Mt. Athos, Greece: Of Monks and Men

The monastery of Grigoriou, as seen from the ferry. (Neil Averitt - Neil Averitt)

I received permission to visit Mount Athos last May, and entered, as most visitors do, through the Greek town of Ouranopolis, a honky-tonk resort about 75 miles east of Thessaloniki. This is the end of the road from the outside world. In Ouranopolis, I showed my entry papers and boarded a ferry for the two-hour ride along the coast to the little town of Dafni, the port of Mount Athos. Once there, you follow whatever itinerary you have planned. You can transfer to another ferry that serves the monasteries along the coast, or set off on one of the walking trails, or use the simple but efficient system of buses and minivans.

The ferry is more pleasant than the minivans, since it cruises only a hundred yards or so off a beautiful coastline and doesn't throw up clouds of dust. But the best plan is to leave public transportation entirely for a bit before reaching your destination and walk the last couple of hours, to get into a proper pilgrim's frame of mind. That's what I did.

The most striking piece of architecture is the monastery of Simonopetra, where I stayed the first night. It sits on an outcrop of rock a thousand feet above the sea, then rises farther above that like a fortress, with the bottom 40 feet of its walls blank stone. But the topmost floors are open with a vengeance -- four stories of decidedly rickety-looking wooden balconies run all the way around the building. Walking on the balconies provides an early test of one's faith and serenity. There are gaps between the floorboards, and it's a looonnng way down.

Like most of the monasteries, Simonopetra is filled with the sounds of heavy renovation. Just 30 years ago, it appeared that Athos was about to die out. The buildings were in disrepair and most of the monks were old. Today, however, their average age has fallen to something closer to 40, young monks are common, and many of the new entrants are highly educated (one is a former Harvard professor).

It was at Simonopetra that I began to learn the basic routine on Mount Athos: morning services, breakfast, a ferry ride or a few hours' hike to the next monastery, and a meeting with the host monk, who greets visitors, offers the traditional welcome of jellied candy and cool water, and explains the layout and schedule of the monastery. (Ninety percent of pilgrims are Greek, but most guestmasters speak a little English for the others.) Then there are a few quiet hours to explore the monastery, talk with the monks, attend afternoon services and have dinner. After more free time and an early bedtime at 9:30, a visitor enjoys the smooth and easy sleep of a person leading a stress-free life.

My next day's destination was the Danieleon -- not a monastery, but a free-standing house for five or 10 monks, located at the extreme end of the peninsula in a rugged area without roads. I caught a ferry, then toiled up a series of steep switchbacks under the hot sun, a trip that took an hour. Then, at last, relief: a terrace, a walkway under a cool and shady arbor, flower beds and a view over the Aegean.

The monks at the Danieleon are famous for their expert sacred chanting. They start in the morning darkness, in a little chapel dimly lit with a few small olive-oil lamps, some shining through containers of colored glass. They're shadowy shapes, nothing more. But in this darkness comes a sonorous, complex, humming harmony of many voices, soothing and otherworldly.

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Next on my journey was Grigoriou, a midsize monastery on the rocks just above the sea. It's noted for the friendliness of its monks: Benches and kiosks on the grounds are arranged for easy conversation. Visitors gather around the monks in twos and threes, talking quietly, often comparing Orthodoxy and Western Christianity.

Monastery food is always plain and fresh but varies in its sophistication. Some places serve a simple bowl of lentils; others offer artichoke hearts in lemon sauce. Dinner at Grigoriou ended with an excellent chocolate torte.

The monastery of Vatopedi is also at the worldly end of the scale. It's one of the largest on the mountain, with a courtyard that looks like the center of an Italian Renaissance town. One of the monks told me that Britain's Prince Charles, a regular visitor to Mount Athos, had been a guest there earlier in the month.

Vatopedi stands in an area of rolling agricultural land rather than steep cliffs. An easy walk leads past farmhouses and along country lanes, where a sense of bone-deep peace pervades the land. You can actually hear the rush of birds' wings and the hum of bees in a flowering tree. I was reminded of a conversation a few days previously with an English monk named Father Damian, who had stopped by Grigoriou as a visitor and ended up staying there. He recommended the line from Psalms, "Be still and know that I am God." Certainly the sounds of modern civilization are absent.