At any given moment, life is completely senseless. But viewed over a period, it seems to reveal itself as an organism existing in time, having a purpose, trending in a certain direction.
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Our second day on Mt Athos began officially with a church service that started at midnight and lasted until 7 am. Since this day was the feast of Theophany ( Epiphany) the services all have extra or expanded elements. In reality it was five separate services that all moved from one to the next: Compline, The Lity, Orthos (Matins), The Great Blessing of Water and Divine Liturgy. A meal immediately followed in the Trapeza. We slept a few hours and caught a van at 11 to Karyes, a small village on the east side of Athos which servers as a major hub and supply center.
Karyes is a very odd place with shops, chapels, buildings in various stages of ruin, pilgrims of many nationalities and of course monks. It very much reminded me of pictures I’d seen of Gold Rush towns. 
Karyes After spending about an hour there looking around we make a strategic decision to walk to our next destination Karakallou Monastery. Our decision to walk rather than catch a ride is based what we believe it will be a 2-3 hour walk. Distances on Athos are given as walking time not in actual distance. We have no idea of what terrain lay ahead between Karyes and Karakallou.
I’m carrying a 30 pound bag that converts to a backpack. Patrick is carrying a lighter pack similar to mine; however he is wearing an outfit straight off the shelf of Brooks Brothers; long wool overcoat, cuffed pants, and dress shoes. He looks good in church but not out on the muddy rutted roads of Athos. Fr Peter and Gregory are carrying well loaded daypacks. The first hour or so takes us down hill past a number of small houses and buildings, some abandon others in serious disrepair. We are in good spirits walking at a casual pace still unaware of the hard work that lay ahead. Gradually the road begins to climb and walking becomes a chore, particularly for me with the heavy pack. Now I find myself wishing I had only brought along a change of underwear, shirt, toothbrush, and deodorant in a day pack instead of my NW backpacking style supply of gear.
One of the things I immediately notice is the native plants lining the road. This is the first time I’ve ever seen heaths, euphorbia, photinia, and other plants common to our gardens back home growing in the wild. While not in bloom they are interesting to see in such great numbers. Olive groves are everywhere but most we see in this area are overgrown. Scrubby oak trees predominate the forests along the route.
As a point of history, Mt Athos has gone through many periods of decline and destruction in its more than 1000 years of existence. It has been invaded by the likes of the Crusaders, the Turks and even pirates. Monasteries have been burned to the ground, churches destroyed, treasures stolen, monks murdered and so on. In the last 20 years there has been a resurgence of interest in monasticism and many monasteries are being restored and revitalized. We saw many monks in there twenties and thirties in the monasteries we visited. So while there is a great deal of decay and terrible conditions in many areas, Athos is once again on the upswing.
Arriving at Iveron Monastery After several hours of walking we come to Iveron Monastery located on the shores of the Aegean. We want to stop here briefly to venerate the miraculous icon of the Mother of God (the Virgin Mary). Printed and mounted copies of this icon are ubiquitous in the Orthodox world and one famous painted version that was done at Iveron had for many years streamed myrrh (sometimes referred as tears). It was stolen a number of years ago and the owner murdered and has not been seen since. At home I have a cotton ball with the myrrh from this icon on it in a small bottle. It has the most other worldly smell to it. We immediately go to the church, venerate the icon and leave. By this time it is close to 3 pm and we are told by a monk that Karakallou is an hour walk. Tired from a difficult walk already and little sleep after a night in church we press on.
