into town. Perhaps they would walk in small groups of two or three, heads bowed in the rain, draped in some heavy cloth. It was the kind of place where it would be easy to let your imagination get away from you.
About halfway up, the canopy begins to open up and the insane panoramas begin. It becomes quickly clear just how far you've climbed and just how sheer the drop to the bottom is. The tiled terracotta roofs of Kalambaka spill out from a narrow valley between two enormous walls of stone and into the Plain of Thessaly below. Above, the Byzantine walls of the monastery rise as if they had always been there, as natural a part of the cliffs as anything could be.
Of course, they're not. They are made of brick and stone and mortar, just like any other building. It's hard to imagine how they might have been built, all those years ago. Wikipedia tells me that sometime in the 13th century construction on the churches began with monks who would somehow climb up the rocks, then lower nets and ladders to bring materials to the top. Until the 1920s, when stone steps were carved into the cliff faces, those nets and ladders were the only way up. The story goes that two brothers spent 22 years hoisting materials to the top of one rock formation, then took a mere 20 days to complete the Monastery of Varlaam. Whether that's true or not, it's remarkable that they were able to construct it at all!
Although only 6 monasteries remain today, there were once 24 in total. Centuries of abandonment, persecution, and war have toppled the rest.
On the first full day after we arrived, rain was forecast to fall at around 1 in the afternoon. We figured we could do a quick hike up, see one of the monasteries, then hike back down. If all went well, we'd be safely (and warmly) in our room long before the worst of it. We rushed up the path, barely stopping more than a few times to catch our breath, ascended the stone steps to the Monastery of the Holy Trinity and walked its halls, then rushed back down. Above, the skies menaced the town.
And they continued to do so for quite some time. The rain that was supposed to fall at 1 in the afternoon held off. We wandered around town and found a bite to eat, pledging to at least stay out until the first raindrops fell. But as time dragged on and the rain stayed stubbornly just beyond the edge of town, our pledge proved to be one we wouldn't keep. We walked back to our room, feeling only a little defeated. There was still Tuesday, after all. If all went well, we would still get to complete our hike.
Later that evening, rain fell. And all the next day, it continued to fall.
Not to gloss over it: The Monastery of the Holy Trinity is really, really cool. There's a winding stone staircase that brings you up to the entrance, a large arched wooden door. When you enter, immediately to the left is a narrow room with a tall domed ceiling adorned with gorgeous orthodox paintings of Jesus, the saints, and the apostles. Picture lots of gold, bold lines, and bold colors. In another room is some sort of cart and rope system which they clearly used to raise and lower goods and people in the days before the stone stairs. There was also a sort of balcony or courtyard area from which you could view the entire valley below. The monastery is still active (as are all the remaining 6 monasteries), so much of it was off limits. But the parts we could see were really, really amazing.
The Second Hike
Eventually, the rain did let up. We only had the one full day of rain and we made good use of it. We visited a museum that was partly a museum of natural history and partly a museum of mushrooms. We really enjoyed the mushroom exhibit, but all the taxidermied animals were also somewhat off-putting, and it was a little hard to tell which ones were from elsewhere and which ones were from the Meteora area. We spent the rest of the day researching and planning our next steps.
Tuesday, the sun broke through and Meteora shone in all its glory. We had breakfast and hit the trail. We took the same route up as we did last time, winding up the old path towards the Monastery of the Holy Trinity. This time, however, we cut over to the road and made our way to one of the other monasteries - the Monastery of St Stephen. Although, perhaps more appropriately it should be called the Nunnery of St Stephen as it was converted into a nunnery in 1961 and remains so today. We walked about its grounds for a while, enjoyed the smell of the incense, the incredible views, and their small museum. One interesting tidbit: we overheard a tour guide explaining that one of the works in their museum is from the man who would eventually become known as El Greco. Apparently he came from Crete originally and often signed his works including the word "Κρής", which means Cretan.
The sun stayed with us and we continued on our way. The Monastery of Rousanou and the Great Meteoron were closed by the time we got there, but we were able to enter the Monastery of Varlaam. Varlaam is the second largest of the monasteries of Meteora and is truly a work of art. There's a church inside composed of two rooms and decorated in a similar style to the smaller room from the Monastery of the Holy Trinity, except much more elaborately and graphically. This church seemed to take pains to depict in detail the agonies of the martyrs and those cast to hell. Alexa joked that they should've put a trigger warning by the entrance and I fully agree. It was pretty intense.
On a side note, we had a picnic lunch on a large rock overlooking the Monastery of Rousanou and the valley below, which is probably the most epic picnic I've ever had. Wow. What an incredible view. (And for those wondering, lunch was some fruit and a bit of various pastries we picked up from a bakery in town for a ridiculously reasonable price.)
As we wrapped up our self-guided tour of the monasteries, we lost the trail for a bit and decided to just take the main road back down. We ran into a couple other tourists who, attempting the same route as us, ran into the same problem. So basically what I'm saying is, AllTrails probably led us astray and it's totally not our fault. It didn't really matter anyway; the views are incredible no matter how you go.
I'm glad we stayed long enough to see the monasteries. I'm glad we didn't rush it. And I'm also glad to move on.
There's more to say, as there always is. Maybe I'll write about it another day.
See you soon!