Tomas and I are driving to South Pelion through the mountains and then down to the shore through towns where insistent waves crash over the short stone wall that separates the sea from the road. Water splashes the windshield when we drive through the large puddles that cover the pavement. Tomas laughs as often as possible.
We cruise around turns, around hills and mountains. There are no straight-aways here in The Pelion.There are not straight-aways.
There are sometimes sheep.I tell Tomas I am impressed with these well-paved, pothole-less, smooth Greek roads. He laughs at me; it is not the first time he has laughed at me and it will not be the last.
Tomas dives Greek fast, explaining that it is not really so fast. Only thirty kilometers around turns. I don’t mind the speed. I am reclining in the passenger seat enjoying the sea view to my right, mountains to my left. Shoes off; it’s been a long time since I’ve been in a car.
I ain’t scared a’nothin’!
Clicking photographs like a typical tourist.
“El la, come on! Stop with the camera!” Tomas tells me. It sounds like yelling but it is just talking loudly.
The scenery changes so much every several feet… meters… I am going metric.Every time I quiet my mind and open my heart something unusual and unmistakable happens. I tell myself to remember this, do not forget what happens when you have faith. Having faith that you are exactly where you ought to be always. Persist with faith when you are in trouble, confused, scared, and in your own way. Persist and see what happens next.
Remember this, Beth.
We are headed down to Palio Trikeri, a tiny island on the southern tip of Pelion Peninsula. My journey continues to get even more remote.
I am very happy to have met Tomas. We laugh throughout the day, he is very smart and charming. I would not have gotten all the way down here without his generosity and readiness to adventure.
Tomas stops a car with two men headed north. They give instructions for travel down to the little port at the very end of the peninsula. They give a phone number to call when we arrive at the port to arrange for a small boat to pick us up and take us to Palio Trikeri. That is how it works, you call when you arrive on tip of the mainland and someone comes to bring you across.
This is not the first time I am impressed by the carefully detailed instructions given by people in the know to people who are in the want-to-know. There is much willingness to take the time sharing information here in Greece. People offer seemingly small particulars that make the journey a little more comfortable, a little more exciting, often more special. You learn a lot when you let people in on your plan.
This conversation between Tomas and the men is all in Greek in the middle of the road, car window to car window. There is no need to pull over out here, no one is passing, no one else is here. I am pleased that I understand some of the conversation. I miss much of the vocabulary but the openness is unmistakable.
Down at the port, the boat arrives soon after we call. My bag is again ridiculously large for such a small island. It is funny now, and not such a hardship, I drag this baggage around without much fuss these days. I have unloaded a few unnecessary items making the weight lighter and bought a jacket and pair of boats to handle the rain and chill in the north. Still, I feel fairly compact and I like it. Maybe now I am finally turning into a minimalist.
It is a five minute boat ride from the mainland to Palio Trikeri. We recline on the top of the boat against the glass windshield in the late afternoon sun. I am so very happy to be here, I try to tell Tomas but cannot explain how big a deal every moment is for me. How the simple things like a little boat ride to a remote island sets me into a state of gracious joy that is so big it hurts in my heart from the stretching.One day Tomas will read my blog and understand.
The port at Palio Trikeri is a tiny mecca of a few tavernas, rooms-to-let, and a mini-market. No cars here, only footpaths. We head along the only road leading up a hill and away from the port and run into two women resting on a bench along the hill. Lovely, warm visitors ask us if we are headed to the monastery where there are rooms to sleep overnight.
Sleeping in a monastery, this is unexpected.The accommodations are modest, clean and comfortable. The community bathroom and cold-water-only showers are easy discomforts to overlook. Behind the walled fortress a large enclosed garden surrounds the magnificent church. In the mid-1940’s this monastery was used as a prison holding communist Greek women. We are told the surviving prisoners reunion here yearly.
There is a grand energy in this place, nothing like anything I have felt before. Tremendous peaceful solitude and a knowing calm. It is so lovely to share time here. I feel as if there is nothing between me and the universe. This is far way from chaos of Volos and the trepidation of arriving in Pelion as it was closing down for the season. I have a memory the warm concierge in Volos begging me not to go to Pelion and now it all makes sense. Faith again.
A monastery.
I tell Tomas I am going to cry. He tells me there is no reason for that. I tell him this is what I asked for, this is what I wanted exactly. I am too moved for dry eyes.
A caretaker lives on the island, another person maintains the well attended grounds. A priest wanders from time to time; we do not see him often.
Fifty or so cats have the run of the place, they are sweet enough but will not allow you to come near them. Fig trees, giant evergreens, plants of all sorts make it a botanical spiritual refuge.
A supreme feeling of serenity breathes within the enclosed walls of this monastery.We are hungry now so we stroll back down to the taverna at the port where the owners greet us as friends and we dine like royalty on fried zucchini cakes, delicious cabbage salad with carrots and onions in olive oil, beets, bread and fried cheese. Octopus in red sauce; beaten forty times on a rock when it was caught to soften the meat.
We devour whole boiled shrimp that we rip apart with our hands. It takes me awhile to get into pulling the head off the body to lick the juice out of the skull but I do it eventually. And then I tear off the legs to suck the meat out of the claws. I am different now.
“Can I eat this red piece?” I ask pulling a strange dark pink shape out of the body of my shrimp.
“If it is soft, eat it.” Tomas instructs.
I will remember this advice in the future.
We drink Tzipouri – my favorite! Made from grapes with anise added sometimes, poured in a shot glass it looks like water, add an ice cube and the drink turns into a milky white mist.We wander back to the monastery sated and sleepy.
A true sanctuary in a cloud of unbelievable tranquility and I am all presence listening to the wind whipping through the trees. Watching the night sky, constellations and the stars thatare so close to me here I think I can reach out and touch them. Too many shooting stars to keep count, I have had to stop trying to keep track, and who needs to keep score anyway.
In my mind is this wonderful truth, the remedy for fear is certainly faith.
