Meteora

[canyonwren]

Meteora is an almost indescribably beautiful place, with high jutting rocks appearing out of nowhere on the plains of Thessaly, leading into the mountians. Years ago, a monk from Mt. Athos (where women are still not allowed--not even female animals, although they have broken down enough to admit that their hens must be girls, since they lay eggs), arrived here to build a monastery. And build he did. There are four monasteries and one nunnery hidden among or perched on top of these enormous, craggy cliffs. The poor monks who live there can't have a very peaceful, monastic life with the hoards of visitors, but they certainly rake in the dough.

I visited the Great Meteoran, the largest and oldest of the monasteries, a smaller one, and the nunnery. Climbed the winding stairs, looked politely at the ancient kitchens and chapels and gardens, and made a few discoveries.

The celebrated and gorgeously painted frescoes had interesting subjects.

After gaping for a while, I started noting down exactly what I was seeing in my journal:

1. Beheadings. Many, many, many beheadings.
2. People tied to a wheel and rotisseried through a flame.
3. People crushed between two enormous slabs.
4. A guy dragged behind a horse by the feet.
5. Burned at the stake.
6. Burned in a furnace.
7. Burned in a cage.
8. Boiled in a pot of water.
9. Stoned.
10. Tied prone to a woodpile.
11. Dismembered.
12. Pierced or stabbed with knives or swords.
13. Hung upside down (by the ankles).
14. Traditionally crucified.
15. Fed to lions.
16. Hung rightside up (by the neck).
17. Buried halfway in unidentified white things.

ETA: Oh, yes. Amongst all these where the guys with halos were coming out the worst, there was Daniel with lions licking his feet. I swear, all the martyrs were looking at him, going, "You bitch."

Also ETA: As a kid, I couldn't parse what halos were in my Children's Illustrated Bible, which was the only religious text I owned until I was 18 or so. I thought they all had plates on their heads and could NOT figure that out for the life of me.

It was like the little lederhose men in Germany, but these were all beautifully painted up in a church.

So, I'm not a churchgoing person, I admit, but I always thought church frescoes were, like, beautiful scenes. This was gorier than a slasher flick directed by a 16-year-old.


And in case you were wondering what happened to all those heads cut free from the bodies...

They went into the ossiary, which I innocently glanced into and nearly had a heart attack. I gather the frescoes captured the death throes of all the local martyrs, who were slaughtered by the Turks. And here's where they kept the holy bones. You can see the long bones off to the right. No, I'm not sure I was really supposed to take a picture, but I couldn't resist.



And then, my favorite Engrish of the whole trip:

GET THEE TO A NANNERY!

So, that's where all the nanny goats go!


It was kind of amusing. I showed up at the monasteries wearing my Ellas (Greek for Greece) shirt and a cheap, roomy black skirt. I understood that the monks really wanted goils to wear skirts. Hey, their place, their rules. If I ever built a monastery, I'd make everyone who visited wear fake antannae, but that's just me. So, I wore a skirt.

Some women climbing the endless stairs ahead of me, were being snide about the few of us women wearing a skirt. I just rolled my eyes at them, but was vastly amused when they were required to put on silly little checked wrap-ons before entering. Bitch, whine, moan. Lesson? If you wear your own skirt to a place where it's well known that you must wear one, you get to wear a skirt of your choosing. You don't, they can dress you like a clown.

Well, monks have to do something for amusement.