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himself. Of course, at the time of Alexander there was no
God, no Orthodoxy, nor was I there to testify with certainty
that the awe-inspiring landscape I see before me was real...
Nevertheless all this irresistible nature surrounding me ap-
pears so primordial and rare, that I am sure it predates Al-
exander, Homer and everything that came to pass over the
millennia. Maybe this is where the world began. Much like I
heard a monk joking about how “in paradise, the First Man
spoke Greek, my child”. I could even be standing on the
amazing place where life grew out of Adam’s rib. Myth and
history have always been the preferred due in any religion;
especially in the fortress of Orthodoxy, it is the haunted
duo of a daily routine that insists on spiting the political-
The journey ly correct world in the age of the euro, a world of acceler-
The seagulls are trying to tell me something. In contrast to ation and abundance. If you are not a monk, it is ok, you
the southern Aegean, where the wild seagulls flock around can approach everything with a positive curiosity. Since no
the high speed boats like speechless crows, in the calm one can deny you anything past the port of Ouranoupoli,
gulf of Ouranoupoli they approach you like feather paper you can live on Mount Athos for a few days, without wom-
planes, released by magical hands. It is no coincidence that en, swimming, shorts and a mobile phone. Besides, the ex-
the locals call them Angels of the Virgin Mary. It is hot and oticism of this place, beyond the natural world, lies in the
I am standing on the deck of a creaky ferryboat that left restraint of its people and their stubborn abstention from
the small port of Ouranoupoli at 10 am for Dafni, the only everything the rest of the world considers simple, normal
port on Mount Athos. This is where a few dozen select visi- and every day. Otherwise, they would not be called athletes
tors arrive every day with a written permit in their pocket, of God and of the spirit.
the “passport” that allows entry into a fairy land of isola-
tion and mysticism. Needless to say there is not a single fe- Life in the Monastery
male riding the old ferry; just men and boys from across the I am staying at Iviron Monastery, one of the largest on the
globe, and Thessaloniki in particular, heading to this “un- Mount, and I am not missing anything. I am staying in a
bearable village of men”, as once described by Kazantzakis, guesthouse that is a paradigm of austerity and comfort. I
with its 20 monasteries and approximately 1,500 monks, have everything I need: my own bathroom, a lamp for read-
who rebuke women and contemporary civilization with a ing, a single bed, large windows with wire mesh and views
peaceful smile and unbending tenacity. In the two hours it of a wonderful forest that, as far as I can hear, belongs to the
takes until Dafni appears on the horizon, I have seen more cicadas. The only item missing is a mirror, because narcis-
seagulls that I have seen over the course of 30 years in the sism is considered just as devious as female temptation. The
Aegean and, for the first time, I have tasted a Greek coffee – rooms of the monks are less comfortable, but that is inten-
what joy! Starbucks is an unknown word in these hangouts, tional. In the winter, a monk tells me, many times the heat-
and I have met two young Jewish students from Harvard, ing is not switched on because the body should not get spoilt
who have come all the way from Boston to experience this or used to the ways of contemporary living. Masochism
mysterious fortress of Orthodoxy from up close, which in- and self-denial of comfort and pleasure are two of the many
trigues the imagination of people that share the same faith, wheels that power Christianity. It is positive that the monks
as well as people of different religions and even atheists. here do not wish to impose the trials of Christianity on any
visitor. Their guest is king and this is the highest principle
Nature’s wonder of philoxenia, which dates from the days of Homer and has
Apart from the few jeeps driven by the monks – Mercedes’ since waned in the Greece of the present day. Every morning
and Land Rovers of course – the old buses that replaced I wake up at dawn and after taking breakfast in the refecto-
donkeys a while back, and the dirt roads created in the ry, where monks and visitors dine together to the sound of
1960s but never covered with asphalt, nothing else has prayer recitations, I follow different pathways. I do not go to
changed since the days Alexander the Great would ride on mass, the monks to do demand it. My days here are few, and
horseback on these slopes blessed by nature, and by God there are many pathways: 480 square kilometres – an eco-

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