The peninsula of Athos, with its rigidly enforced tradition of no females allowed, is the only boys' club on earth to receive generous EU subsidies. Sean Thomas visits an eccentric monastic hideaway in northern Greece
Later this year, Russian president Vladimir Putin intends to make a retreat to the Orthodox monastic enclave of Mount Athos, in northern Greece. In doing so, he will be following some illustrious but very disparate forebears: Rasputin, Prince Charles, Edward Lear, and innumerable Byzantine ex-emperors.
What is it that unites these men in their desire to visit the "Holy Mountain"? Could it be the peace, the beauty, the icons? Is it the chance to meet some interesting hermits? Perhaps not. Perhaps it's because Mount Athos is the world's only country (and the peninsula of Athos is virtually an independent country, complete with strict border controls) where you are guaranteed not to bump into women. Because in Athos, all women, and all images of women, are banned.
The Athonite banning of all things female was first decided 1,000 years ago. Following various mystic visions of the Blessed Virgin Mary, the bigwigs of the Byzantine Orthodox Church decided that the burgeoning monastic community on the lush 640-square-kilometre peninsula should be dedicated solely to the Virgin. And to ensure that the Virgin was not outshone by anything else female, it was ruled that all rival females should be banished from the peninsula.
From the off, the monks took this ordinance literally. Not only did they banish all the washerwomen and fishwives, they also drove off the female animals: the mares, sows and bitches. Even the hens were shooed away. Eventually, only the female songbirds were allowed, mainly because there was nothing that could be done about them.
And so it remains to this day. Since AD 1060, no female traveller or pilgrim has been allowed into Athos. Even the male animals-only policy is still enforced as strictly as possible. These days, if you are an inquisitive female who wants to have a look at one of the famous monasteries - such as the Great Lavra or the last bit of totally untouched coastline on the Mediterranean - the best you can do is hire a boatman at the border port of Ouranoupolis, and ask him to sail you towards the peninsula. He will approach within 500 metres of the shore and no further.
If you do sail down the coast, you might notice that many of the 20-odd monasteries - populated by just over 2,000 monks - are looking sprucer than they have for centuries. This is because they are being lavishly refurbished with EU funds.
As a result of the EU's largesse, most of the monasteries now have plumbing, electricity, and shiny new balconies. This EU involvement has created controversy. Questions have recently been asked by MEPs as to how Athos can now justify its gender discrimination. Various MEPs have even threatened to take the monks to court unless they abandon their centuries-old strictures. The next few years will show whether the Athonite authorities have the will to hold on to their arrangements.
In the midst of this vigorous debate, few, it seems, have sought out the opinions and experiences of the monks themselves. What can it be like to live in a world without women? Is it boring, sublime, enervating, uplifting? The first thing any visitor to Athos notices is, yes, that womanlessness. Daphne, Athos's tiny port, bustles with activity: there are chic Italian tourists and shouting squid fishermen, bearded old bishops and grunting Athenian builders, but all this activity is in a strangely sexless, neuter world.
The gender imbalance becomes starker when you wander through the minuscule capital of Athos, Karyes. The main street is lined with shops - but what shops! Piles of old bananas sit on dusty icons, rosary bracelets are draped over packets of ancient biscuits. These are the bachelor flats of retailing: shops that have never been used, kept, seen - or cleaned - by women. From Karyes it is a three-hour walk to the sea, and the beautiful monastery of Stavronikita. Here a Macedonian monk called Hector talks about life without females.
"People say it is wrong to banish women," he says. "The European Union tells us we must change. We will never change." He half smiles. "When man not see woman, he see inside himself. That is what we are here for, to see inside, and to pray for the world."
But what is it like never to look at a woman? Hector gazes across some olive groves at the sapphire Aegean: "Well, actually, once every few years, one or two monks may indeed see a woman. Sometimes, you understand, women come to the beach here, for an adventure. It is illegal, but they come swimming. They wear bikinis, and then. . .then is difficult for us." He looks wistful for a while. Then he smiles again. "But most monks will never see a woman. And after a time. . .you know. . .is not so difficult."
Another clue to the monks' attitude to women is provided by the writings of Robert Curzon, an English traveller who visited Athos in the 1840s. On his wanderings around the monasteries, Curzon came across a man who had been left as a foundling on the peninsula, and thereafter been brought up by the monks. This experience meant the man had spent all his life in Athos, and therefore had no idea what women looked like. The only idea of the female body that the man possessed was derived from icons of the Blessed Virgin. Perhaps that is why the man asked Curzon if all women had haloes.
Extreme cases such as this are hard to find these days. But it is still possible to encounter unusual experiences. Down the road, at the monastery of Dionysiou, another monk talks of the ups and downs of life in a woman-free world. He is the only English monk on Mount Athos, a kind-eyed, thirtysomething, Oxford-born eccentric who gives his name as Father Jeffrey.
"I think it's good there are no women here," he says. "This is a safe place and it should stay that way. But that does not mean you do not have sexual desires, sexual thoughts. The 'evil one' is always with you."
HE TURNS and squints at a rose, radiant in the sunshine. "You might know we are allowed radios, very occasionally?" He pauses, shyly. "Well, the other day I heard a woman's voice on the radio. It was the first woman's voice I have heard for years. It was so beautiful." There is pain in his eyes. Then he concludes. "But it is better that there are no women here. Without women, men can concentrate."
In Daphne, the bar has opened. It must be one of the world's oddest dockside pubs. Full of Cypriot abbots, Swiss theologians, and more than one sinister-looking Serbian on crutches (Athos is said to be a sanctuary for Serbian war criminals hiding from Interpol), it also has a spooky serenity, the calmest atmosphere imaginable in a place where alcohol is served. An energetic Greek-Australian ecclesiastic called Simon explains why.
"Men without women are brothers. Men without women are comrades. Here there is no reason to be. . .competitive." Simon opens his arms expansively. "Without women there is a quietness in a man's heart, he sees no need to fight." Another laugh. "Do you want a retsina? They serve it nice and cold here, unlike the monastery wine."
Leaving Athos, it is difficult not to have mixed feelings. Yes, its extraordinary laws are discriminatory. Yes, the region is a ridiculous anachronism in a world that has, for the most part, swept away such egregious misogyny. And yet, and yet. In a way Athos is a kind of courageous test, a brave, ridiculous, 1,000-year old experiment to see what the world would be like without the destabilising effect of sexual desire. And so perhaps we should allow the Athonite monks just a few more centuries in their strange, unreal, pristinely beautiful laboratory.
- Guardian News Service