5 nuns walk into a barn...

Thessaloniki train station has one of the last internet cafes in existence, a colorfully painted little room blocked by drop-claw machines and palm readers and fortune teller booths ala Big and similar artifacts; this is perhaps the room where old and antiquated things go, and the computers that were dumped here just decided to plug themselves in and start charging access through coin slot machines, because they are smart and capitalist like that.  I found one other internet cafe on my short walk down the street today, and it wasn't working.  I hear rumors that there are others around, but I haven't seen any-- only wifi hotspots, which is the sort of gibberish my phone from Zambia doesn't quite comprehend.  I don't regret selling my laptop in Zambia, though-- it would have been a massive pain to carry (literally-- my poor back) and my co-worker was so glad to have it, so I'll just have to make the most of this computer while I have it (for 37 more minutes).

I decided in advance that leaving Africa would be slightly traumatic, and that I needed some sort of buffer or rest period before I started backpacking around Europe like some college student (apparently I am officially too old for this-- official travel discounts in Europe are for backpackers "under 26"-- what, like I turn 26 and it's time for me to settle down with a white picket fence and a dog?  Really?  But I digress...).  My very intelligent stepmother apparently decided the same thing, since she rallied the troops (which consisted of my father and my cousin Connie, who is having a fabulous time backpacking across Europe as well and actually is the proper age for it) and orchestrated a trip to Istanbul for which I had to do no planning beyond buying a plane ticket and deciding what to wear each morning, which was plenty of work for me.  We had an amazing week of tours through mosques and markets, hummus and stuffed grape leaves and fish by the sea (and baklava with ice cream at least once a day-- I am my father's daughter and he is his father's son), and a trip to Ephesus so I could bounce around ancient ruins like they were playgrounds, which is one of my very favorite things.  It was very hot and the days were bizarrely long-- I forgot what it's like to be this far away from the equator-- and there were plenty of rug salesmen handing out glasses of hot apple tea.  A fun and restful week of course ended with a long bus ride at night from Istanbul to Thessaly, and then a train from Thessaloniki to Larissa and a taxi to Anatoli in the mountains, so when I finally arrived at my destination 30 hours after saying good-bye to my family I promptly fell asleep without dinner and stayed asleep until 6 the next morning.

My own plan for a rest turned out to be more of a retreat than I realized-- I signed up online to WWOOF (world wide organization of organic farmers) in Greece, and the one place that wrote back was a monastery on Mount Ossa (or Mount Kissabos, depending on who you ask), on the outskirts of a mountain village called Anatoli, between Larissa and Mount Olympus and the Aegean Sea in Thessaly.  At over 1000 meters, with one (working) truck and one laptop and no wifi split amongst a community of 30 nuns, novices, and guests, I had found the quietest and most peaceful place around.  I had originally planned to stay for 2 weeks; in the end I stayed for 3.

The original Prodromus Monastery was originally built by St. Damian about 500 years ago.  You can still see the ruins of the old church next to the current monastery and church of St John the Foreigner (aka the Baptist), and a 40 minute walk through brambles will get you to the cave-church where St Damian lived several years in seclusion.  Today the Monastery is a work of art: beautiful rooms and patios with beautiful views of the mountains and Larissa below, extensive organic gardens free of chemicals and loaded with fruit trees and beehives, apple orchards and pastures and a farm laden with goats and sheep and cows and horses.  There is a quiet little church with a loft above, so volunteers like me could go observe service and enjoy the peaceful chanting of the nuns' prayers in the evenings if we wished (I went a few times-- it was very peaceful).  The kitchen was well-stocked with fresh fruit and homemade jams, cheese and milk and yogurt and honey straight from the farm, and fresh bread and lunch every afternoon.  It was one of the most relaxing places I have ever been, and though I was working on the farm every day (that's the deal:  free labor in exchange for room and board), I didn't feel exhausted by it, only energized.  Every day it was me in the garden with my ipod and my hands: just me, music, and nature, the perfect place for me.

It is my own personal opinion, which of course no one is obligated to share or even acknowledge, that the world is full of evil deeds, and that human-run institutions such as organized religions, regardless of any possible good intentions, often become fronts for insidious and inexcusable behavior.  However it is also my personal opinion that all things run in a balance, or a dichotomy, and that very few things in the universe are wholly good or bad.  When it comes to religions in general, often it is the cruelest participants who are the loudest, while the nicest and sweetest and best are, by the very nature of being good and unobtrusive and not knocking on our doors to shove their doctrines down our throats, quiet, unseen, and unheard.  It is reassuring and a relief to be reminded on occasion that, despite the outward appearances displayed by the loud and obnoxious, religion can also on occasion do something to make the world more beautiful.

Also?  Nuns on tractors, nuns driving like bats out of you-know-where down hairpin-turn-mountains, nuns popping their heads out of rows of bean plants?  Awesome.  Thank you super-nuns, for a fantastic 3 weeks.

Until next time...