July 16
Departure from Elena
Only recently did I have a brilliant idea: the name "Montana" could be translated as "mountain country." It's so obvious, how could I have never realized it before! It's just strange that this Spanish word has penetrated so far north. From the windows of our farmhouse in Helena, large mountains were visible only in the distance, on both sides of a large valley. But as we approached Glacier National Park, we realized the state's name wasn't given without reason.
It was a strange day. We had to leave the cabin by ten in the morning. Denis "left for work" early. I made breakfast, packed my things, and carried them out to the car.
We then moved to the back of a large Costco store. It was deserted, and we could set up a camp chair for Denis, who immediately "went into a work meeting," pulling out his laptop and putting on his headphones. Meanwhile, I walked around the building and went shopping, picking up groceries for the rest of the trip. Then we gassed up and moved to a small park, where Denis continued working while I strolled around the neighborhood.
Gold was once mined in these areas. The surface of the earth has been dug up and ground down. Large piles of stones still lie there, a reminder of bygone times. Now, paths for joggers and cyclists run between them. People walk their dogs where a gold vein once ran. Now there's a golf course where warehouses and barracks once stood. And flax and sunflowers grow in the rubble.
We had lunch in the same park and finally moved on. Once again, our route crossed vast deserted areas with scattered livestock farms. There were no high mountains here yet; these were treeless, sun-baked hills. Big mountains lay ahead.
Arriving at Glacier
We reach Glacier National Park in a few hours. Our accommodation is ten minutes away. Housing prices within the park are several times higher, so it's more economical to stay outside. We also don't have to pay entry fees each time because we have an annual pass to all the national parks.
The exterior of our place is rather modest. It doesn't look like a hotel, with just five separate rooms. I think "rooms" would be a more appropriate term. But inside, everything is organized efficiently, like a studio: one large space for all amenities except the bathroom. One corner is partitioned off for the kitchen and dining area, another for a large bed and nightstands, and a third, near the entrance, has a coat rack and a small sofa. In short, it has everything necessary for a temporary stay. We spent three days there quite comfortably.
Although "lived" isn't quite the right word. When you're there to eat, sleep, and shower, but spend a significant portion of your time in the mountains, it's hardly a full-fledged "life.".
After dinner that evening, we still had a little time to walk around the area, eat our fill of the irga (serviceberry), which had ripened in huge quantities, and go to rest.
July 17
Morning in the mountains
On the morning of July 17th, in the middle of summer in Montana, our hands are freezing from the cold, and we're wearing long pants, sweaters, and jackets. It's a shame I didn't bring a hat; it would have definitely come in handy, and gloves wouldn't have hurt either, because it's around freezing outside again. The mountains are beautiful, but it's so cold here in the mornings!
First we head to Glacier to watch the sunrise at Lake McDonald.
A number of morning landscape enthusiasts have already gathered on the shore near the tourist village. Everyone is dressed warmly, some are warming up with coffee bought right there at the coffee shop. The lake is picturesquely nestled in a narrow valley between the mountains. The bluish pre-dawn twilight is slowly dissipating, and the first rays of sun are appearing over the peaks. It's beautiful! It was worth getting up at six in the morning for.
But this is not difficult for us, because we continue to live on Michigan time.
For those long morning contemplations of the mountain lake, people not only come warmly dressed but also bring blankets and throws. They probably find it comforting to meditate, wrapped in an extra warm layer, but for us, it's getting too cold to watch the sunrise. We want to get moving, to finally warm up. Hurry, hit the trail!
Two trails. McDonald River.
Despite the early hour, we didn't immediately find parking at the trailhead; almost all of it was occupied. The Kedrovaya Trail is quite small, barely accessible even in a wheelchair. Wooden paths and bridges cross a mountain stream on the damp, marshy soil. A miniature canyon has formed here. The stream, squeezed between rocks, churns and foams, creating whirlpools. The clear water glistens with an emerald green sheen. You can gaze at the flowing water for a long time, but then it gets cold again, and you have to move on.
The second trail, "Avalanche," is longer and leads gently upward. It should have been called "People's Trail," because so many people were constantly walking along it. At the end of the trail is a round green lake.
