The Highs of Life

"Do not follow where the path may lead. Go instead where there is no path, and leave a trail"

Mission climb-the-highest-mountain in Greece is officially checked off the list of things to do. Mount Olympus is rightfully the home of the twelve Olympian Gods of the ancient world, with the highest peak being Zeus’ throne, called Mytikas. We decided to pay him a visit, it was one we will never forget.

As with all our fun-filled CYA trips, we started bright and early on Friday morning. No ferry ride this time, but we were compensated with a six-hour bus ride instead. The intention to finish some homework soon turned into a five-hour ‘nap’, with no regrets. Stopping along the way, we gobbled down a delicious tavern lunch of protein and carbohydrates to gear up for the hike up. To start the trek, we had to start from the village of Litochoro (pronounced Lee-tho-huro; this desire to start spelling things out first in Greek before English might prove to be a problem upon return): the village of the Gods.

"Do I look at the ground or do I look up?!"

As to be expected of a mountain, the hike was extremely uphill. Just when you thought there could be no more steps steeper than the ones you just dominated, there comes another set, just as impending as the ones before. It took every strain of effort to continue the three hour climb. Our goal was to reach a refuge shelter that was located 2/3 of the way up.

We were lucky to have two interesting guides accompany us along the climb. Cristas, “and his friend Yannis” were the source of much amusement and lightheartedness throughout the trip. With jokes about how much further we had till we reached the end, to pretending we were lost, to constantly reminding us about the single room we would share in the shelter, they were a riot. Apart from the fact that it was nearly impossible to take them seriously, they did come to the rescue over the weekend, producing “magic medicine” (a.k.a. magnesium) to make the knees stop aching, and Band-Aids galore after what I think was a graceful slide down a slope of gravel.

Yes we’re adults, but not once did that stop the twenty of us from coming up with silly ways to pass the time during the climb – I discovered my lack of technical knowledge of anything to do with entertainment. Needless to say there was no need to anyway: the view was breathtaking. It was a world away from Athens, and basically a world away from everything. It was delightful to hear the water from a spring while wandering through the forest and stare intrepidly at the avalanches near the bottom, and to gaze across the clouds and past the village to see the sea once we were higher up. The rush of standing along the cliff-side along the top is unparalleled, and the more of the view we absorbed, the more we yearned to take in.

That same day, we finally (really, there was a point it seemed unlikely we would make it up there) reached the shelter at 8.30pm. What time did they stop serving food? 9.00pm. What time was lights-out? 10.00pm. We were a group of tired, hungry, and slightly delirious college students. It was a miracle we managed to squeeze into the lobby, which doubled as the place to order food, take off our shoes to switch into required sandals, and relax into the atmosphere. It was cozy, with two fireplaces that we quickly claimed as ours, long tables to sit at with other adventurous souls from around the world, and one huge room we all had to sleep in. The best part of the night however, was stepping outside into the chilly mountain air to see the stars.

The shelter that (almost) never was

The sky was so dark it was almost frightening, but the stars were as clear as crystal. Each shone proudly, yet none outdid the other. It was perfect harmony, and it was the magical highlight of the trip. Shooting stars were all over the place, and the more you focused, the more stars there were that revealed themselves, seemingly only to you. It was one of those powerful moments that fill you with an enchanting sense of serenity.

Early to bed, and early to rise (kind of), we geared up over a hearty breakfast by the fireplace. We still had another two hours to reach our goal. We were unable to hit the very top, because that requires climbing gear and technical experience. We settled for the base of Zeus’ throne. Already above the clouds, we went higher and higher, passed by a few donkeys who were probably smirking at our valiant efforts, and crossed the part of the trail that required three meters of distance between each other to account for and dodge stones chucked down from the wild goats who reside above. With fewer stops than the day before and the sun warming the cool air and edging us on, we made our way to the peak.

We approached the end in high spirits, full of immense gratification. We could see so far beyond, and were surrounded by so many different landscapes and other mountain tops. At this point, we could also look across to another peak: one with another refuge – at the same altitude of 2,100 meters. We even saw people making their way towards it, as well as some who were ascending to the top of Mytikas. Right next to it, there was a tiny Church – it is said that underneath the Church was a pagan temple from Ancient times, and when it was destroyed the Church was built atop it. I’m not sure Zeus was too happy about that.

Zeus' lair; not a bad place to call home

It felt so rewarding to be so wholly immersed in nature and have completed the strenuous endeavor. We spend quite a while up there, and I took off to a higher point above the rest of the group, and –to add to the entire cliché – meditated in front of an alcove on the cliff. When it was time to say goodbye and make our way back to the shelter, we took our final pictures and tried to imprint the view permanently in our memories. The journey down didn’t take long, and the change in terrain was a nice reprieve for our tender leg muscles. We literally flew down the mountain, and after a quick stop at the refuge to pick up our bags and eat lunch, we descended down Mount Olympus, to return home to Athens.

