Walking To Jerusalem

Saloniki Spirit

Autumn is clearly in the air. In the orchards, people are harvesting the almonds and leaving them out to dry. The olives are fattening on the tree and the apples are looking rosy and ripe for the picking. The weather is turning - several days of rain and in the mornings there is a heavy dew. I wake up cold in my tent in the middle of the night and have to pull out my sleeping bag. The days can still be pretty hot, but the intensity of the August heat has faded.

After a slightly traumatic crossing of Mount Olympus (breaking tent in two places, losing another pair of sunglasses and falling and smashing my right knee on the way down), plagued by pretty bad weather (cloud, rain and biting wind), I arrived in the coastal plain on the other side to blue skies, another excellent walking companion (my thanks to Meredith) and the enticing possibilities of two days off in Thessaloniki.

Thessaloniki was once one of the most religiously mixed cities in the world - exceptional even by the standards of the old Ottoman empire. Here Muslims rubbed shoulders with Greek Orthodox, Slavs, Armenians, Western Catholics and a huge Jewish population. Most of the Jews were descendents of Sephardic refugees from the domains of Spanish monarchs, but there were a fair number of Ashkenazis as well as members of the Ma'min - followers of the 17th Century false messiah Sabbati Zvi, who converted to Islam but kept important parts of their Jewish worship and heritage alive. Now it is almost uniformly Greek orthodox, although pockets of other faiths survive and the remarkable variation in skin tone, hair colour and facial features is testament to the ethnic mix of the former Saloniki.

The Muslims and the Ma'min were the first to go - expelled from Thessaloniki in the large population exchanges that took place in the mess that followed the First World War and the redrawing of the borders in the Balkans (ironically, one of Thessaloniki's most famous sons was Kemal Attaturk, the founder of modern Turkey). The Muslims at least got out alive, if with hardship and dislocation. Many Greeks suffered equally in the deportations from Turkey. A large number of them settled in and around Thessaloniki. The spicy Anatolian food served in the tavernas of Thessaloniki and the place names around (New Ephesus, New Trebizond etc.) are testament to this period of dislocation.

The Jewish population of Thessaloniki fared far worse than the Muslims. Once known as "The Mother of Israel" for its thriving and important Jewish community, there are virtually no Jews left in the city. Following the Nazi occupation of Greece, the 60,000 or so Jews in Thessaloniki were stripped of civil rights, confined to a ghetto and systematically humiliated, their libraries (rich depositories of tradition, scholarship and history), burned, their cemetery (containing over half a million graves and an important focus of community life) desecrated and destroyed. Finally, the majority were crammed aboard trains and deported to the death camps of Belsen and Birkenau. Most were gassed immediately on arrival, some died in labour camps, a very few survived. A vibrant, wealthy and thriving community, at one point making up over half the population of Thessaloniki, destroyed in under a year.

One couldn't pretend that under the Ottomans things were always sweetness and light in Thessaloniki, and that all the communities got along like a house on fire (a rather unfortunate choice of phrase in the context of Thessaloniki - much of the city was raised to the ground by a devastating fire in 1917). Of course there were tensions and disagreements between the different communities and they were not integrated in any modern sense of the word, but the mixture worked and communities of different faiths could live side by side and in peace. The 20th Century history of Thessaloniki is a testament to the evils of unrestrained Nationalism and the evils of a racist and intolerant ideology.

Despite this traumatic history, there is much to like about Thessaloniki - the wide, tree shaded boulevards, the many outdoor cafes and squares, the waterfront parade and a remarkable number of Roman and Byzantine monuments (many of them churches) which have survived the countless invasions, fires and earthquakes which have beset Thessaloniki over the centuries. In between the ghastly 70's blocks are beautiful Ottoman-era houses, art deco facades and lovely Italianate porticos as well as beautiful brick-built Byzantine churches and the remains of the old fortifications stretching up the hill from the coast.

Lots of sightseeing in Thessaloniki, interspersed with practical things, such as (much needed) laundy and purchasing of supplies. I went to an excellent camping shop where I was able to get a metal sleeve to repair my tent pole. When I went to pay, I got talking to the owner of the shop who decided I looked like one of his friends. When I explained what I was doing, he exclaimed "You English, you have such a spirit of adventure!" and told me all about a man who was sailing from Iona, round the Mediterranean and up the Nile in a coracle. He also gave me the tent part free of charge and threw in a neckerchief and a can opener too.

From Thessaloniki, I headed across the neck of the Halkidiki peninsulae and on towards Kavala through an area very definitely "off the beaten track". Here, the generosity and hospitality of people has been outstanding even by the high standards of my trip so far. People have invited me to join them for coffee, handed me massive doorstep sandwiches (a lovely lady in a café in a small agricultural village who clearly decided I was underfed), given me figs and swiss rolls, offered me lifts and given me money to light candles for them in the Holy Sepulchre in Jerusalem.