It's beautiful, but we'd already seen similar ones in Grand Teton and weren't particularly surprised. Then there was another trail we tried, but turned back because it wasn't anything special. Perhaps we were simply becoming jaded by the beauty of nature.
There were other beautiful places that our friend and advisor, the artificial intelligence, recommended visiting. We got in the car and drove off in search of picturesque landscapes.
For some time, the road ran alongside the McDonald River. Every turn begged to be painted: green, clear water, small waterfalls, rapids and riffles, forested rock folds, scattered boulders, and pebble banks. Small parking areas along the roadside offer a place to stop and admire the beauty.
A cow elk stood in the shallows, browsing on leaves from a bush. A crowd of people were curiously watching and photographing this wonder. I was watching not so much the animal as the observers. It was very much like a royal diner surrounded by vassals! They were all afraid to make a loud noise or make an unnecessary movement, walking on tiptoe, while the cow elk sipped leisurely, paying no attention to anyone. She was the queen here!
The Rocky Cape Trail“
We decided to return home, as it was approaching two o'clock. After lunch and a short rest, we set off on the Rocky Cape trail, which led us to the other side of Lake McDonald. It had become quite warm, even hot. The air smelled richly of herbs and sun-warmed pine trees. The bushes of serviceberry, wild strawberries, and thickets of blueberries made our journey even more pleasant.
And we had a wonderful dessert after dinner!
On the shore, far from the tourist spots, we suddenly encountered a group from a "pioneer camp" with cold-hardy children of local descent. Although the water temperature was around 15°C (60°F), these children splashed happily in the lake until the camp counselor blew a whistle to call them to shore. Some of them were dissatisfied with the time it was time to leave. Even Denis couldn't swim for more than three minutes, probably because he's not a pioneer from the Montana mountains. And I just watched the whole thing from the shore.
From Kamenisty Mys we saw the lake from a slightly different angle.
And it turned out to be incredibly beautiful, too. Surrounded by mountains, everything looks beautiful, doesn't it? On the way back, we hung out in the blueberry patches some more, stuffed ourselves with berries until we were sick, and decided it was time to go home. At some point, it became clear we'd covered quite a bit today. Denis glanced at his smartwatch and said we'd walked almost forty thousand steps. In my head, like Winnie the Pooh, I composed a marching-style "walker" song, which I immediately played loudly, for the entire forest to lift my spirits.
We have walked forty thousand steps!
And we'll go another forty thousand,
Because we, because we,
Because we are strong
And the two of us!
There were more verses about our heroic deed, but they come easily and are easily forgotten. Besides, Denis doesn't encourage my poetic experiments. He's shy.
Go to main page of the trip.
Another thing is that the climb takes much longer on foot. Most people travel lightly, with small backpacks for day trips. There were runners, like Kevin and Kasha. And then there were those heading to the high-altitude campsite with heavy backpacks and special canisters for storing food from bears. Denis even regretted not planning a hike into the wilderness. But it was still good, especially once we got higher. 
The high-mountain meadows are ablaze with flowers. Every bend in the trail opens up to a stunning panorama. Everything is in full view. And somewhere higher up, there are more lakes, and that's where we're heading. First, a small lake called Surprise appeared, then another, larger one. It's surrounded by mountains on all sides, like an amphitheater. That's what they called it.
We're sitting on the rocks, taking in all this beauty. There are about seven other people here. We weren't even that tired, and when a turnoff to another trail appeared, we decided to go and see what was there, just a short distance away, about 600 meters up. We weren't even stopped by the warning sign saying, "Are you ready for what comes next?" We thought, what could possibly be there? Well, a ravine. No big deal. It turned out to be not just a ravine, but also loose scree, which requires a fairly steep climb, and then the trail, which is even steeper. Moreover, there were no visible markings or signs to indicate the direction, which was confusing. And, surprisingly, there were quite a few people on such a difficult section. Mostly young people. There was even a reckless mother with a baby in a backpack, who was jumping defiantly over the boulders. 
Some people wash off the road dust in a civilized shower, while others "take" a dip in the lake. A spicy Japanese soup helps us replenish our strength. This is enough for me to sit with a book and write travel notes, and for Denis to take a Spanish lesson and answer client emails. It's still light, but I'm already very sleepy. Tomorrow we'll continue on to Yellowstone.
