Climbing Mount Lycabettus
On my second day in Athens, I was sitting in a cafe talking to my mum on the phone. The other patrons stared in disbelief at my strange accent and fast-paced way of speaking, as I sipped coffee and feasted on a delicious brunch. In the distance, I spied a tall hill peaking out from the residential homes, cafes and hotels. I decided right then and there I would spend the morning climbing what turned out to be Mount Lycabettus - the tallest mountain in Athens at 277 metres above sea level.
In Greek mythology, Lycabettus was created by Athena when she dropped the hunk of limestone she was carrying on her back. It is also said that the mountain was once inhabited by wolves, hence the name - Lycabettus comes from the word Lykavittos, meaning the path of wolves.
So I finished my breakfast and off I went. In a typical me fashion, I did not google the directions - I just started aimlessly wandering towards it. The French president was in town, and there were police everywhere. No matter how much I travel I don’t think I’ll ever get used to seeing people with guns.
About 40 minutes later, I was lost and wandering around in circles. I asked a passing Greek woman for help, and she told me to turn right and keep walking.
You'll get there!
She laughed, dismissing me with a wave before toddling off.
Eventually, I found the feet of the mighty Mount Lycabettus - the next step, find the cable car. It wasn't quite 11 am but already the heat was unbearable. I began to ascend, slowly making my way around the mountain, relishing in the shade of the peak. I spotted a runner, who told me running up the hill was more straightforward than catching the tourist train. He told me to keep walking.
You'll get there!
It's on the right.
So I kept walking, around and around - I would find out later that I was on the wrong side of the mountain, but by the time I reached the peak I didn't care. On my way up, I passed an old church. It was up the hill a little way, at the top of ancient stone steps. To this day I still don't know what was going on at the service, maybe a funeral I don't know. What I do remember is approaching the building and seeing a small group of bearded men in traditional religious garments. As I approached I heard a soft humming and realised they were singing. A low throaty hum, with one of the older gentlemen singing out over the top of everyone else in a high-pitched wail. I don't even know how to describe that sound. It was stunning and surreal, both humbling and wonderful. I sat down on a park bench at the foot of the steps leading up to that little church and stared out over Athens. The city seemed to quieten down, the birds stopped chirping as if to listen. And still, the men sang on.
While I sat, silent and in somewhat of a daze due to the heat, a stooped elderly man ambled past and eyed me sternly. Frightened that I had upset or offended him, I pointed at the singing men and whispered.
Beautiful
His stern frown broke into a cheeky grin, then he asked me where I was from.
Welcome to Greece
He opened his arms as if to embrace me before turning idly away and disappearing up the steps.
I never did find the cable car on my way up. Instead, I stumbled across the peak by accident - wandering until the whole of Athens lay bare before me. When I reached the top, I found panoramic views of a city, a gorgeous Byzantine church full of art and strangely, a trendy cafe with free Wi-Fi. I sat in the shade listening to the upbeat dance music blaring from the cafe and sipping a frappe before calling home again for the second time that morning.
A half-hour later I was on the funicular train heading down the hill, the entrance of which I eventually found on the other side of the mountain.