What’s most impressive about the Meteora Orthodox Monasteries, a UNESCO World Heritage site in a remote corner of Greece, is that they were built atop impossibly high stone pinnacles, at a time when there were no machines to help in the construction. Some attribute their existence to divine intervention, but whatever made them possible, I can’t think of better examples of how determination trumps logic, of how faith can actually move mountains. People who have visited Meteora say that being face to face with the monasteries almost touching the sky was a “humbling experience”. I couldn’t wait to check it out.
The Meteora rock formation, in the geographic middle of the Attica province, is near a town called Kalambaka, 217 miles north of Athens. My friend Margo and I were already in the capital, and were going to rent a car to go there. We changed our plan when the concierge at the Hermes Hotel pointed out that all road signs would be in Greek only. Also, she added, the car rental agencies in Greece require international driver’s licenses, which neither of us had.
Instead, we joined a guided tour she suggested, and left the hotel early the next morning on a comfortable bus with air conditioner and a talkative guide. As we got on the road and she started telling the difference between the Roman Catholic and the Greek Orthodox religion – to which the majority of Greeks belong – I fell asleep on my seat. When Margo woke me up, the landscape was totally different: we were on a hilly and rocky area, in front of a roadside restaurant, with nothing else around. “Where are we”? I asked. “No idea”, was her reply. “It’s not Paris”, she joked, alluding to her hometown.
After a simple but delicious lunch – food seems to be always fresh in Greece – we were back on the bus and I was ready to listen, when the guide started to talk about the Meteora Monasteries.
The origins of the Meteora rock formations are an enigma, as all around them the land is flat. Perched atop these rocks, the monasteries themselves were funded by Byzantine emperors, in the 14th century, to lay claim to the fertile valley around and protect the monks in the area against the invading Turks. In 1356 AD, the biggest of the monasteries – Megalo Meteoro – started to be erected by monks using only pulleys and ropes to haul the materials to the top of the rocks. By the 16th century, 13 monasteries had been established in the same fashion, functioning as bastions of Christianity. They are even credited with having helped save the Western civilization from the frequent inroads of Turkish domination and destruction.
These days largely supported by tourism, the monasteries were once the privilege of emperors and kings. For centuries, the only access to them were jointed ladders and descending nets, also used by the monks to get food and water. Stone bridges and stairs, added much later, in 1920, now take visitors up hundreds of steps to the six monasteries still open.
We were going to stay overnight at Hotel Amalia, near Kalambaka, in order to arrive early at the monasteries the next morning. Our guide kept warning us that they get very crowded and, as to confirm her information, when we arrived at the hotel many other tour buses were parking near ours, all full of people.
Later, during dinner – a very generous buffet with Greek specialties – we got acquainted with Mark and Ullisses, also in our group. Mark, in his early 50’s and from Australia, said that the trip to Meteora was a dream come true for him. For Ulisses, a younger Brazilian, Meteora was a good opportunity to take pictures, his hobby. The food didn’t disappoint: fresh vegetables and cheeses from the region. The desert – yogurt and honey – was out of the world, I had never tasted honey so smooth.
After dinner, Margo and I decided to go to Kalambaka look for our favorite Greek thing, live music. Our new friends joined us, but the Uber driver of the car we took informed that “tonight the only place with live music in Kalambaka is booked for a wedding”. “Oh well, we’ll go to a rooftop bar instead”, we decided.
Kalambaka is just another drab modern town, useful only as a base to explore the Meteora complex north of it. Yet an overnight stay there gave us a taste of everyday life in a provincial Greek town, something we wouldn’t have had otherwise. It was Saturday night, and in the crowded bars and tavernas on main street people were glued to TV screens, watching a soccer match. When we got to the rooftop bar someone had suggested, all eyes stared at us “foreigners”, only to ignore us a few minutes later and return to their conversations. The impressive detail we noticed as soon as we arrived was that the bar had been erected next- almost touching – an illuminated and vertical massive rock going all the way up in the dark, to where the eye didn’t reach. “That’s one of the monasteries, up there”, informed the bartender.
Next morning, after breakfast, we were on the bus at 7:30. We passed Kalambaka, but this time headed north of town onto a narrow and curvy road shared by many other tour buses. The day was sunny and the air dry, and – as the details of the buildings became clear – we stopped to take pictures. We passed on the way by a nice-looking hotel, Doupiani House, probably one with good views of the monasteries. For next time, I thought.
Our guide had selected three monasteries for us to visit. We started by the highest and grandest, Megalo Meteoro, and when we got there the stairs to the top were already full of people. We started to go up too, one step at a time, while the guide tried the best she could to keep us all together to hear the monastery’s story.
Megalo had been built of massive stones 1,361 feet above the valley. We were facing no less than 400 steps to get to the top. Once there, the view was fantastic, it was like entering another world. The first thing we saw was the cell of the founder – St. Anasthasios – and the richly decorated Greek Orthodox chapel with a bishop’s throne dated 1617. The monastery’s kitchen – blackened by centuries of cooking – led to a massive wine cellar with huge wine barrels, where a monk dressed in black was all smiles when we passed by him. Only six monks live in the place now. In the six monasteries still open, that number is only 22 monks and nuns. People in Kalambaka told us that they are now rich, due to the revenue brought by tourism, and that some drive new cars to go shopping in town. Probably true, after all tourism is the second source of income in Greece, after shipping.
What impressed me the most, though, was the carefully tended flower gardens, and the magnificent views of the valley below. From where we were we could see the other monasteries close by, as if we were suspended in the air and looking down. I had never seen anything like that. Not even beautiful Christ the Redeemer, in Rio de Janeiro, comes close. Meteora is different, it’s a spiritual experience. Hard not to feel humbled.
But when the people we climbed the stairs with all made it to the top, it got so crowded that one group had to move, to make way to the next. Many tour guides shouting in different languages added to the confusion – it was like being in the Tower of Babel of the Bible. But not even that detracted from my impression that I was living a very special moment, in a place built many centuries ago by nothing else than faith.
Next on the list was the Varlaam monastery, and we were relieved when the guide said that it would be easily reached by a bridge and “only” 195 steps. The monastery was rebuilt in 1515 by two monk brothers from a wealthy family, and church documents found there revealed that the construction itself took only 20 days – after the material had been accumulated atop the rock over a period of 22 years! The 16th century frescoes covering the walls looked fresh, as if just painted, the work of a famous hagiographer of the time, Frangos Katellanos, of Thebes.
At the entrance of our last monastery, Ayia Barbara, young and smiling nuns sold tickets and took pictures with tourists. The early monks refused to allow women in the Meteora, the first one ever to set foot in one was Queen Marie of Romania, in 1921 (she arrived at the Megalo on a donkey, and had to be pulled up with a rope by monks). Ayia Barbara sits on the lowest rock of the complex, and for centuries was the only nunnery in it. Its gardens were very well tended to, beautiful, and the red-and grey- stone of the walls make it a favorite of photographers. The building was abandoned in 1900 and stood empty until a new order of nuns moved in recently and restored it.
Back on the bus to return to Athens, we were all tired, but still in awe of what we had just seen. Some people showed each other pictures taken, but most were quiet and reflexive. I told Margo that I was wondering what would be like to visit Meteora in a calmer season. She looked attentively, as I explained that there were still three monasteries to see, including Ayios Nicholaos Anapafsas, famous for the quality of its frescos. “Maybe I will be back some day”, I concluded, not very sure that would happen. “Maybe”, she replied. “After all, we just saw that everything is possible”.