Our first trouble comes within a few hundred yards of Iveron, the road is not clearly marked and there are several unmarked roads branching off as we cross a stream. Fr Peter reminds us that we must be at the monastery by sundown (5:30 pm). All monasteries lock their gates at that time and do not open them for anyone. Keep in mind that these are the same gates built to thwart pirates and Crusaders… not a simple garden gate or door. We soon discover that from Iveron the road is mostly uphill. We all bear down and push on. With the heaviest load I’ve been a good tenth of a mile behind the others most of the time. I finally catch up with Gregory and he is looking very bad. I’m in modestly good shape but I know he is not and he is the oldest of all of us. I’m very concerned. I make him stop for a while and give him some water. When we start walking again we walk slow enough to maintain a conversation. We finally meet up with Patrick and Fr Peter who are waiting for us. We share some water and I pull out my stash of chocolate covered espresso beans and a few pieces of fruitcake I’ve brought along (a well appointed backpack does come in handy!). We’ve already walked for more than an hour and have no idea how much further the monastery is. It is about 4:15 by now. Fr Peter offers to exchange packs, I reluctantly agree. Without the additional 30 pounds I feel like I’m floating over the road in the first half mile.
We Made It… Barely!Patrick, in dress shoes, has developed a blister on the bottom of his foot that is affecting his ability to walk. He now takes over in the rear and I’m up with Fr Peter at the front. At around 5 we round a bend and see in the distance on a higher hill a large building. Our hearts sink since we think that perhaps this is Karakallou. If so, it seems like at least another hour away. We have no choice but to keep walking. We walk another half mile and round another corner and there before us is our destination. It is now about 5. We hurry down to the monastery over a rough cobblestone road and meet several monks standing outside the gate. One gregarious young monk starts an animated conversation with Fr Peter in Greek. I can’t tell if he is mad that we are here without calling first or that perhaps we are too late. Sometimes it is difficult with the Greeks to know just what is going on in an interaction because they are so loud and animated. I soon discover that he is glad to see us and although the meal is long over he has made arrangements to feed us. We have a simple meal of a cabbage and onion stew, large pieces of fresh feta, olives, and homemade bread. It is amazing how satisfying such a simple meal can be after a 12 mile walk.
Moral of the story: beware of Greeks giving directions!
Photos: Patrick Barnes
MtAthos and St Paul’s Monastery I’m at the university of Thessaloniki in a computer room. It is Monday Jan 24th, noon my time. Had a great ride back yesterday from Mt Athos. We were able to catch a ferry that took us down the peninsula before returning back to Daphne ( the main port of Athos) and our trip "Out" ( they call leaving Athos going out) to Ouranopoli. It was a crystal clear day and we had our first view of the actual mountain of Athos . It is huge snow covered peak which looks much like Mt Rainier in terms of its perspective to everything else. We were able to see several other monasteries and theSkete of St Anne along the way. The Skete of St Anne is a collection of small cabins, huts, and small churches precariously perched on steep rock faces, some only accessible by ladder or narrow trail. Supplies are packed in or carried by donkey. I have some great photos of it. If I ever get back toAthos it definitely is a place I want to go. It was a great way to end the trip since much of the rest of trip was rainy or over cast.
We were able to stay at five monasteries, each very different. Travel on Athos is a logistical challenge since there are only very primitive roads. With only one day at each monastery allowed with out permission from the Abbot we were on the move constantly. There are several small four wheel drive vans that go between Karyes ( a small town on the east side ) and Daphne, the main port and arrival point, and the monasteries.
Athos is is like stepping back in time literally and figuratively. The monasteries are over a 1000 years old and although some have modernconvieniences (like centeral heating, toilets and electricity) they are very primitive.
About five or six years ago I Googled my name, Peter Serko. I found a number of Serkos with various first names but to my surprise I found a Peter A Serko (I’m Peter J. Serko). I don’t recall now exactly what the website where his name appeared was or what it said since it was in Ukrainian but it was business related and it had an email address for Peter. I took a chance and composed a short email note of introduction and sent it.
About two weeks later out of the blue I got an email from Peter. He clearly spoke enough English to be able to read my email and compose an understandable reply. At the time he was married; wife Victoria and daughter Lena. Lena is the same age as our daughter Alice and is in the second year of college. Since then they have had another child Dasha. They live in Dnipropetrovs’k, an industrial city, on the River Dnieper in central Ukraine. He is involved in some way with a forging company that makes buckets or blades for tractors and bulldowsers. I have never been quite clear if he has an ownership stake in the company.
