Taking A Meeting with Hera and Zeus
Climbing Mount Olympus
I didn’t climb Mount Olympus just because it’s there. I mean, with that attitude, why not swim across the Atlantic? My motive was utterly practical. I had some important questions and Mount Olympus has the gods. If this resonates with you, the good news is you can do it too. It turns out almost any reasonably fit person with the will and the walking sticks can climb the highest mountain in Greece in two days and then brag about it forever.
The idea for this adventure came during a walking holiday on the gorgeous, unspoiled, sun struck Pelion Peninsula. My traveling companion and I stopped for an ouzo one evening at a vine covered bar in Mouresi. The placemat was a colorful sketch of Meteora, with Mt. Olympus in the center surrounded by Hera, Zeus, their godchildren and assorted lesser deities. Meteora was just a half day’s drive. A little physical challenge after the gentle strolls of the Pelion seemed like the perfect balanced vacation. And besides the chance for a divine Q and A, there was the caché factor …neither of us knew anyone who’d done it.
The town of Litochoro was the staging area for our expedition. Six miles from the coast in the foothills of Mt. Olympus, it’s a typically Greek small town mix of fruit and vegetable markets, budget hotels, souvenir shops, souvlaki stands and a busy flower lined main street. Old men in cafés are perched on stools playing backgammon and drinking ouzo. They look like they’ve been sitting there since Alexander the Great passed by on his way to Constantinople. According to two guide books, we could purchase walking sticks and anything else we might need for the hike right in town but I doubt that the writers had ever been there. The shops did have brightly colored Mickey Mouse book bags with special pockets for leaky taramosalata sandwiches, and flimsy umbrellas for the sudden summer downpours at high mountain climes. But a compass?
We lucked out. A Swiss hiker who’d passed through our hotel recently had left a pair of Leki poles behind. The kindly lady who ran the place and cooked a pretty good breakfast donated them. That they looked like the first Lekis ever made seemed totally appropriate to the age of Mount Olympus and to the modest spirit of our endeavor. After all, we weren’t ascending to conquer, only to inquire after the meaning of life.
We drove off after breakfast on a road that snaked up the foothills through pine forests and narrow streambeds. After half an hour it ended at a parking lot sign posted Mt. Olympus. A short, stocky man dressed like a hobbit and brandishing a stick stood in the thatched doorway of a wooden hut. He waved us over, pointing to the small handmade taverna sign over his wooly head. We were hungry and a little apprehensive. According to the sketchy trail map we had folded and refolded till it was soft and shredding there was a climbers’ refuge about half way up the mountain where we could eat and sleep before attempting the peak the next day. But since time, distance and level of difficulty were all unknowns, we jumped at the prospect of a hot meal and hiking carbs. He sat us at a harvest table. The choices were – bean soup. A young couple appeared in the doorway in shorts, sweatshirts and flip flops. They only wanted a toilet and were chased away. Which was too bad because I was hoping to check out a map with fewer deities and more waypoints. Still they were a good omen. If flip flops could reach the summit, who needed two Lekis each?
My advice? Go in late fall. The weather was perfect, about 75°F, with sun dancing through the forest canopy on a light breeze. For the first couple of hours a rough pine railing wound up the path. The ascent was gradual. There were rocky bits and narrow bits but nothing we couldn’t handle easily. We passed fellow hikers on their way down, all in high spirits, of all ages, mostly better prepared than we. But we did have good boots (a must).
In about three hours we reached Refuge A, aka Spelios Agapitos (2,100 meters/ about 7000 feet.) It’s a united nations of hikers run by the friendly, well-informed staff of the Greek Federation of Mountain and Rock Climbing. We ate in a spare wood-framed common room. The special was – bean soup – thick and tasty, same recipe as the hobbit’s. The other choices were wine (thank Bacchus!) and coffee. The dorm style rooms had bunk beds and simple bathrooms. We had one to ourselves and turned in early. Our plan was to start out at first light and make it to the top and back to the parking lot in one day. When night fell it was freezing. I mean really cold. We made a tent of blankets around one lower berth and slept huddled together in our sweaters and coats. We kept our boots on.
The next morning an official trail map revealed that there were two peaks, one less rocky and therefore a bit easier. It’s called Skolio. The face of the other, Mytikas, is referred to as Devil’s Slide. We weren’t idiots. Plus Skolio was only twenty feet lower. It was another ideal day. But soon enough the blue sky disappeared and we were hiking in the clouds. For the next few hours they blew in and out and we were alternately shedding layers then adding them again.
The trail had few markers which wasn’t a problem until we were above the tree line, in the clouds, and walking on slate. At one point we caught up with hikers who had an actual guide and we trailed them for awhile. Later a donkey train came ambling down so we knew we were still on the path. With twenty-six hundred feet to go the choice between the Skolio and Mytikas routes was clearly marked on a wood sign apparently made by Litochoro’s artful kindergarteners. Efharisto poli, (thank you very much) kids.
As we neared the peak the sun broke out for good and drew back the curtain on a heavenly scene. We stopped in our tracks. Beyond and all around us were rolling hills and valleys. Mountain goats were scrambling down rocky crevasses, flocks of sheep grazed in the distance. When the breeze shifted we could hear the ragged symphony of their bells. We spotted a galloping dog and a bright red cap on a shepherd who seemed hundreds of miles away. And beyond all this lay the coastline and the Aegean Sea, glinting in the clear light of day 9,500 feet below.
We reached the summit and sat down on the shale. I began to drift in amazement. When I came back to earth it was warm enough to take off my gloves and I reached in my pocket for my camera. This was, after all, an achievement to record. I looked around. My friend was standing on a ledge with her cell phone in her hand. Had the thin air dissolved her brain? My house in Santa Fe is at 7,500 feet and I get no bars at all. Of course, we were at the top of Mount Olympus; if she was dialing the gods it was a local call.
“Hi darling,” I heard her say, in a tone much too familiar for Zeus. “You’ll never guess where I am.” I closed my eyes and asked the gods my questions. I’d tell you the answers but then you’d have no reason to go yourself. Which would be a mistake of mythic proportions.
Refuge A / Spilios Agapitos @ 2,100 meters
Open May-October 6am-10pm
Skolio Peak on Olympus @ 2,911 meters