An “ Abomination of desolation revisited”

Stephanie Ambridge follows in the footsteps of Sir Patrick Leigh Fermor by crossing the Taygetos mountain range

Twenty five years ago, looking for some holiday reading, I picked up a copy of Patrick Leigh Fermor’s ‘Mani’ in a discount book shop. Lying on a beach in southern Crete, as American fighters flew over on their way to bomb Libya, I was bewitched by the Tolkienesque tale of the writer and his wife crossing seemingly impassable mountains, into a strange and dangerous land.  Five years later I had bought, with my husband, a house in those mountains and we have lived here for fourteen years. Bewitched indeed.

We came to the Mani on a tarmac road from Kalamata, the usual route these days, but when, earlier this year, my friend Caroline declared a desire to cross the Taygetos Mountains this year, I knew that I wanted to see how that intrepid couple had entered the Mani in the early 1950s. Many things have changed since then, but happily the mountains remain a bastion against modern times. Somewhere to escape, without a car, or mobile phone signal.

A sizzling afternoon in June, the Kalamata bus station wallows in a stupor of inactivity. We are about to start on our adventure, backpacks ready and a copy of Leigh Fermor in our hands.

Can we buy tickets for the Sparti bus ? No, they must be bought on board. The clock on the bus is 10 minutes slow, but the bus leaves on time. One of the miracles of Greece is the relentlessness of its bus services. The conductor sells us tickets, only €2.20!

We wind up the Nedon Gorge, enjoying the breeze through the window. Then, at the village of Artemisia we realize the reason for the cheap tickets. Everyone off! The Messinian KTEL bus will not take us over the border into Laconia. We and our fellow travellers park ourselves on the café chairs and wait for the Laconian KTEL bus to arrive from over the Langada pass. It arrives, of course, and off we go again, with another €2.00 ticket. This time the driver is of the old school. He throws the bus around corners and several times on the hairpins down the far side we narrowly miss oncoming traffic with the accompanying squealing of brakes.

Halfway down the Laconian side of the mountains we are hailed by a wiry old man who clearly knows the driver. They engage in some lively banter on the subjects of goats and Romanian wives. The old guy ribs the driver on his lack of fitness and when he is dropped off at a track leading precipitously down a hillside, he mentions that it is only an hour’s walk home. He is one of a breed still commonly met in mountain villages: lean, straight-backed, dressed in neat, if patched, trousers and collared shirt, usually in their 70s and 80s.

The road levels out, we enter Sparti and are deposited at the bus station, where we are assaulted by the usual combination of diesel and coffee fumes.

A taxi takes us to the neighbouring village of Agios Ioannis. The view ahead is stupendous: the Spartan plain of olives and citrus groves is catching the last of the afternoon sun while above, perched on a 500 metre cliff, sits Anavriti, Leigh Fermor’s starting point. The cliff is completely in shadow with an impossible zig zag of a road cutting up it. Above Anavriti the snow-striped mountains rear up sheer. Black, grey and white clouds roll around the peaks, hiding their glory intermittently. Can we really be heading up there? It looks like another planet,.. a world away at least !

The taxi drops us at the base of the cliff and a small metal sign leads us onto a track heading in the opposite direction to the road. This soon turns into a stone-laid kalderimi which heads up the side of a ravine, with precipitous drops to our right. Considering the apparent steepness of the motor road, the footpath takes us at a very civilized gradient up to the top of the cliffs. In less than an hour the village of Anavriti appears before us, nestled on a wooded hillside. We enter the village and soon reach the square where the kafenion presides and water pours out of stone-built springs, coursing along runnels to the left and right of you. Here too is the Hotel Anavriti offering a bed and a hot shower, not to mention a stunning view from your balcony, south along the ridgeline of Taygetos to the pyramid peak of Profitis Ilias.

