On January 4, 1977 I departed my home in Chattanooga, Tennessee for Mount Athos with a planned stop in Padova, Italy to visit a Benedictine Monastery. My youngest brother Mark had been selected to attend a Children’s International Summer Village (CISV) sponsored by the United Nations in Padova. The Summer before, my Mother had directed a Children’s Village in Chattanooga, Tennessee with 35 nations represented. The Korean delegation arrived in a stretch limo. They were eleven year-old Samsung heirs. The Iranian delegation was angry about everything. They were in the midst of their Revolution and uncertain what conditions would be like upon their return home. The Italian group was from Padova and I quickly became friends with their adult leader, Antionette. She invited me to Padova to visit the monastery.
I flew Icelandic Air to Luxemburg via Reykjavik and on the flight I was befriended by two American dental students on their way to Rome. We ended up sharing a hotel room overnight in Luxembourg and catching a train to Italy the next day. For some bad reason we decided to purchase a massive jug of Italian Chianti to warm us up on our ride through the Alps.
We arrived in Rome drunk. As the future dentists began their Roman vacation, I somehow found the train to Padova. Antionette met me at the Padova Station and drove us to a city-center apartment of the family that would be hosts to my brother Mark for a month as a 14-15 year-old.
It was a large, marble floored, high ceiling beautifully furnished home. The capable Grandmother was just finishing up in the kitchen and I was seated to the best Italian meal I have had, and I have had some wonderful Italian meals! I was still significantly drunk.
It was a formal meal with a beautifully set table of silver and fine china. At some point I started to feel sick and went to bathroom to purge. It was a large tile bathroom. Even though I was confused by the bathroom fixtures, I hope I was as complete in cleaning my mess as I like to imagine. I fear I was not a good introduction for my brother!
After the meal Antionette and I drove to her family home where her father was a pharmacist and owned a pharmacy that was in the same building as the home. It was outside of town, just past the monastery. I spent a night with Antionette’s family and the next day I was off to the twelfth century Benedictine Abbey of Praglia.
The brick-walled monastery sat at the foot of a mountain in fields of agriculture. The monks were bee keepers and sold the honey. I had no sense that they needed the money. This was a group of men from aristocratic European families who liked good chant, good food and good wine.
The monastery church was screened and the monks lived cloistered, rarely leaving the monastery. The refectory was frescoed in original Giotto School Iconography. The tables were set with fine linens, and meals were presented by livered waiters in multiple courses. Meals were eaten in silence to Classical Music.
Three weeks into my stay I was starting to get into the Liturgical flow. I only exited once to have diner with Antoinette and her boyfriend who happened to own a sixteenth century wine vineyard with an enormous villa. Inside the villa hung the largest paintings I have ever seen depicting modern graphic nudes featuring female genitalia. It was another formal, served meal with flowing wine from the massive cellars. Back at the monastery as the weeks progressed I was befriended by an older monk, Father Gabriel, who did not speak English.
Following breakfast on my birthday in late January, which only I knew, Father Gabriel stopped me and gestured for me to come with him as he rubbed his neck in pain and said “doctor.” I gathered that he wanted me to go with him to the doctor.
As we exited the monastery I sensed a new spring in the step of Father Gabriel. We walked down small roads through beautiful farmland for about half an hour. All the time Father Gabriel chattered as though I understood Italian. When we arrived in the village, Father Gabriel stopped and pointed across the street at a shop and said “donillrosa” repeatedly as he handed me lira. Confused, I looked closely at the shop and noticed a red poster for Dunhill cigarettes. I confirmed that was what he wanted and I proceeded alone to make the purchase. Upon my return Father Gabriel quickly stashed the pack in his habit. Several blocks later we arrived at a tall building, with eight to ten floors and Father pressed a button and buzz, the entrance door unlocked.
Entering I expected the antiseptic smells of a medical clinic, instead I was greeted by the aroma of food cooking. Coming down the stairs were women’s voices joyfully shouting “Pater Gabriel.” Two women in their late forties greeted us and we took the elevator to the top. We entered a penthouse apartment again with highly polished marble floors and full-length glass walls with a balcony beyond and a view of the village and farmland with the bell tower of the monastery in the far distance. Modern music filled the space as I was introduced to the most beautiful nineteen year old Italian girl I had ever seen, Christina.
Father Gabriel pealed off his habit to reveal stylish black pants and shirt. He danced as he opened the cigarettes, offered me one and we lit up. We spent the day in the company of beautiful women, smoking, drinking wine, dancing and eating fine food as I fell in love with Christina. It was a perfect birthday!
The day passed as a dream and as the Sun began to set, the peal of the monastery bells ripped into our bliss. With the sound, Father Gabriel jumped and re-donned his habit as we all made our way out of the building to a nearby car and quickly returned to the monastery. Christina and I sat in the back. On arrival, we exited the car and gazed across the hood at each other.
Father Gabriel and I entered the cloister to the sound of monks chanting and the sweet austere smell of incense burning. That night burning with passion for Christina I lay on the cold stone floor of my cell and realized if I was going to go to Athos, I had better do it at once.
The next morning I asked the monks to take me to the bus that went to Thessaloniki. Immediately I was driven to a bus station just outside of Venice. As the bus departed I noticed that there were two male bus drivers who tag-team drove and 30 beautiful Greek girls returning home from their studies at the University of Padova. Greek boys were not allowed to leave Greece until they completed two years of compulsory military service.
It was a 35 hour trip. One of the girls who spoke English was sympathetic to my desire to go to Mount Athos. Most of the girls shook their heads in disgust when they heard my plan. I kept thinking I could take one of these girls and make this whole thing a two week vacation on the beaches of Crete. To combat this temptation I made an oath to myself not to sleep until I got to Mount Athos.
Along the way, the highway was lined with burned out wrecked vehicles as testament to the horrible accidents that had occurred in the past. We stopped at a Yugoslavian gas station for a break where there was a bar attached. Inside the bar everything was shades of grey with the only color being the red communist star that embraced the grey photo of President Tito. The bar was lined with sad looking people with glasses of clear vodka. It was one of the most depressing scenes I have encountered.
After what seemed like an endless drive through the mountains of Macedonia we arrived in Thessaloniki on a Sunday, late morning. The girl who had befriended me took me around the corner and she stood in the middle of the street, raised her hand and stopped an oncoming 1950’s style bus. After a short conversation with the bus driver, I was placed on the bus with my backpack. It turns out it was the last bus to Ouranopolis, translated Heavenly City, the Greek port city where ferries departed to take pilgrims to the Holy Mountain. Six hours later we arrived in Ouranopolis.
As I exited the bus, I saw Athos for the first time. A snow-capped single peaked mountain rising over a mile high, straight from the Aegean Sea. Mount Athos is an Independent Monastic Republic first recognized by the League of Nations following World War I. It is a peninsula 40 miles long and 5 miles wide. I knew that the beginning of the peninsula was the least populated part of Athos and that I could walk from Ouranopolis to the boundary and unfurl my sleeping bag and sleep! It had been over 40 hours.
I hope you finish this. I am interested in hearing about the rest of your trip!
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