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THE STOIC PHILOSOPHER
A quarterly eJournal published by the
Marcus Aurelius School
of the College of Stoic Philosophers
OCT/NOV/DEC 2014: Issue # 12
“The Pilgrimage”
by Erik Wiegardt © 2014
College of Stoic Philosophers Press
This travel narrative is in the eJournal, because in our school we are expected to study AND practice
our philosophy. A pilgrimage is philosophy in action, and with airline travel being what it is, the
journey and test of one's Stoic skills will likely begin at the airport before the destination is achieved.
Stoa Poikile, Athens (L to R)
Germano, Manuel, Timo & Erik
Skolio summit: Mount Olympus
Germano, Manuel, Charo, Timo,
Amielle & Erik (registry at left)
Temple of Apollo: Delphi
Manuel, Timo, Erik & Germano
My wife and I sat near the very last rows of the economy section of an Airbus 330-300, the big one,
eight seats across. Within minutes I became aware of a willful, high-energy two-year-old sitting on the
lap of its mother right next to me. The six-hour flight from San Diego to New York City had been
unremarkable, the usual discomforts, but now I was about to be subjected to more than nine hours of
squirming, crying, yelling hell. I felt sorry for myself for awhile, confined as I was to a sitting space not
much larger than a straightjacket, but I put in my earplugs and reminded myself that soon I would
never see this kid again. The mother had to deal with him 24 hours a day, every day. Ten minutes
before we landed in Athens, he passed out.
A pilgrimage is not a holiday. With a pilgrimage there is purpose, determination, and respect given; not
comfort, ease, and fun taken. Travel is often hard, food and accommodations are often unappetizing
and uncomfortable, but that's OK. In the place of fine dining and luxury one realizes a sense of
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accomplishment and of greater understanding, not just about the world but about oneself. The pilgrim
on a journey feeds both body and soul.
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When we landed, our pilgrimage on the ground began. There were six of us coming from four different
parts of the world: Timo Koivusalo, Finland, a graduating student of the Marcus Aurelius School;
Germano Martinelli, Brazil, a recent graduate of the Stoic Essential Studies course; and, Manuel
Trueba (aka Manolo), Spain, a Marcus Fellow of the College with his wife, Charo, a university
professor; and, my wife Amielle and I from San Diego, California. Every pilgrimage needs a master
logician and navigator, and fortunately we had one. Long ago, my wife Amielle demonstrated her
special talent for these skills when she and I were traveling in Japan. I've never doubted her since.
A Christian pilgrim goes to Jerusalem; a Muslim goes to Mecca; the Stoic pilgrim may choose a
number of places in Greece, but cannot claim to have come home until he or she stands where Zeno
stood at the Stoa Poikile. Our pilgrimage, then, began in Athens where our philosophy began. Next stop
on the itinerary would be northern Greece where we would attempt to climb Mount Olympus, home of
the Greek gods. And, finally, we would head back to Athens, stopping on the way in the town of Delphi
to see the Oracle. We all know that Socrates visited the Oracle of Delphi, and what she told him
launched his life as a philosopher, but not everyone knows Zeno asked a question of the Oracle as well.
More about that later.
Athens
Coming from four different directions we arrived at four different times. The first day, Wednesday, the
10th of September, 2014, Amielle and I arrived in the morning. Timo arrived later that afternoon.
Manolo and Charo were coming the next day. Germano was already there but exploring another part of
the country. All but Germano stayed at the Economy Hotel on Athinas Street, downtown. It
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was cheap,
but clean, and even in September we were quite happy the air conditioner worked well. Bed and
breakfast for about $75. A most reasonable arrangement and a popular one. If you're planning to stay
here it's wise to make your reservations well in advance. The hotel is right behind Athens City Hall and
right next to some porno video shops - a juxtaposition of politicians to pornography we all found
curious.
Timo, Amielle, and I headed out first thing Thursday morning to be at the Acropolis early before the
heat of the midday sun. After paying our respects to that ancient city on the hill, we went to the Agora
(pronounced, ago-RAH), the markets and gathering places of that earlier time. Somewhere there we
knew the Stoa Poikile would be, but we didn't know where. We asked repeatedly: security guards,
locals, anyone who appeared to be alert and aware, but no one knew. In fact, not only did they not
know where it was, they didn't know what it was. Even after we tried to pronounce it “correctly” (pahkeelee stoa), we got no looks of recognition.
Finally, we went to the Stoa of Attalos, a beautifully reconstructed stoa from about the same era. You
can see part of the first floor at the top of the home page of the College website. When this image was
chosen years ago, it was selected because it was a Greek stoa. At the time I didn't know anything more.