It's a good thing we photographed it from afar. But the trail is also beautiful—it smells of sun-warmed pine resin and wet pine needles. About twenty minutes later, we unexpectedly found ourselves near the tourist center. Elderly Japanese people fluttered effortlessly from a tour bus in the parking lot and, chattering excitedly, set off along the trail to photograph Devil's Tower. They're the kind of people who take pictures and marvel at everything, like children. But we were heading in the other direction. In one place, a storm had knocked down several trees. Perhaps the devil, the tower's owner, was angry and uprooted everything in his path. Then we encountered some Martian landscapes with red soil. The trail beneath our feet also turned red. 
From the other side of the cliff, a beautiful view of the distant distances suddenly opened up: green hills and blue forests, the blue ribbon of the river and the yellow ribbon of the road. They encountered climbers, young men with backpacks, ropes, and carabiners. 
Later, it occurred to me that a square in the mountains was a rare occurrence. Everywhere we passed, there were only narrow, uneven roads with cramped parking lots. Everything was cramped and cramped. Any more or less level patch of land was always designated for a church or monastery. And here, an entire square! It was filled with small shops, coffee shops, and restaurants. We bought cheese and baklava and decided to have a cup of coffee in a restaurant entwined with grape vines and picturesquely decorated with flower pots. It took a while for our coffee to arrive, probably hoping we'd get hungry and order something else. I noticed that many retired men in pressed trousers were sitting on the benches around the square, in pairs and alone. Some were drinking coffee, some were playing chess, some were simply watching the world go by. It's not a day off, it seems... Why are there no women? Or is it not customary for older women to sit around here and do nothing? A men's get-together?
It's becoming a great tradition to drink coffee in a beautiful place. Incidentally, coffee in Greece is good everywhere. In big cities and small villages, they make excellent coffee!
We drink our cappuccino, looking at the mountains, and move on.
Here, I once again experienced cognitive dissonance with my surroundings. The view from the mountain was beautiful: far below, an ancient city with white houses against the blue water, and an island rising closer to the left bank. But the vantage point where we stopped was littered to the point of disgrace. Down, quickly!
Many houses have been restored, but retain their original façades. Quite a few are abandoned and dilapidated. We wander the narrow streets, occasionally stumbling upon a pile of rusty cannonballs, a citadel, or a wall with loopholes. There's a minaret and a Muslim cemetery.
Thank goodness, this didn't happen, and by the end of our trip to Greece, I was getting used to the steep climbs and descents. We were driving along a picturesque serpentine road, but Denis couldn't fully appreciate all this beauty because he was so focused on the road. And I, though I managed to keep an eye on everything, had to beg my husband for the umpteenth time to slow down on the turn. Finally, we reached our destination. It was called Mikro Papingko.
We leave our things in the room and go for a walk. 
All of this is, of course, incredibly picturesque, but it's best to appreciate beauty on a full stomach, and then everything becomes even more picturesque and beautiful. There are numerous restaurants right here in the harbor, offering a wide variety of seafood to suit every taste. While waiting for dinner, we watch a sailing ship enter the harbor, the lighthouse light up, and dusk gently descend. 
It's warm. It's hard to believe it's October, and somewhere, rain and a cold wind are blowing fallen leaves. Here, you can't help but fall under the charm of a southern town. You stroll along the ancient streets and smile foolishly at the people, equally idle, relaxed by the abundant Greek food and mild climate.
And if it's sunny, there should be beautiful lighting at this time. Besides, there are usually few people around, because tourists are people on vacation, supposed to linger in morning bliss until about ten o'clock. We're more the exception than the rule. We just want to see everything and as much as possible. Denis and I were probably the first visitors to the fortress that day. 
We walked around the perimeter of the fortifications and discovered a wide variety of buildings from different eras: in addition to chapels, we saw a Muslim mausoleum with excellent acoustics, a Christian church with a pile of rusty cannonballs near a dilapidated wall, gunpowder warehouses, and a building that housed a military commandant's office during World War II.
The garden plots descend in terraces over several levels, clinging to the mountain slopes.
In our understanding, in a village everything is made of wood, but here it’s the opposite, everything is made of stone, although there is no shortage of trees.