The realization of just much we covered hit us on the descent down. We appreciated how much we actually climbed the day before, and wondered at how we navigated it in semi-darkness. It was a relatively quiet hike down, as we all reflected on various personal aspects. It was a great weekend get-a-way. Even though we hadn't showered the entire time (or for that matter, did we have running water for the whole trip), even though we paid too much for comfort food at the lodge, and even though we anticipated the soreness and body pains for many days to come – we had an absolutely exhilarating time. We bonded over fruit and nut snacks, over sleeping in the same room, over sharing a water bottle to brush our teeth, and over taking turns to turn around slowly in front of the fire. I told the stars I would be back one day, to make it to the very top, and that they should please continue shining ever-so-brightly, and I decided I was inspired to stay somewhat in better shape so that it wouldn't be as painful the next time around.

It still will be though; mai doulevees (are you kidding me)?

With the weekends being packed with intense travelling and creating moments that will live in my heart forever; the weekdays feel very different. With five full classes, tutoring twice a week, and cooking dinner every night, there isn't much time for much else. Throw in a demonstration every now and then, and it is impossible to tell I’m not local (putting aside some other very significant giveaways; but really, who really notices those anyways?).

Given the political and economic atmosphere this is prevalent now, the nation is gripped by a multitude of attitudes and feelings. Conservatives, liberals, communists, socialists, and everyone else – they all have something to say. Their voices crave to be heard, and the people just want to be taken as worthy of acknowledgement. All protests usually take place in the heart of the city: Syntagma Square. It is the scene most prominently featured in the news, the area all the tourist buses stop first, the park with the best street acts, and it has the kiosks with the best postcards. It also happens to be a seven minute walk from our neighborhood.

On one sunny day last week was one such protest. It was the day Angela Merkel, the German Chancellor was to visit the Greek Parliament for “some talks”. The Greeks are not too happy with Germany’s involvement in their economic affairs, and as with other things that they are not happy with, they naturally called to demonstrate against it. The whole city follows unofficial procedures and know-how on these days, with public transport being disrupted and stores closing down. Everyone who is anyone shows up, whether for solidarity and support or to witness the spectacle and observe.

Angela Merkel's welcome party

After lunch we walked across the National Gardens to the Parliament building, passing by civil police officers (armed with their handsome faces and semi-automatics) who were stationed at intervals leading up to the Square. We hit the mass of people almost immediately and meandered about. The whole thing was like a show: there were people selling food and souvlakis, tourists taking pictures and gaping open-mouthed, college and high-school students hanging out and missing classes, locals shopping and wandering in the commercial district beyond, and a sprinkling of media crews here and there, poised and ready for anything.Mostly, there was just a lot of people.
All part of some party or another, they milled about and chanted slogans against “the reforms” and discrediting the “austerity measures”. We happened upon a group that seemed to be signifying Merkel’s visit as the “reoccupation of Greece by Germany”, mocking the German takeover of Greece in the 1940s. They did so by donning the garb of Hitler, wearing the Nazi swastika, and burning the Nazi flag atop a barricade beside the Parliament. Yes, it was overhyped, overdramatized, and overplayed. What was really blown out of proportion though, was the response of the frenzied media who took this to a whole new level of journalistic license, describing them in ways that is an unfair depiction of these peoples’ actions. They hurt nobody, and demanded no obligatory support. They were simply citizens voicing their views and hoping to have people take notice of them.

Old ladies dressed in their Sunday best, and young toddlers in strollers; the media never portrays these peaceful demonstrators. Rather, they focus on those few radicals who storm the streets every once in a while throwing nondescript objects into the crowd. They focus on the lines of police wearing protective gear and shields (which they use so that they don’t get hit with things like tomatoes, eggs, and plastic bottles). They focus on the things that aren't the focus of these demonstrations. The focus is the hearts of these people; their hearts which are invested in this beautiful country which they call home.
They simply don’t appreciate the idea of other European Union countries dictating how Greece should function, nor do they look favorably upon the prospect of having to pay for the mistakes of the Government. People follow the happenings from all over the globe, the seeming “violence and unrest” in Greece; really, they should be following the “despondency and distress” that arise from the myriad of voices and perspectives that make this diverse country as special as it is. The tear gas from the police at the end of every demonstration has now become part and parcel of the whole performance, acting as a finale to signal the end of the proceedings. It is not the lethal poison that people assume, it is not intentionally thrown towards people, and it usually occurs after the crowds have already dispersed. Sometimes it is even the police who will dress up as rioters and “provoke” the police so as to conclude the day’s proceedings.

Scared? Not in the slightest

This is all not to say that it is not a big deal. These demonstrations are one of the most significant aspects of living in Athens, a real insight into the way of life here. Things can get out of hand, people do get hurt, and most often no perceivable resolution comes as a result of them. What is important is to legitimately represent that: in order to understand a demonstration, one must participate in a demonstration, and not simply read about it a few hours later in a different hemisphere and judge what transpires.

For now, I will settle with going to yet another protest tomorrow to see and be seen as an interesting way to end this week of academic studiousness, after which is the weekend’s trip to Meteora and Metsovo to see world famous monasteries and the battleground Thermopylae. Just another week in the life of an Athenian – the life of this Indian-born, America-bred Athenian.