“Three unshowered men under the Greek sun…”
It was unbearably hot. We still hadn’t showered. So we left the windows and the door wide open through the night.
Around 4 a.m., a monk walked through the courtyard beating a wooden plank with a mallet—the semantron—calling all to prayer.
After falling back to sleep, we finally dragged ourselves out of bed around 6.
My foot was in real pain. My friends were sore. And that room—three men in the Greek heat, sweating through their clothes, unwashed—let’s just say it wasn’t fragrant.
We made it down to the Divine Liturgy, which ended around 9 a.m.
Breakfast…. Potatoes (the very ones we had peeled the night before), a whole onion, a full fish—and red wine.
Now, I’m not gifted in the art of deboning a fish. So by the time I figured out where to start, the abbot had already rung his bell, and we were ordered to stand and leave.
It was Sunday. The ferry schedule was unclear at best. So we walked down to the docks, hoping to catch something—because there was no way we would be hiking 10 kilometers.
We eventually caught a ferry to Daphne, then a bus to Karyes, the capital of the Holy Mountain, and then finally another ride to Vatopedi—one of the largest and most well-known monasteries on Athos.
Vatopedi was… different. Organized. Efficient. It felt a bit like a spiritual administration office, complete with a reception area and monks at computers.
And MOST important cold showers—it felt like resurrection.
It felt like we had climbed a mountain and reached glory.
