When the weekend arrives I get this urge to run to the mountains. Even now that I climb very sporadically and have tuned in my life into other internal adventures, I still get miserable if the weekend faints away and I don’t get the chance to breathe a least a small gulp of mountain air. It is like an essential fuel without which the week to follow seems insufferable.
Years spend torn between the mundanity of a desk and the exhilaration of the crags had left its mark on me.
Sometimes I choose to venture alone in the nearby hills. As I have written elsewhere, I found a certain appeal on going solo to the mountains. This is even stronger when I explore the Athenian “wilderness”. It’s an uplifting feeling to walk alone in the barren ridges of Penteli among the bushes while a concrete jungle of 5 million people fills the horizon in all directions. You can literally hear them, all these ant-people bustling with activity under your feet, crowding one upon another in their shops and cafes and markets, surrounded by their concrete blocks and drowned in their asphalt rivers while you are flying in the mountain winds.
You are exalted by the mountain, out of your little insignificant existence into a temporal God.
May I add that I always found our inability to fly an unbearable emission on the part of the Creator.