Olympian thoughts

National Review, July 20, 1992 by Taki Theodoracopulos

BACK IN the good old days, before feminism and political correctness, the only place to be--if one was a god, that is--was Mount Olympus. Zeus was the head honcho and Hera his wife, but rumor had it that all was not perfect in their marriage. Zeus, you see, like most Greeks, was a philanderer, who whenever he got bored with the missus would disguise himself as Ganymede--an extremely good-looking young man who consistently batted 1.000 with the fair sex--and trip the light fantastic.

Like most Greek women, Hera was no fool. She waited for her chance. During one of Zeus's most egregious absences, she plucked up the real Ganymede, flew him to Mount Olympus, and made him a cupbearer to the gods. Forever.

Now, even back then there were people who had no respect for authority, and no sooner had poor Ganymede begun serving the gods, than the rumors got started that he was being sexually exploited, and by the male gods to boot. Even the name Ganymede took on an extra meaning: a bugger's minion. Eventually it evolved into "catamite."

Six years ago I found myself in a British court of law debating the subject. A much married (five times) Swiss woman had sued me for having called her husband a catamite, she charging that I meant he was a buggers minion, yours truly claiming that I meant he was a cupbearer, or in present-day lingo, a walker. Not surprisingly, I lost, the jury deciding that I meant what I did mean all along. When I was asked for a statement after the verdict, I announced that I would climb Mount Olympus and take it up with Ganymede in person. Six years later to the day, I did.

According to legend, Mount Olympus vied with Delphi as the center of the earth, but in relation to today's universe, it is located between Thessaly and Macedonia, in the northern part of Greece. It is snow-capped for nine months of the year, bare of trees above 6,600 feet. It is one of the best non-mountaineering mountains to be found, with no special equipment needed except for hiking boots, although on my way up I noticed most of my fellow climbers wore running shoes. (There were also some Greek women in high heels, but I don't know if they made it all the way.)

According to Christian legend, the gods abandoned Mount Olympus in 4 B.C., and the place remained uninhabited until the fall of Constantinople in 1453. After the fall the mountain became the favorite hiding place for Klephts, the Greek Orthodox bandits who resisted the four-hundred-year Ottoman occupation. It continued to serve as a refuge for patriots even up to the German occupation in 1941, and was the battleground of nationalist versus Communist guerrillas in the civil war that followed. (That is where the old joke about thinking we'd run into some Greek gods but they turned out to be goddam Greeks was first uttered, by a nationalist officer.)

The peaks of Olympus were first conquered in 1913, by--who else--two Swiss climbers. My uncle, a hurdler who competed in the 1932 Los Angeles Olympics and was the first man Hitler saw entering the Berlin Olympiad of 1936--he was the flagbearer and the Greek team always enters first-- climbed Olympus ton years ago for the umpteenth time at age 76. When I took off for my climb he warned me only to be careful driving to Litohoro-- where the base camp is--"because Greeks are such terrible drivers."

Litohoro lies a few miles off the national motorway between Athens and Salonika. One can begin climbing there, or keep driving to Priona, where the mountain road ends. The walk from Litohoro to Priona is very scenic and takes roughly five hours. There are a few monastories, a riot of wildflowers--and hundreds of hitchhikers. Water is the most important commodity, as there is none between Priona and a refuge before the final assault three hours away.

At the refuge the day's climb ends, and unlike such shelters in more exotic places, there is food and drink, ninety beds, and even a telephone. (My friend Dimitri Kazakeas called his American girlfriend in Athens, and when he told her where he was calling from she said, "I didn't know Olympic had installed phones on their airplanes.")

After breakfast we began the final assault, climb rather, because although there is some danger from loose rock, there is no need for pitons or even using all fours. After two hours we reached the point where the trees ended, and that is where the scenery took on a surrealist quality, the thin mountain air combining with Greek mythology to make me see things which were not necessarily there. When we finally reached Mytikas, the highest of the peaks, Dimitri kissed the Greek flag that flies next to a tiny Christian monument. I did too, especially as the flag was the one with the large white cross on a blue background, a Christian-nationalist flag which the politicians did away with after the fall of the colonels in 1974. I guess they forgot to change it on Mount Olympus, or perhaps Zeus made sure they didn't.

The bad part of the journey was the return. Walking down a mountain is not only trickier than going up, it is also seven times harder on the knees. Having had mine operated on only last year I took my time descending. Dimitri and I yearned for the Wispille and Eggli mountains of Gstaad, where we go up on foot but come down on the chairlift. Mind you, a chairlift on Mount Olympus would be one of the greater barbarisms, but in this day and age, there is nothing that would surprise me.