The sun has disappeared behind the mountains to the west and we take a stroll around the steep village streets. There is hardly a soul to be seen, but near the top of the village we meet an elderly shepherd with a dozen skittish sheep. ‘What are you doing here?’ he asks, bemused. We tell him that tomorrow we will walk over the mountains to the Mani. ‘Pah!’ he says. ‘That’s not possible.’ His eagle eyes have, within seconds, spotted my wedding ring and Caroline’s lack of one. ‘She’s not married’, he pronounces. ‘Who will protect her?’  I will, of course! Finally, he points at the ever descending clouds and says that the bad weather is set in. Our plan is doomed!

We bid our cheery friend good evening and retire to the kafenion to see what it can offer us. The lady of the establishment turns out to be one of the much discussed Romanian wives. Try finding a Greek woman willing to marry into a business catering to a few old folk and occasional tourists in a remote village where the winters would be hard and lonely. She does us proud with meatballs, wild greens, potato chips and cheese. Our water glasses are filled directly from the spring which gushes out of the back wall of the terrace. Marvelously, we get chilly sat outside and have to don jackets. What a treat in the Greek summer! We are enjoying ourselves so much that we have a second beer, against out better judgment, which says we should be having an early night and clear heads.

Sunrise comes early to Anavriti and we are awake at six. Profitis Ilias is aglow in the early morning light. The clouds of yesterday have vanished without trace. So much for our weather-forecasting shepherd. We have a breakfast in the hotel and heave our packs onto our backs. Our water bottles are, as yet, empty and after we fill them from one of the village’s many springs, our loads become significantly heavier.

Our route out of Anavriti follows the European cross-country trail, the E4. This is well marked and we are soon traversing south through woods. After about an hour we leave the E4 to follow a red marked trail which will take us up towards the mountains. We cross a dirt road and dive into pine forest. The endless switchbacks of the path and the weight of our packs slow us down and when the trees thin out at the open area called Livadi it is something of a relief. We snack on biscuits and raisins (do our packs feel any lighter….?). Shortly after Livadi we take a left fork in the trail, onto a yellow marked path, which leads directly up to the ridgeline. The forest is now below us and we are walking on stony ground, punctuated by Leigh Fermor’s ‘plague of stunted Christmas trees’. We are buoyed up by the dizziness of our altitude and the fabulous view opening up behind us. All of Laconia on a plate. We think the miniature pines are cute and, as we ascend, the temperature is becoming more pleasant and a cool breeze is picking up. Above us seems to be …. nothing. Are we nearly at the top?

Just as it seems that we are walking up into the sky a small grassy bowl opens up before us and snug in the grass are set the stone buildings of the Botanical Station. We hadn’t known what to expect of such a grandly titled place and were surprised to find the door to the main building open. No one home. It seems that someone has kicked in the door and its several locks (hunters or disgruntled hikers looking for shelter?). What luxuries we found within. Six bunks, a fully equipped kitchen with shelves full of food, comprehensive first aid supplies, a wood-burning stove and even electricity, courtesy of a generator. What a fabulous spot for a hiker’s mountain hut, but what a shame that it must usually be locked.

We play house for a bit and then set off for the ridge, doing our best to wedge the door shut against animal intruders, the evidence of which was already plain.

Beyond the Botanical Station all waymarks cease and we wander generally upwards, not sure of ourselves. Scrambling up a high point to the south we find ourselves in a wind that lifts us off our feet and, suddenly, the peaks of the Taygetus ridge leap into view to our north and south. How did such towering peaks manage to hide themselves from us until the last minute?!  To our south is the 2024m Spanaki and we follow the ridgeline north, looking for signs of a trail over into Messinia. There are faint red marks for a north-south route that follows the ridge, but nothing indicating a way to the west. We are in no hurry, the views were magnificent. The fierce wind and clear sky ensure well defined mountains, including the still snow-streaked Profitis Ilias and Halasmenovouno and also the distant blue of the Messinian Gulf.

