A Road Trip through Northern Greece in the Off-Season
There’s plenty of room in the trunk of the rental car for a bicycle and a set of golf clubs — a perfect kit for varied, active recreation on the coast. The weather, however, doesn’t promise much: today in northern Greece it seems it will be cloudy and cool. But while waiting for the sun, a drive through the mountains is a fine alternative.
Not far from the Greek city of Thessaloniki lies the famous Olympus — a mountain range with four peaks where, according to legend, the ancient Greek gods once lived. For most of the year, the peaks are hidden in thick mist. The Greeks believed that to see this beauty with one’s own eyes, a person had to earn the gods’ special favor. Their heavenly dwelling is concealed from mortal sight by the Horae, three sisters and goddesses of the seasons. Only for the chosen few do they lift the heavy grey shroud, granting a glimpse of the divine halls; uninvited visitors risk the wrath of Zeus himself. Will I be fortunate, or not?
The distance from Thessaloniki to Olympus is only ninety kilometers, but the onboard navigator warns that the trip will take nearly two hours. The weather worsens: the closer I get to the mountains, the more the temperature drops. At the city limits, the thermometer showed twenty-one degrees Celsius; now it’s down to thirteen. Near the foothills, the drizzle begins, soon turning into wet snow. The temperature falls almost to zero. It seems the gods are not expecting me after all.
Summer tires slide dangerously over the slushy snow that coats the serpentine mountain road. There’s no room for complacency: thick snowflakes sharply reduce visibility, and the endless turns keep bringing oncoming cars into view without warning.
Snow-covered trees on the slopes look striking. It’s clear now — the divine halls will remain hidden from me. At a small clearing where the hiking trail to Olympus begins, one can park the car and step out into the enchanted snowfall, standing in silence and trying to absorb the mystical spirit of these places. But an unprepared tourist in light summer clothing is unlikely to last more than ten minutes in this cold. Jumping back into the car, though, it’s worth praising the engineers who equipped it with fast-working seat heaters and an excellent cabin heating system.
The drive back down the mountain proves no less challenging, but much more pleasant: with every kilometer, it grows warmer outside, and at last the sun breaks through the clouds. The road leads to the town of Neos Marmaras, home to excellent golf courses. I pass through Thessaloniki once again. The tight, steep turns of its narrow streets are lined with parked cars, sometimes forcing me to make a multi-point turn — the car’s turning radius simply isn’t enough for such cramped conditions.
The road leading to the golf courses is completely deserted. On such a chilly day, few people feel like standing in the wind, practicing the precision of a swing. But for an eager beginner, the cold is no obstacle. After a couple of dozen practice shots, the ball flies past the fifty-meter mark. The next shot lands even farther. The sense of accomplishment is deceptive: relax for an instant, and you miss — or send clods of earth and grass flying instead of the ball.
On the final attempt, the hundred-meter mark is surpassed. The instructor suggests calling it a day — but not abandoning training altogether. I promise him that one day I will surely return, if only to finally see Olympus.
Text by Yulia Zemtsova
Translated from Russian by Sofia Zemtsova
Cover photo by Zane Lindsay