Another ill-chosen campsite near the town of Sochos - this time I pitched my tent on top of an ants nest and woke up to find the little monsters all over my inner tent busily engaged in eating holes through the fabric. Nothing a couple of well placed pieces of gaffa tape can't fix, but irritating none the less. I also had my best map inaccuracy moment yet when I reached the village of Achinos. Walking through the main square, past the usual collection of old men sitting outside the cafés solving the world's problems and chewing the cud, I started to head off down the road marked on my map. A huge commotion broke out behind me and I turned round to see lots of people motioning me back, saying "no, no, you can’t go down there". I came over and showed the committee my map, pointing to the road I was about to head off down. More commotion and from somewhere they managed to conjure up an English speaker.

"Your map is wrong"

"But there's a road here - there it is"

"That bridge across the river hasn't been there since 1940"

The old men moved aside and very kindly bought me a cup of coffee to console me. Someone did suggest I swim, but given that the Strimonas river has the reputation for being one of the most polluted rivers in Europe, I chose the 15 mile detour instead.

The detour took me back onto the beaten track, past the remains of Amphipolis and on past almost deserted seaside resorts, looking very much end of season. A few late Albanian and Bulgarian holiday makers and a convoy of 12 Dutch camper vans which zoomed past me as I walked towards Kavala. I entered Kavala itself along a restored section of Roman Road that I chanced upon by accident (almost literally as I had to scramble down a steep scree slope to reach it). Kavala, or Neapolis, was the port that St Paul landed at before proceeding inland to convert the Philippians. I wondered idly as I walked along if St Paul himself had trodden these very stones.

In Kavala I visited the house of Mehmet Ali, who as Pasha in Egypt rebelled against his sultan and set himself up as an independent monarch. The Greeks seem rather proud of their Ottoman rebels, making much of Ali Pasha in Ioannina, opening the house Mehmet Ali in Kavala and even erecting a statue to him. The house of Kemal Attaturk in Thessaloniki, on the other hand, is little promoted, although it has been preserved as a museum run by the Turkish consulate.

Unfortunately, I lost my diary in Kavala. Not the disaster it sounds - I had recently started a new volume and it only had about 3 weeks of entries in it, for which I have lots of notes, but still upsetting. I thought I had become as much like a tramp as I was going to get when I found myself sleeping on a park bench in Italy. The citizens of Kavala up early on a Sunday morning who saw a wild eyed, long haired, bearded man carrying his life on his back muttering to himself and searching through the bins in the main square would probably beg to differ.

From here I head back into the hills towards Xanthi, then it's downhill all the way to the Turkish border. 8 days more walking to go

Greek Lessons

Important lessons learnt during my first couple of weeks in Greece:

1) Italy is a hilly place. Greece is positively mountainous.

Arriving in Igouminetsa, I was expecting to speed 20 miles a day across Greece. After my first day I had staggered 18 miles, up, down, round and over several ridges of mountains. Looking at my map, I had progressed approximately 7 miles as the crow flies. It's been a similar story since as I've crossed the wild Pindos mountains and, most recently, Mount Olympus, home of the Greek Gods (this is after all a multi-faith pilgrimage)

2) Greek people are kind, hospitable and generous, despite what the Italians say about them

On my first day of walking out of Igouminetsa, I had walked for an hour, taking various wrong turnings and was hot, tired and beginning to despair. Slumping down on a flight of steps down a particularly steep hillside, I started to think "oh no, have I done the right thing? Is Greece a stage too far? Can I really cope with another couple of months of this?" and various other negative thoughts. Language barriers, frustration with my maps (see point 9 below) and general feelings of discomfort at being in a new and strange country all adding to the worries. At that point an old man who had been sitting in his garden opposite suddenly appeared bearing a cup of coffee and a sugar bowl. "Coffee" he said. At that point, I knew everything would be alright. Rather bizarrely, when I took the things back, he insisted I take the sugar pot as a souvenir. Consequently, I have been taking a rather awkwardly shaped sugar pot on a tour of the Greek mountains.

Reaching the little village of Krapsi (one week in on the revised schedule, 2 days in on initial plan - see point one above), Katherine and I were invited in for coffee and plied with fresh donuts and gingerbread by a lovely couple out doing their garden on a Saturday morning.

3) Modern Greek is a difficult language, very different from the tattered remains of schoolboy Greek still kicking around in my head

I’ve had little call for such useful phrases as "wine dark sea" and "rosy fingered dawn". Further confused by the fact that the Greek word for "Yes" (pronounced "Neh") sounds like it should mean no, and the word for "No" (pronounced "Oki") sounds like "OK". Having surmounted this initial difficulty, I’m still struggling and haven't got much beyond "please", "thank you" and "I’d like a beer please". The lovely lady who ran the hostel I stayed in in Metsovo did teach me how to say "I'm on a pilgrimage from London to Jerusalem on foot". She did, however, warn me not to use it, at least not at first - "Tell them that your going to the next village, then the next town and then maybe tell them your going all the way to Jerusalem - they won't understand if you hit them with it all at once".