The head of the gorge that we need to descend is clear, but it is 400 metres of sheer scree down to the start of the gorge bed. We know that there is a spring, Ai Nikos, not far under the ridge and the advice we’ve had is not to miss this as we would find little other water. Needless to say, we don’t find the spring ! After much deliberation we pick a spot to step over the ridge and plunge, slipping and sliding down the abominable scree in the midday sun.

The wind drops as we leave the ridge and the July sun begins to take its toll. After what seems an interminable length of time, we reach the first stretches of riverbed, with knees complaining from the slippery descent. We finally find the footpath to the right of us and it takes us out of the riverbed for a short while. The bed of the gorge turns out not to be the pebble strewn highway we were hoping for. This is a much more dramatic place! The ravine descends at an alarming rate and its bed consists of chunks of mountainside apparently tossed down by an angry god. Even the largest slabs of rock are disappointingly unstable (more hard work for the knees).

To our right almost all of the landscape bears the blackened scars of the fires two years earlier. Our ravine marks the end of the southerly journey of the fire. If it had made it across, the fire would have carried on to Profitis Ilias and the Vassiliki Forest. A sobering thought, and it is terrifying to imagine being in this place with a fire of that magnitude bearing down.

We spot a tree to our left casting a tempting patch of shade over a grassy bank. We don’t have to ask each other. The rucksacks are off, feet up and it’s time for a siesta.

After an hour or so we reluctantly resume our journey. We need to find somewhere more hospitable before nightfall. Our ravine meets a bigger gorge, coming down from the Neraidovounio, at right angles, but as the junction comes into sight we find that the path to the left that we need to follow has been completely obliterated by a landslide. There is an opportune stone kalderimi leading away to the right. It is the wrong direction, but if it takes us into the next gorge, albeit higher up than planned, all would be well. Sadly the path soon disappears and we find ourselves fighting through fire-blackened broom, which tears at our clothes and covers us in soot. There’s no turning back so we battle on until we at last emerge at the junction of the two ravines.

Our new watercourse is a much more civilized affair with a wide gravel floor heading south. We can hear running water and cross to the shaded far side to investigate. There is water cascading down the rock face and we wash our sooty faces and arms. So much for the alleged lack of water on this route. We needn’t have carried all those litres over from Laconia!

Following the north – south route of the gorge we are in the shade, with the sun sinking out of sight to our right. This is now a very pleasant stroll through the meandering turns of the gorge with two metre high dry thistles standing sentinel along our way. Happily, any remains of rebels shot down in the civil war are long since washed away.

We find spring water (more drinking water!) spilling out onto our route and we can’t resist taking our boots off and soaking our weary feet. But not for long, the water is freezing!

The afternoon is turning to evening and suddenly in front of us, right in our path, there is a battered chainsaw. We stop dead and look around. Complete silence, rocks and mountainside. In the lowering light thoughts turned to budget slasher movies. We tentatively walk around the chainsaw and are about to put it behind us when a figure leaps out from the vegetation on the riverbank. We jump, but it is only a shepherdess greeting us. She has been cutting leafy branches for her goats. Would we like a cup of coffee? Her hut is only a few minutes away. We certainly would!

Voula, as our new friend is called, spends the summer in her hut at Karea with her husband and their flock of goats. They lost most of the flock in the fires two years ago, but have built it up again. The hut is built of stone and has a roof of wood and plastic sheeting. It’s quicker to put a new sheet of plastic on each year than build and maintain a ‘proper’ roof. Chickens run around a makeshift yard and all the essentials of life in the mountains are hanging off trees or adorn the walls of the hut. Her husband has taken the goats up the mountainside for pasture and will bring them back later for milking. Across the riverbed from the hut, with a sheer cliff behind, is the pen for milking and a blackened cauldron for making cheese. All around us are stacked the bright shiny tins for storing the cheese.

