October 7, 1996

There is nothing like waking up to a view that didn't exist the night before. When we pulled into Meteora yesterday we saw only fog. It had been raining on and off all day and by time we reached our resting place for the night at 600 meters, the visibility had plummeted to three meters, four tops. And then visibility dropped to zero. The sun sank somewhere behind the grey and by six o'clock we were cloaked in darkness. Between raindrops we dashed into the Kiwis van for dinner and listened to them tell stories of the view that was just outside. ("Trust me, we were here before.") We were just about to walk back to our van when we heard a noise. "Did you hear that? What was that?" John flicked on the headlights; there in the yellow glowing fog stood a wolf. "It is a wolf, isn't it? Too big to be a dog."

"Here boy, here." John had rolled down the window, stuck his head out and was coaxing the thing closer.

"What's the matter with you? That thing could take your skull off."

"Come here puppy."

"Puppy? Get your face back in here while you still have one."

"Well that settles it for me, " Hana said. "I don't pee outside tonight."

"Look, it has fluffy ears. Do wolves have fluffy ears? And it's wagging its tail. Here poochy pooch."

Ok, maybe John was right. We all agreed that maybe it was a big sheep dog and not a wolf, but nonetheless I wasn't going to cross its path to get to our van. "Hana, you call it over to the driver's side while John jumps out the passenger door."

Success, John was safely inside. We handed dishes and pots between open windows; then it was my turn. "John get it to come to our driver's side door and I'll jump in on this side." I waited until the coast was clear and then...click click; the door handle pulled out but the door stayed closed. I stood there, exposed, caught between two vans and a wild beast with fluffy ears and a wagging tail. "John let me in." I banged on the window. He casually reached over and released the button. "Sorry 'bout that," he said. "That was a close one."

In the morning there was no trace of the wild one. Perhaps because he hadn't gotten fed (no American or Kiwi scalps that night) he disappeared into the darkness. But what did stand outside our window, peeking out through clouds and sunshine, was another sight, an incredible one. The Holy Trinity Monastery set atop a massive pinnacle of smooth rock pockmarked with holes. The entire area was accented with monasteries: some small, some large, some with stone steps leading to their entrance tunnels, some with bridges linking them to other sculpted rocks.

John recognized the one we had parked across from immediately. "That's the one that James Bond scaled in the movie 'For Your Eyes Only'." Sure enough it was, and that set the mood for the rest of the day. With John at the wheel, we peeled out onto the asphalt "Rrrrrr," and headed around winding hairpin turns, "Eeeee." We shifted into second, "ERRrrrr," and then to third. Then with a sudden, 180, gravel-raising spin we stopped, Holy Trinity and the cliff inches behind us.

We got some spectacular views of the area. The Roussanou Monastery and the Varlaam perched like birds on the heads of nails. We went inside one, the Metamorphosis Monastery and although it was less than James Bond in approach (we climbed slowly behind a train of tour groups), the inside would have served well as a safehouse for criminals. Dark passageways led to stone chambers (espionage strategy rooms camouflaged as a museum), a forbidding church covered in gory frescos (fake floor opening to a tank of crocodiles below). And a room lined with shelf upon shelf of skulls (the British operatives who weren't quite up to the task at hand).