This hike woke us; actually, it was rock climbing the whole way. Jenni on the way down but not out.
When we hiked up the other Olympus, the one on the mainland, we found it a good test. However, because of the route we followed on Evia's Olympus, the hike was tougher and dangerous. It made us think of our hike down the former mountain with Arik, Maia and Alex. We broke into song at one stage. Appropriately, it was
'Life is a very narrow bridge...but the thing is not to fear'. We doubt the lyrics are heard that frequently in Greece. We are quite sure, while the content is stirring, our delivery did not reach a level of acceptability.
It was a nice moment though, the poignant memories of each day that accumulate to make a fuller life.
For the rest, the sequence of pictures provides a better understanding of the day's experience.
(Continues after pictures...)
On the way up, surprises, one after another.
Meantime, instead of rock climbing, Nero, I mean 'the hero', plays the fiddle...um ram's horn (shofar) while the editor burns up the mountain. He also cradles the skull, unusual for a squeamish lad. The time of year was appropriate to blow one's horn.
Trying to emulate the goats; a good idea but we're not that advanced.
Having fiddled around, he tries to regain some balance in life.
...then develops a speed wobble which invariable results in a spill...but not this time
Lower down, it looks like the editor is lost as she gazes around searching for a route or husband or whatever.
We made it, giving us a view from the top, the town of Gymno, Evia.
That evening, a reward was, we think, a 'Halloween Sun'.
We were so taken in by what seemed an ordinary scene that we show this picture out of context. Can you guess the location?
On our return from Greece, we realized we have more questions than answers. This seems obvious and correct. After all, who walks around each day storing answers for which no questions were asked? Can you imagine a person mentioning to those about him that the answer is ‘81’ or a 'red mango'. For example, we have a friend,
Errol Grolman, who on occasion ends a discussion with ‘The answer is a lemon’. You see: That’s another situation in which having the answer seems meaningless. Because we are considerate of Errol, although he is much smarter than us, we know that before he is about to finish making a point, we might, occasionally, throw in a quick line like, “What’s yellow, smaller than an orange and somewhat bitter?” Of course, Errol has to answer the question which coincides with the conclusion of his comments and so it all ties together.
We don’t blame you should you not follow us but you must remember this year we had to think in Catalan, Spanish, Hebrew, Afrikaans, French, Zulu, Sotho, Swazi and recently Greek. So our minds might appear to be muddled. Nevertheless, they remain as sharp as any blunt instrument.
I realize, and if I didn’t, the editor certainly would reinforce it, that it’s enough about smoke, smoking, fires and other favorite topics. Nevertheless, there remain a few undiscussed issues that are worthy of bringing to closure. We mentioned briefly, that smoking of cigarettes is a national pastime. We wouldn’t be surprised to learn that qualification to gain entry into Greece as a permanent citizen requires taking up smoking should one not be a smoker already. It got so bad that instead of asking people intelligent questions, my first retort was, “Are you a smoker?” It’s been known that men take opportunities to ask young women many things—me, “Do you smoke?” Most do.
When I took up my post as a fire spotter on the mountaintop, the first thing I noticed in the hut perched at the highpoint was a smoke alarm. This made sense as should there be smoke, the alarm would ring and I could summon the helicopters and firetrucks. I was wrong. Apparently, the alarm rings every ten minutes as a reminder to the spotter to begin his next cigarette. You can’t make up stuff like this…well, I suppose I can.
We pose another great question of our times, we humbly state. Jenni likes a Greek salad, typically, a limited assortment of vegetables with olives and feta. (In the home country, it comes with a large slab of cheese as opposed to small chunks elsewhere.) However, when in Greece, is the use of the word “Greek” (as in salad) superfluous or redundant? Surely all food in Greece is Greek or at least implied, unless imported . I recall suffering many sleepless nights pondering the issue.
We trust that the few comments above provide some remarkable insights into that which occurs on the mountains and in the wilds. You too can be privy to such wisdom by joining us in a local hike sometime in late November or December when we will not only explore the great emptiness that exists in the unspoiled regions of the county but similarly, that equally vast emptiness in my head.
Cheers,
Jenni and Jeffrey