It's a two-story building with massive columns and quite a lot of sculpture, especially on the second
floor. Amielle went into the gift shop and asked if they knew where the Stoa Poikile was located. They
didn't know, but they did know that the American School of Classical Studies at Athens was located
just above on the second floor, and surely they must know. Up we went. A security guard showed us to
their door on the back
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wall, and I rang the bell.
It was answered by a middle aged American whose name will remain anonymous to protect his privacy.
I asked if he knew where the Stoa Poikile was located and if it was possible to go down onto the actual
excavation site. I knew from photographs taken earlier by John Kyriazoglou, a local Athenian member
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of New Stoa, that it was surrounded by wrought iron fences. He said that, yes, he knew where it was;
but, no, he could not let us in. I explained who we were in some detail and that there were six of us who
wanted to be there in that location for a graduation ceremony the next day. No, he said, that would not
be possible. I kept talking. I told him it would be an informal affair - no funny hats or robes, no
burning torches. We just wanted a few minutes to stand where Zeno stood and say a few words about
how honored we were to be there 2300 years later, and to have a little graduation ceremony for Timo
who had just completed the Marcus Aurelius School program. I told him about the College and kept
talking until he finally said yes!
It was set for 10 AM the next day, Friday, the 5th. The six of us were waiting at the fence when he
arrived and unlocked the gate. The American School man was the last one remaining of the 50-member
excavation staff and volunteers of the year, and this was his last day before flying out to Sweden for a
month. It was our only chance. If we had come a day later it couldn't have happened. We stood exactly
where he said Zeno probably would have stood. He had an excavation map and showed us the layout of
where they had been excavating for many years, but were only down to the Byzantine era. I said a few
words, handed out Timo's certificate, took pictures, and we all stood there feeling what each of us was
feeling. Afterwards, we had coffee and tea at an outdoor cafe just on the other side of the fence. The
American School man had to rush off to close the Classical Studies office for the year. We looked at the
Stoa Poikile and continued our thoughts - some of them aloud.
Mount Olympus
Next, Spilios Agapitos, also known as Refuge 'A' on Mount Olympus.
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It was the only time in my life,
and I'm 69 or 70 years old, depending upon your philosophical point of view, the only time in my life
when I was in a remote location that the purveyors of anything did not raise the rates far above what
one would pay for the same thing in town. Refuge 'A', a stone fortress, about halfway to the summit of
Mount Olympus from the trail head at Prionia, is where we spent the night. Food and lodging,
dormitory style. Food and all other supplies had to be packed up the trail by donkey, and yet nothing
cost more than it cost in the town of Litochoro at the foot of the mountain. I still can't believe it.
From hot and humid Athens to cold and wet Olympus. There wasn't any heat in the refuge. We had
made reservations well in advance, highly recommended, and for that we got a dormitory room to
ourselves. The six of us in bunk beds in one very cold room. We each were given three thick, wool
blankets, and that turned out to be ample. There was a fireplace in the main part of the refuge, and
earlier we had all huddled around, drying out our wet clothes from the hike on the first day. It had been
raining or drizzling since we arrived. At midnight that night I woke up for some reason and saw our
room bathed in a soft light. It was coming from the window, and I looked to see if someone was shining
a flashlight in. It was a full moon. For a few minutes the clouds parted and the full moon shined down
upon us. I took that as an good omen.
Up at 5 AM, packs repacked, a quick breakfast, and at first light we resumed our climb. 2917 meters
was the original measurement, not a really tall mountain, but the tallest in Greece. The current, more
accurate measurement is 2918.8 meters, but most still say it's 2917. More importantly, it's the home of
the Greek gods.
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It is unusual in other ways, too. The Mediterranean Sea is not far away, you can see it
from the town of Litochoro, and for a mountain this tall to rise up directly from sea level is rare. It's not
as high or as hard to climb as Mount Whitney in California, but there were moments.
One arduous stretch of what appeared to be about a kilometer in length was remarkably steep - heart
pounding and hard breathing every step of the way. Normally, the original trailblazers in such a
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situation create switchbacks. No switchbacks, just straight up. Grueling, but at the end of it was Skala,
the junction where you decide which peak you which to summit. Take the trail to the right and you can
climb Mytakis, the throne of Zeus, a rocky promontory that is technically difficult with steep and sheer
drop offs that are not for the fainthearted. Take the trail to the left and you can climb to Skolio, home of
the next most important gods, such as Athena and Apollo.
