August 20, 1996

Tan lines were beginning to show. It was time to move off the beaches. We were getting antsy for something more challenging than picking the perfect spot on the sand. And there it was. Mount Olympus: dominating, grand, rising in the distance. How could we visit Greece without ascending it's staircase; without hiking the trails of the ancient Gods? We hadn't camped at mountain huts since Nepal and whether it was the attraction of spending three days isolated in Greece's highest mountain or a calling from Zeus we can't say. But we loaded our packs, made reservations at Spilios Agapitos (Refuge A) and set out for an 1800 meter ascent into the clouds.

Having a set of wheels saved us 18 Kilometers at the start. A road took us from the village of Litochoro to the Prionia tavern at 1100 meters where we camped on a bed of mule manure. (Close those windows tight!) In the morning we left the sweet smell behind and set off into the wilderness on a steep, well-used trail to climb to the Refuge. We were given two small breaks in the beginning when the trail leveled off a bit, basically though the hours were spent going up.

Somewhere, after I'd asked John our altitude for the ump-teenth time and gotten the answer, "500 meters to go"; we began to hear things. Up until that point our ears had only picked up the chatter of an occasional bird or the small rumblings of rocks that slipped beneath our boots and plummeted to the switchback below. It was an unmistakable sound; we were hearing bells. Their ringing echoed between the mountains, distant at first, then closer. Was this the music of Apollo? We were puzzled. A bit further we heard a beat, like wooden blocks clacking, steady, rhythmic. Was Zeus heralding us higher? Then the breathy voices began, heavy air spilling, pulsing through nostrils and throats. The Twelve deities preparing a hymn. But when a familiar sweet smell filtered through the air, we knew. The ancient Gods were not acknowledging our desire to walk on their world; they were not behind us on this challenge. No, the mules were. We gave the beasts a wide berth as they passed us on the trail and then, trying to avoid as much of the fresh manure as possible, continued toward our destination. We knew we were getting close to the Refuge when the whisper of bells suddenly stopped.

The entertainment soon departed for the trail and we were left to admire our surroundings. Refuge A sits 1000 meters from our starting point, just below tree line on a hill overlooking the valley. Behind it is a steep incline of green and rock that ends in a line across the sky. To the right of that line is the mighty Mytikas. It's top is multi-peaked, looking as if dribbled castles of sand have been poured on its crown. Behind it, out of view, was Mt. Skolio. Together they are the two highest peaks in the Olympic range.

The refuge itself is large. The gathering crowds on the patio made me expect that all ninety beds would be taken. So before the best ones were gone, John and I checked in and were shown, what to us, appeared a suite, a double bed tucked by itself in a back building. Adjacent to it, but with it's own door, was a room with five other beds (actually one large bed with five pillows spaced across it). The other rooms were similar but bunk style and with the numbers in each I doubted whether its occupants would get as quiet a night's sleep.

The best part of the Refuge was the people we met. Mike and John, brothers from Kentucky (born in South Africa) and their friend Mike from Britain (born in Pakistan). Writing the names across the score sheet when John played cards with them would be interesting I thought; 'Mike and John, and John and Mike'. But John was more clever than that. He wrote 'Us and Them'.

At ten o'clock the party was over. We had another steep uphill climb in the morning and our beach-legs turned mountain-legs needed to rest. The generator went off and Hypnos (the god of sleep) saw us to bed.