Over the years we traded emails about basic things, since the language barrier prevents anything too indepth and have exchanged packages with a few gifts once. For almost a year we lost touch since I misplaced his address, he finally wrote and we were back on track.
I just got a Orthodox Christmas greeting email with the picture that appears above attached. A beautiful family! It is always odd to get an email from him because my Inbox from field says: Peter Serko. I think "humm.. I didn’t send myself an email did I?".
He noted in his email how happy they were with the election of Yuschenko and how hopefully they are that a democratic government will address the big problems that the country faces. I replied telling him how distrought we were at the election of Bush.
My hope is that at some point in the future we will be able to meet in person.
One of the unexpected surprises of reaching middle age is a sudden interest in opera. Up until about two years ago I had never given it a thought. Although I had gone to my first opera in my mid-40s (La Boehme at Glimmerglass Opera in Copperstown, NY), I wasn’t that enthralled; in hindsight I guess I wasn’t ready.
Sue purchased tickets at Seattle Opera for the 2002-03 season. I wasn’t the least bit interested in going. She arranged with our friend Gregory, an opera goer for more than 30 years and a real amateur authority on the subject (more on that later) to accompany her. At the time Seattle Opera was in the midst of building a new opera house and was using a modified hockey arena next door as the opera house. While surprisely functional, it was certainly less than ideal. When she couldn’t make one of the performances I decided to fill in. The Sunday afternoon performance was Donizetti’s Don Pasquale. There was something about the whole experience that grabbed me. Never really a patron of the arts, I certainly wasn’t in my element but I just enjoyed the pace of everything. Perhaps it is my longtime fascination with anyone who truly excels at any endeavor. To hear the human voice do amazing gyrations, to hear a woman fill a hockey arena with masterfully controlled sound is awe inspiring (Ewa Podles in Norma was simply stunning). That week I bought tickets for the remainder of the season, I just had to keep going.
What was fortuitous is having Gregory as a resource. He is an amazing reservoir of opera knowledge. He owns a vast collection of opera music with multiple versions of many operas, in fact it seems to be the exception that he has one of anything. A while back I mentioned that I heard that Franco Correlli had died last year after listening to the NY Metropolitan Opera’s weekly radio broadcast intermission discussion (away fascinating) talking about his career. The next Sunday I had three disks of music spanning his entire career. I regularly get supplied with CDs of upcoming operas.
One great learning experience is to listen to different performances of the same opera. Every artist brings a unique element to a roll. My first experience with really understanding this was La Traviata. I first heard this marvelous Verdi opera on a Met broadcast. Soprano Renae Fleming played Violetta and at the end of Act I she did something with her voice that I had never heard before called coloratura. Gregory subsequently supplied me with several versions, one of my favorites is a bargain bin version on the VOX label (1996) featuring Virginia Zeani as Violetta. Another favorite features Montserrat Caballe along with Carlo Bergonzi, and Sherrill Milnes (1967 RCA). For Christmas I received a version with Joan Sutherland, Bergonzi, Merrill and Pritchard (Decca 1963 recently remastered). Although Joan Sutherland is fabulous as one would expect, I prefer Caballe.
A month or two after hearing it from the Met I discovered the opera was playing in a few months up in Vancouver, BC; we had tickets in a matter of minutes. By the time the Vancouver performance rolled around I was thoroughly familiar with the opera from beginning to end. The live performance did not disappoint, I loved it. There is nothing like finally connecting the music to the story dramatically. Once you make that connection it makes subsequent listenings all the richer since one really knows what is going on (language and unusual names does make it hard to keep things straight).
Interesting Opera Links:
Met Radio Broadcast Schedule for this year
