As an epigraph I wanted
insert a famous joke
“"“Oh, Vanya, how beautiful!”,
but the censors did not approve.
When I was considering the different options for our trip to Greece, all of them included Meteora. Because it's simply impossible to be in this area and pass by. The unique combination of rock pillars and the monasteries built on them makes this place one-of-a-kind. So I planned an overnight stay in the nearest town.
As usual, we rose early this morning, said goodbye to the welcoming farmhouse near Delphi, and were briskly driving along the mountain roads of Boeotia. The area is deserted, with only the occasional sign of a ski slope or a nearby hotel visible.
The mountains give way to a plain, and after four hours of driving, we enter the town Kalambaka.
We need to find a store and stock up on groceries, but I realize parking here is impossible—in some places, the cars are parked two rows deep. So we head straight to the house I rented—the owners promised parking nearby, and, interestingly, they weren't lying! It's a large and fairly empty lot, even though the town center is less than a 10-minute walk away. It's unclear why everyone parks there when there's such a convenient spot nearby. But it's better for us.
By the way, here it is this house — We really liked it. It's a very cozy and nice place, with a washing machine (which is sometimes necessary on a road trip). We were even sad to leave. Actually, that was the case with almost every place we stayed 🙂
We had little time at Meteora—we were staying there for only one night. So, after lunch at a nearby restaurant, we hit the trail.
There are different ways to see the local beauty. Driving is perfectly fine—the road runs past the main monasteries, with plenty of parking and viewing platforms. But that's not our method. I found a rather long walking route, which is where we went.
The route began through the picturesque towns of Kalambaka and Kastraki, with restaurants, wineries, and hotels. Unfortunately, we didn't have time to stop for local wine tastings.
Monasteries were visible above, on the cliffs. We kept wondering how they were built there. After all, so much building material had to be carried up, at best by donkeys, or sometimes on our own backs.
The trail then led through the forest. Apparently, there's plenty of moisture here, so there are plenty of trees with thick foliage providing shade—a pleasant change from the rocky slopes of Mount Parnassus.
There were even druids in the forest:
And then we went up, and all these incredible landscapes opened up in all their glory.
It was really hard to resist taking photos at every turn. And we didn't resist 🙂
Then the time before sunset came, and it became even more beautiful.
However, the sun was already low, and we still had a long way to go. Moreover, at one point the trail for some reason led onto some private property, so we had to go back and go around. So we decided not to follow the route all the way, but to take a shortcut through the Holy Trinity Monastery—that's where the trail was. a suitable path.
The last photo from above, and here we are already heading out into the city.
Go to Greek Trip Homepage.
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. 
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.
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.
Gnarled and hollow, it commands respect. Many generations of people have been born and died, but it has outlived them all. We stroke the sycamore's rough bark one last time and move on.
The warm, shallow water is a great spot for families with children and for non-swimmers. There's also some depth, of course. About twenty minutes later, Denis emerges from it and announces he's found pink sand. It's a narrow, barely noticeable strip at the edge of the water. Later, I, too, find the famous sand in crevices between the rocks.
We went for a swim. We took photos of the pink sand and purple bushes against the backdrop of the mountains.
We strolled along the shore. We swam again. And now we're ready to head back. 
There's so much here! I chose a stylized tree—a jewelry stand; Denis had his eye on two wine glasses. But here's the problem: we only have enough cash for one thing. It's a shame there's no ATM in the village. The owner of the workshop, a colorful bearded man, puts on quite a show. It's fascinating to watch him. 
He cuts open the colorful bags with jokes and gags, wraps up the purchase, throws in handfuls of candy, cuts out monograms, and finally hands it all over to us. 
Somehow, this combination of pleasures never gets boring. It's even better than the pink sand beach, Denis thinks. My husband didn't like the beach. "Too crowded," he says. And I wonder if he didn't like it because we never made it to the nudist section? Huh, Denis? ;)
Yes, that's exactly what we came to Greece for, but sometimes our eyes became jaded and we realized we were tired of the abundance of visual historical information. Denis wisely planned everything so that, in between immersing ourselves in history, we'd also visit the hot springs, swim over sunken Roman villas, laze on the beaches, and actively hike along the trails.
It's no longer in operation, but it hosts exhibitions of local artists. You can also walk around the harbor to the lighthouse. 
Which is exactly what we did one evening, having a romantic dinner on the pier, right by the water. 
Parking is also excellent here. This is probably because it's located a bit out of the city center, in the suburbs. Later, we found two routes to the historic part of town. One was a bit shorter, running along the outskirts, was quite noisy, and not very clean. The other followed the shore. We found it much more pleasant. However, there were a couple of odd spots there. In one, we kept seeing nudists, even though there was no official beach there. And in the other, there was a place for illegal immigrants, made from improvised materials: a tent, a wooden umbrella from a nearby beach, sheets of plywood, and iron. This was despite the fact that there were modern, expensive hotels just a five-minute walk away.
A fitting end to the day.
The lighthouse, beautifully illuminated by spotlights. We sit by the water and toss crumbs into it. A school of fish quickly makes short work of them, as if the fish in the sea have nothing to eat. A multilingual murmur of voices and, often, laughter can be heard. 
People feel happy here.
Когда-то ее окрестности облюбовали европейские хиппи, а до них — разного рода отшельники, потому, что в этих местах много маленьких пещерок в скалах, наличие пресной воды и близкое море. Нельзя сказать, что Матала — чрезвычайно популярное место. Оно находится немного на отшибе от основных путей, но за последние годы сеть отелей, ресторанов и магазинов значительно расширилась. Сюда приезжают любители пляжного отдыха. Мы оказались в этих краях, потому что нам по пути к следующей точке путешествия. 
С высоты видно, что некоторые маленькие пещеры обитаемы( не только козами:). Я бы, наверное, тоже так пожила, если бы было достаточно времени. С горы также видно, что пляж совсем не красный, а обычный, светло коричневый. Вероятно, цвет зависит от сезона.
Мы надеемся увидеть довольно дикое место, но нас встречает большая вывеска “ Лучший мохито на побережье!” , а также цены на аренду лежаков и зонтов. Почему-то хочется, чтобы ничего этого не было. Ни то ни другое нам не нужно, ведь мы здесь, чтобы искупаться пару раз — и снова в дорогу. Когда Денис сообщает, что пляж, куда мы идём, нудистский, я внимательно смотрю на мужа, вспоминаю нашу поездку на Гавайи и понимаю, что этот человек на уровне подсознания уже готов к очередной ступени свободы и раскрепощенности. И , наверное, он стал бы хиппи, живи лет этак на семьдесят раньше. 
Кажется, что сосна цветет ярко розовыми цветами. 