4) Large parts of Greece are very rural and still depend largely on pastoral agriculture for a living

As soon as I left the beaten track (i.e., about 1km out of Igouminetsa), rural Greece took over. The pungent ammonious smell of goat is never far away, nor their ferocious canine escorts. I’ve found the best way to deal with the dogs is to face them down or failing that, to pretend to charge them, stick waving wildly. As long as no-one sees and has you dragged away by the men in white coats, this seems to work. Still looking for a solution to the goat smell.

5) Greek undergrowth is vicious

Far more so than Italian, French or English. On top of the usual brambles, Greece seems to possess a large number of different thistle varieties, an oak tree with leaves like holly, various species of spiky grass and the most vicious nettles known to man. My legs, already battle scarred, now look like several drunk people have been trying to play noughts and crosses on them in red ink. My most recent foray into the Greek undergrowth, trying to follow a non-existent path up the side of Mount Olympus ended with me wading through chest-high brambles, nettles and assorted spiky plants. I couldn't sleep that night because of the tingling in my legs.

6) Greece has a lot of history

So far I have visited the Oracle of Zeus as Dion (not much left apart from a magnificent theatre), the citadel of Ali Pasha (rebellious Ottoman Governor of Western Greece and friend of Lord Byron), the spectacular Meteora Monasteries (perched on top of spikes of rock to keep the monks away from the temptations of the flesh and allow them to follow a rigorously ascetic rule, and it kept them away from marauding Turks) and Mount Olympus, home of the Gods.

7) Greeks can be very pessimistic (apologies for the following series of gross generalisations).

In common with the Italians, most Greeks I meet seem utterly bemused at the idea that anyone would want to walk from the next town, never mind all the way to Jerusalem. Many think of numerous reasons why it can't be done. The otherwise lovely helpful lady in the Igouminetsa Tourist Information office was a case in point - "It's very dangerous you know - the roads are very bad and we Greeks are terrible drivers. And if you get into trouble, mobile reception in Greece is very bad". An Australian Greek I met on the Western flank of Mount Olympus (who was digging for gold sovereigns buried there by Greek resistance fighters and British army intelligence) told me it was very dangerous - there were bears, wild boar and vicious dogs lurking up there, but I’d probably be alright as I looked like I knew what I was doing. I was rather glad he and his companions had left when I came back down the same path 2 hours later having run into a dead end and the dreaded Greek undergrowth (see point 5 above)

8) Somewhat surprisingly given the name, a "Rough Guide" makes better emergency loo paper than a "Lonely Planet"

No explanation necessary

Revision from earlier lessons
9) Don't rely on maps of greater than 1:50,000 scale to plan any journey. Certainly don't try to navigate with them.

E.g., On my map, the road out of Paramythia showed a slight bend, a little over 1.5km in length and a gentle change in the colour of the shading on the map. Arriving there, I discovered the slight bend was in fact a series of 10 hairpin bends, the distance was 5km and the slight change in shading was a 500 metre climb up the side of a steep cliff face. Unfortunately, I’m stuck with my 1:250,000 maps as you can only get more detailed maps for about 1/5 of the country, if that. More frustration to come.

10) Scree slopes are difficult and dangerous, especially with 20kg of dead weight on your back

E.g., Faced with yet another set of hairpin bends up another 500 metre climb (see point 4), I thought I would be clever and cut off the corner by scrambling up the scree slope. Very nearly tumbled straight back down, only saving myself by grabbing hold of a very spiky bush and filling my hand with thorns. Ouch.

11) Wet Boots + Wet Socks + Wet Feet = Blisters

For pretty much the first time in 1,000 miles, I managed to give myself blisters by putting on a pair of wet socks first thing in the morning, pulling my wet boots over the top of them and then walking 22 miles on a cold, wet day.

12) 1,900 miles takes a lot out of even the best kit

In the last 2 days I have broken my tent (again), discovered a problem with my rucksack (the buckle keeps popping open if you tighten the belt too much) and lost my second pair of sunglasses. Luckily, my world service radio soldiers on on the same set of batteries that I set out with.

Before I sign off, the usual round of thank-yous. To the anonymous donors of water, food, coffee, bread and sugar bowls, to Mr and Mrs Salmon for enduring a 10 hour drive from Thessaloniki to Ioannina and back just to spend a day with me (and to admire my ridiculous sock marks), to Katherine Short who despite professing that she hates walking and couldn't think of a worse way to spend a week came all the way from Istanbul to endure heat, high mountains and lots of walking for a week and provided excellent company and thought provoking conversation, to Meredith Quinn who picked up the pieces of me that emerged from my crossing Olympus and saw safely to Thessaloniki, to Yiannis Stratakis for his kind offers of help and support and finally again to my parents for their long suffering patience and for not disowning me despite all the worry and sleepless nights I've caused them.