It had been raining or drizzling the day before and part of the time we were in the final ascent, and
there was no question that the Mytakis rocks would be wet and slippery. Although Manolo and
Germano were undaunted by this potential danger, they decided to accompany the remaining four of us
who were less inclined to hazard this rock scramble. We all turned left. Personally, I've always
preferred Athena anyway, the more noble side of Zeus's nature, and to celebrate our decision, the sun
came out for just an hour or so, and we saw in all its natural splendor why Mount Olympus was and is a
fitting home for the gods. We signed the book at the summit, had our picture taken, and descended back
down into the mist and rain.
For those who read old travel information that often recommends hiring a guide to find your way. No,
don't bother. It's entirely unnecessary. The trails are well marked from start to finish. The EU has
funded quite an effort to mark the trail you want, the E-4, with signs that are clear and permanent -
most of the time. But, if you have any doubt, just ask any one of the many hikers you will meet along
the way. Mountain hikers tend to friendly and helpful about such things. We've all been there.
Delphi
We call it DEL-fi, but the Greeks call it del-FEE, and if you want to surprise the
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locals, just pronounce
it as they do. Speaking of locals, a word should be said about getting around Greece and the welcome
and assistance we received when we were there. Without exception, they were as helpful as they could
be. That is, if they could help at all, they did. English-speaking Greeks are common, and whether we
were dealing with strangers or our Athens contact, John Kyriazoglou, the people were invariably polite,
friendly, and helpful. On more than one occasion locals went out of their way to make sure we were not
lost. I wish there was some way I could thank each of them again for their many kindnesses to us.
Although our ignorance and confusion was often apparent, we were never embarrassed or made to feel
as stupid as we must have sounded.
The journey south from Litochoro to Delphi is complicated. Let that be a warning to those who may
wish to retrace our pilgrimage exactly. Why it is so difficult I don't know, but it required numerous
changes of trains, buses and taxis to finally arrive at our destination. It was worth it, of course, but
unless you have a logistics and navigation master in your group, as we did, be prepared to struggle.
Delphi has been a tourist destination for more than 3000 years (they've discovered evidence that the
Oracle has been prophesying futures since 1400 BCE), but they don't make it easy to get there when
coming down from the north of the country. It's a straight shot from Athens, but if you go back to
Athens, which is south of Delphi, then coming back north you're going to have a very, very long day.
We put our faith in the master navigator and cut the time of that long day in half.
This section could be called “Decompressing in Delphi.” Not only was it a wonderful way to recover
from the effort of climbing Mount Olympus,
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but we found a quiet friendliness about this charming little
town that served as a balm to the aches and pains in our calves and thighs. The Athina Hotel (that's how
it's spelled), where five of us stayed, offered bed and breakfast for two nights that we would normally
expect to pay for one. Delphi was without a doubt the least expensive part of the trip, and the first and
last impression I had of it was of a colorful, picturesque, quaint, old world village with many shops,
cafes, small hotels, good restaurants, and amazing views. Delphi is a mountain town, and the view from
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our balcony, for example, would cost the traveler dearly anywhere else in the western world.
I did have one complaint, but that was not unique to Delphi. Bathroom showers. Apparently Greeks
don't really care much about the idea or concept of the shower. Wherever we stayed the shower stall
was nothing more than a platform with a hand held shower wand and entirely inadequate curtains. They
had a drain in the bathroom floor, apparently because they know you will be making a watery mess all
over the room. Plan to throw down all of your bath and hand towels to keep from stepping and slipping
in pools and puddles that will collect after each shower.
It was the same in Athens, Litochoro, and Delphi - three widely separated towns in Greece. At the end
of our pilgrimage we were looking forward to what we expected to find in the upscale hotel we rented
for our last night in Athens. After all, we paid twice as much for it as we had for the Economy Hotel. It
was listed as the number one hotel in Athens by one of our travel books, and it was an excellent hotel in
an excellent part of town, but although they had marble counters and other aesthetic refinements, they
still had a drain in the middle of the bathroom floor to deal with the flood emitting from the open
shower. A small complaint, but one made larger by its very oddity.
The original oracle room in the Temple of Apollo, indeed the Temple of Apollo itself, and all of the
surrounding marble buildings and monuments of antiquity, were in ruins, some just broken fragments
of what they had been. We have a Christian Byzantine Emperor, I've forgotten which one, to thank for
this. He wanted to make sure no one would ever go to Delphi to consult that pagan prophetess again.
Even so, it's still possible to ask the oracle a question, if