OutsideYourWorld
Well-known member
- Joined
- Apr 13, 2014
- Messages
- 276
- Reaction score
- 370
- Location
- Vancouver, Canada
- Website
- outsideyourworld.wordpress.com
It was in Greece, some time in mid October, when myself and a couple friends I was hitchhiking with headed down to thermopolis (the whole 300 Spartans thing), but we ended up a bit off track in a city called Volos. Nothing special about that place, but we were told we had to go over the mountain, to where the towns were like those from Lord of the rings. We said "fuck it," and up we went.
Pilion is the mountains name, and it is the mythical home of the centaurs. Maybe the abundance of amanita muscaria mushrooms made people think they saw such creatures up there. Nevertheless, it had its magic.
We were dropped off at the top of the mountain by mushroom hunters, who were kind enough to take us with them for the afternoon and show us what types were edible before treating us to a massive dinner of fried mushrooms and finding us a lovely place to camp. There was even a little dog with her puppies living in a cave nearby.
The next day we were supposed to leave, but on a bit of a scout of the area we found rich apple orchards, chestnut orchards, and more of the delicious mushrooms. We ended up staying a week at 1000m, eating mainly apples and chestnut soup. But one course in late October it was getting a bit chilly.
There are many abandoned buildings in the area, so I started exploring. I found antique furniture, old moldy photo albums, and almost completely stocked homes that had simply been left one day (such as a table with a meal still on it that had rotted away long ago). In one such house, literally falling off a cliff I found my prize. A wool army blanket! (always wanted one). My sleeping bag is rated for summer use, and I have used it through the winter with the aid of my lovely blanket (and emergency blanket)
On my adventures through the orchards and empty homes I found the most interesting place, a sanatorium, empty since the early 1900s. Comprised of mostly ruined roofing and long empty halls, it wasn't chock full of many interesting things. A few things, such as a faded painting of nurses tending a bed ridden patient, the almost fully intact church, the hundreds of Pen marks in one room, and the piles of almost completely rotten mattresses in the deepest and darkest part of the bottom basement. Half of it had been fenced off and turned into a pig sty.
I loved the place. I sat in there on a couple rainy days, trying to imagine people walking the halls, but it was an age I couldn't tap into. It was so long ago, a completely different time. One day as I silently stalked the halls, a man came around a corner, taking a few seconds to actually see me. I won't forget how wide his eyes opened as he jumped. Oh it was magical.
Only a week we spent there on top of the mountain, in an old forest among so many long dead memories. But like everywhere I stop, it was home for a little while.
Pilion is the mountains name, and it is the mythical home of the centaurs. Maybe the abundance of amanita muscaria mushrooms made people think they saw such creatures up there. Nevertheless, it had its magic.
We were dropped off at the top of the mountain by mushroom hunters, who were kind enough to take us with them for the afternoon and show us what types were edible before treating us to a massive dinner of fried mushrooms and finding us a lovely place to camp. There was even a little dog with her puppies living in a cave nearby.
The next day we were supposed to leave, but on a bit of a scout of the area we found rich apple orchards, chestnut orchards, and more of the delicious mushrooms. We ended up staying a week at 1000m, eating mainly apples and chestnut soup. But one course in late October it was getting a bit chilly.
There are many abandoned buildings in the area, so I started exploring. I found antique furniture, old moldy photo albums, and almost completely stocked homes that had simply been left one day (such as a table with a meal still on it that had rotted away long ago). In one such house, literally falling off a cliff I found my prize. A wool army blanket! (always wanted one). My sleeping bag is rated for summer use, and I have used it through the winter with the aid of my lovely blanket (and emergency blanket)
On my adventures through the orchards and empty homes I found the most interesting place, a sanatorium, empty since the early 1900s. Comprised of mostly ruined roofing and long empty halls, it wasn't chock full of many interesting things. A few things, such as a faded painting of nurses tending a bed ridden patient, the almost fully intact church, the hundreds of Pen marks in one room, and the piles of almost completely rotten mattresses in the deepest and darkest part of the bottom basement. Half of it had been fenced off and turned into a pig sty.
I loved the place. I sat in there on a couple rainy days, trying to imagine people walking the halls, but it was an age I couldn't tap into. It was so long ago, a completely different time. One day as I silently stalked the halls, a man came around a corner, taking a few seconds to actually see me. I won't forget how wide his eyes opened as he jumped. Oh it was magical.
Only a week we spent there on top of the mountain, in an old forest among so many long dead memories. But like everywhere I stop, it was home for a little while.
Last edited:
