I have this vague memory of a movie, maybe from the 1960s, about flying nuns. I'm not positive it's real, but I'm fairly certain it is. I have no idea what the premise is- I mean, what do flying nuns do exactly?
Our first stop in Greece (apart from the very low-key border control) was the monasteries of Meteora. Matt has a list of the 100 most beautiful places in the world that he copied from a National Geographic and has been carrying around. We've checked off quite a few on the list. One of the spots is Meteora, so Matt was determined to get there. I had an idea of it, and agreed we should go, but the reality was so much more awesome than I realized.
The area is made up of rock pillars reaching high into the sky. They are supported by rocky and green hills, certainly reminding us of the foothills of California. But, those pillars were incredible.
Perched on top of some of the rock cliffs, built almost as a natural extension if the rock, are monasteries and nunneries.
Thus, the flying nuns.
Can't you just imagine nuns flying between the cliffs taking care of the monasteries? No? I can.
These ancient monasteries and nunneries were built there centuries ago. They became places of refuge and for hiding relics when the Turks invaded Greece. There were scribes who produced and preserved ancient and beautiful manuscripts. Iconographers painted beautiful icons if Christ, the Virgin Mary and the depictions of neomartyrs. It was truly remarkable.
We stayed in the village closer to one end of the monasteries. There are six you can visit. We decided we wanted to hike up rather than take a taxi to each one, so we set out the first day, thinking we might see two or three of them.
There is not necessarily an obvious path (that we knew of), so we found footpaths and followed the trails that led in the direction we wanted to go.
We ended up climbing above the village to a hill with a hidden Orthodox alter. It was this secret little place that was magnificent. We sat on the windy hill and enjoyed the sun and view for a few minutes before moving on.
We continued through the small valley that separates the village from the monasteries, until we came to a gorge that led up to the furthest and largest monastery- the Great Meteora Monastery. From below we could see also St. Nicholas and Valmorain Monasteries as well as a nunnery on their perches.
We walked/scrambled up the hillside to the top. Along the way, we found a little friend that we nearly stepped on (I think I scared Matt when my reaction was closer to nearly stepping on a rattlesnake rather than a tortoise). He was a cute little guy.
After the encounter, I kept my eye out for other reptiles (fortunately, no other sightings) until we reached the road leading to the monastery.
The day was warm so I had just been wearing shorts. However, there was a sign that said shorts weren't permitted. I knew they had skirts for women to wear, but I was afraid I would still get turned away (and I was not going to walk up all those stairs just to have to go back down!). So, I'm ashamed to admit, but we came to a little chapel that seemed to have been getting some work done, so I just stepped inside and changed. Right there in front of the Mother of God. I'm not sure what is worse- wearing shorts into a monastery or changing in front of Mary. What are you going to do?
So, all covered up we went in. There were some interesting rooms. One had skulls lining the wall, perhaps from monks through the ages. There was a museum that demonstrated how closely linked the Greek national culture is to Greek Orthodoxy. There was a lot of national pride wrapped up in the museum. It also showed how in recent history the Greeks had strongly held on to and defended their land, from the Turks to Axis Powers.
The chapel, though, was the best. It was beautifully painted an envelopes in arches and low hanging chandeliers. It smelled like incense. However, once you could focus in on the details, those beautifully painted pictures were all depictions of neomartyrs (Christians who were killed for their faith specifically during the Ottoman invasion). It wasn't just pictures of the martyrs, but how they became martyrs. There were bodies standing and nearby their detached heads shone with halos. And, my favorite part, in case you weren't sure if it was actually decapitation, there were a few spurts of blood coming from the severed neck. It sounds gruesome, but in reality was just getting the point across. It was of course important to honor those who had died for their faith, there was just an element of cartoon that lightened it. I probably shouldn't say that. Anyways, you'll have to just trust me or google it because I didn't take any pictures inside.
After our visit we walked just down the hill to Valmorain, which was closed that day, then we took a path from there back down the mountain.
We got back to the village just before it started to rain.
The next day we headed into the main town for a delicious Greek lunch made by a real Greek grandmother, so you know it was good, before we hiked up to the other end of the monasteries. The trail was a bit more obvious this time, but by the end was pretty straight up.
We reached the monastery and climbed the stairway to the entrance. I put on another skirt (even though I did keep my pants on this time) and went in. This one was much smaller and simpler. It was peaceful with fewer people and no museum. We walked through and then out to the cliff where we could look out and see the other monasteries and towns below.
One thing I always looked for when we visited were the nuns and the monks. But I never saw any! I thought we would see where they slept or watch them cooking in the medieval kitchen or see the scribes working. But no! Not one! On one of the trails I had managed to slip and scrape my knee. As we walked up toward the monasteries, I developed this little fantasy that a kind and ancient nun would see my knee (which wasn't that badly hurt, but still) and she would lead me (wordlessly because she wouldn't speak English, obviously) to the infirmary where she would cover my knee with medieval herbs collected from the surrounding hills. It sounded so lovely. (Apparently, I have a need for old ladies to take care of me from bathing me at Turkish baths to healing me at nunneries.)
Anyways, I didn't see any nuns. When we left on the train we met a group if three American friends who had visited every single monastery and nunnery on foot in one day! They said they saw several nuns walking around the nunneries (which we didn't go to) and I was so disappointed. Note for the future- go to a nunnery to find nuns.
It was reassuring to know that they were actually there, even if I didn't get to see them (or be treated by them). I actually thought a lot about those nuns, especially from ancient days as we hiked around. Those were some tough women to climb up those mountain tops and take refuge in those chapels. The monasteries in medieval days (especially hiding from persecution) would have had a very different feel. I liked the image of those women in their long habits hiking along. I think I like it better than the image of them flying around.
We went back to our village for some more exploration. Matt had glimpses buildings built into the side of the cliffs rather than on top and we wanted to go see them. It turns out it was another monastery, but our hotel owner suggested that the original buildings may have been religious but built before Christianity arrived in Meteora. He said, today, it's where monks retire. We climbed up and explored the cave a bit. We couldn't get too far. I suppose one of the perks of being a retired monk is that you no longer have to share your living quarters with nosy tourists. Seems fair.
Anyways, we didn't go into each monastery and nunnery, though I liked the two we did see, but it was almost more exciting to just look at them from afar or see a line of them spread across the rocks. It was unlike anything I'd ever seen before.
We had to catch the train very early the next morning. So, before dawn on Easter morning we started to walk into town. As we headed into the early morning we could hear the bells of the monastery coming down the hill. It was beautiful and an incredible way to begin Easter morning.
In Greece, though, the bells were marking the dawn of Palm Sunday as Orthodox Easter (or Pascha, as I like to call it) is a week after Western Easter. So, as we travel further into Greece we'll be sharing Holy Week with Greek Orthodoxy as we look forward to celebrating the resurrection two weeks in a row; I'm kind of excited about that.
So, on to Athens, the Parthenon and the anticipation of Pascha!