We sit on plastic chairs and Voula produces a coffee for me and a glass of coke for Caroline. Where will we stay the night? We are welcome to stay as their guests. Their children had been there a few days ago and they have camp beds ready. This is all very hospitable but we have set our hearts on camping out in the wild and we make our excuses. Voula is still concerned that we might starve and produces a tupperware container of goat stew still warm from the pot. I’m going to eat well tonight: Caroline is vegetarian! We are also invited to return around 10pm if we want to see the milking.

We are only 15 minutes away from the Panagia Kapsadematousa, or Klima, where we meet the Rindomo Gorge, which leads, eventually, down to the sea. The church is set in the wide, flat junction of the two gorges. Its name day is less than a week away and the church and grounds have been spruced up in readiness. Its name comes from a story that the locals missed celebrating her name day one year because they were too busy with the harvest and she punished them by burning the bales. We lay out our sleeping bags amongst the trestle tables and it feels a little strange to be camped out behind a high wire fence. It is there to stop the place being overrun by herds of goats, but it does feel rather like being in prison. Pick-up trucks can reach this spot and beyond up to the village of Rindomo, but the road is very long and very rough and no one disturbs us.

We wash at the church tap and lay out our feast. Goat stew for me, nuts and dried fruit for Caroline and a miniature bottle of brandy each to celebrate making it this far.

From our picnic bench the sun is visible again down the westward leading Rindomo Gorge, but we are tired from our long day and curl up in our sleeping bags. It should be easy to sleep but we are bothered by mosquitoes. I try lighting a coil but a wind has picked up and it keeps blowing over. There is a lot of very dry grass around us and I would hate to be responsible for burning down the church of the burning bales! The night is then punctuated by a howling wind which starts as a noise building up in the mountains and then rushes over us for ten minutes or so before fading away again. We are sleeping under young walnut trees and the impossibly bright stars turn into disco lights as the branches whip around in the wind. All in all, not a very restful night.

We wake to find that the wild wind of last night has vanished without a trace and we are again plagued by mosquitoes. Probably something to do with the watering system set up for the trees planted around the church. The sun is hidden, rising behind the mountains but we are up early, keen to cover some ground before it gets hot.  A good plan as we walk mostly in the shade for the remainder of our trek.

The gorge leads us westwards, mostly along a not too arduous river bed lined with trees, although occasionally rocks have piled up into waterfalls that have to be clambered down. On one section a kalderimi footpath takes you to the side, away from a waterfall, but the constructors of the new road to Rindomo have destroyed the beginning of the path and a precarious way across the road debris has to be picked.

Finally, after several hours, the gorge grows ‘claustrophobically narrow’ as Leigh Fermor describes. The curving walls on either side of us are indeed striped with ‘whirling’ rock strata and ahead, high above us, against the light, is the stone arch of the bridge to Pigadia. Leigh Fermor appears to have carried on downstream to Avouras where a path ascends to the Monastery of Profitis Ilias, but we have had enough of river-bed stones and take a stone path to the left which takes us up past the Pigadia bridge and then follows the route of the gorge, high above it. This is the original road between the Gaitses, or Kendro, villages and the Pigadiotika villages. Sadly, after twenty minutes you reach the point where civilization has cut a dirt road and this is what we follow. The old road still exists, halfway between the riverbed and the new road and is a wonderful trail through watermills. But lack of use has made it a battle through undergrowth and landslides to negotiate. Not one for today!

We pass the monastery of Profitis Ilias, perched on a rock and take a last look behind us, not a little wistfully, at the rocky fastness that is the Taygetos mountains, before we enter the village square of Voreio, where the proprietor of the kafenion, Sokrates, spoils us with cold beer and a plate of cheese, salted pork, tomato and cucumber. Have we come from Rindomo? No,from Anavriti. Sokrates has never been so far, but some of the other café regulars remember the trip across the mountains. Is there still a path?  No, not really!!