Mount Athos Pilgrimage – Episode 1
“This is not a train station. This is Mount Athos. You are human. Take your time.”
We landed in Thessaloniki on a Thursday evening. As we got into a taxi to head toward Ouranoupoli—the gateway to the Holy Mountain—I noticed our driver had an icon on his dash: Elder Paisios. One of my favorites.
We spoke about Greece, faith, Mount Athos, and life, winding through narrow roads in the dark.
The next morning brought blistering heat. After morning prayers, we headed to the visa office. As part of the process, they ask your religion. I said “Anglican.” A frown. One I would see more than once on this trip. But then I mentioned my love for Elder Paisios—and the frown turned into a smile.
Visa, passport check, and we were led onto the ferry—the only way to enter the Holy Mountain.
As we pulled out into the Aegean, sailing past the coast, doubt and anxiety flooded in. Pilgrimage is not tourism. It’s not just hiking or views. It’s about looking inward, being exposed before God. That can be terrifying.
Soon we arrived in Daphni, the main port. It was chaotic: construction vehicles, delivery boats, sweating monks, and men in long sleeves and closed shoes—pilgrims like us.
I was traveling with two friends. One is my godfather, the other is my son’s godfather (also my God son). The first suggested we take an alternate route to our first monastery—Simonopetra. It was steep, brutal. More than once I thought I wouldn’t make it. But I did!
We were greeted warmly by two monks. They offered cold water, sweets, and a small glass of ouzo. We explained a little worried, that we were running late to our next stop.
One of the monks smiled and said,
“This is not a train station. This is Mount Athos. You are human. Take your time.”