Even the roofs, unlike those of coastal villages, are covered in gray slate. But the village doesn't appear gloomy from the abundance of stone. On the contrary, it's located in such a beautiful spot that the natural surroundings seem to frame the stone streets and houses beautifully. Or is it the other way around? Three peaks loom directly above the village. 
This is the first thing you notice when you approach the village. In the evening light, they glow pink like strawberry ice cream. In fact, in these parts, wherever you look, there are mountains. 
Near and far, you can gaze at them endlessly. The overall picture is further enhanced by the fact that each house has a small garden, vegetable patch, and flower garden. We thought there were no vineyards in the mountains, but we were wrong.
Grape vines spread freely along the stonework, crossing from one side of the narrow street to the other, creating a shady passage. In one of them, the scent of grapes was so strong that we couldn't help but slow our pace to inhale deeply and absorb the sweet aroma of the berries. In another such grape tunnel, we nibbled on a berry or two, knowing they weren't ours, but unable to resist the temptation. 
We set out on a light "reconnaissance mission" and find our hotel in a maze of streets. They offer a special service: the owner rides an ATV down to the parking lot and delivers our suitcases to our room.
The hotel has a large dining room where you'll be served a hearty breakfast. This room is decorated with traditional Greek embroidery, local shepherds' clothing, and fine wooden furniture. The courtyard is particularly charming. It's enclosed on two sides by the hotel building and outbuildings, while the other half is a small terrace with a couple of tables and a stunning view of the mountains. The courtyard is partly covered with grape vines and flowers, partly with clotheslines, where, incidentally, some guests' rather expensive hiking clothes hang, and a pair of equally expensive boots rest on a stone press.
We can't go far, because it's getting late and a blue shadow has already settled down in the gorge below. But up above, the sun is still out, and there's time to stroll through the village streets.
It's very small, with no infrastructure: no school, no hospital, no post office, not even a store. There's just a small church, a few hotels similar to ours, and two or three restaurants. At the end of our walk, we were rewarded with a sunset, the kind you only get in the mountains.
Now it's time to return to the hotel, so as not to get lost in the dark among the narrow streets. Especially since we need to prepare everything for tomorrow's journey.
The walking is easy because our route runs along a dry spring bed in a deep gorge. Only the occasional large boulders and slippery pebbles are encountered. The rocks on both sides and the trees along the spring bed provide pleasant shade. 
I constantly want to stop and capture the beauty around us. We travel light. Our small backpack contains only two bottles of water and a snack for lunch. A little later, we move our jackets in, which are getting hot.
Some time later, we encounter a group of elderly Frenchmen. We greet them with a friendly "bonjour" and easily overtake them. A cross-country runner, in turn, easily and casually overtakes us. Everyone has their own speed. And another man we meet isn't going anywhere at all. He's sitting on a rock, writing something by hand in a paper notebook. I can't resist asking:
There are open, treeless areas with rocky scree. We traverse a narrow trail. It's crucial not to trip or slide down the steep slope. This section was short, but perhaps the most difficult. Moreover, the sun was blazing, and there was nowhere to hide. Our efforts were rewarded with a beautiful view of the gorge and the nearby cliffs, like fingers jutting from the earth's crust.
At the top, we decided to rest, have lunch, and check how much further we had to go. It turned out we'd covered most of the way quite briskly, and there were no more than an hour and a half left to go. Again, we shouldn't skimp on water, as there would be streams along the way. 
In the end, we completed the fifteen-kilometer route through rough terrain in six hours. Not a bad result! The owner even applauded us and said, "Bravo.". 
This is probably because the "wealthy foreign tourist" season is ending. The streets are almost deserted. One thing amazes me: no matter how small or large a Greek town, there's always a well-kept church/bell tower/monastery with an old plane tree nearby.
Most often, this is a very ancient religious building and the tree is the same age as it. 
A few minutes after leaving, it becomes clear that Denis and I are thinking about the same thing: it would be nice to come back here again.
When we approach it, it turns out to be broken. Here in Greece, this is a common occurrence: something broken, something left unfinished for a long time. Ancient ruins mixed with new ones. 
The burial, resembling a wide well, was also distinctive. We had already seen something similar in Mycenae. 
