by “Daisy,” I say, eyeing the snowy peaks rising bravely above us. “I have a feeling we’re not at sea level anymore.” The little terrier laughs at the howling cold wind. There is an imposing peak known as the Astraka Tower in the precipice of the small town of Papigo, located at about 1,000 meters and reached by a winding road.
The 2,400-meter ridges are part of the Tymfi massif in the great Pindus mountains, which stretch southeast like a strong backbone from Albania to central Greece. We are in Zagori in northern Greece: known as “the place behind the mountains”, it has been designated for Unesco cultural landscape status, and it’s easy to see why. Tiny traditional towns are scattered on the slopes as they stretch over valleys, all linked by ancient footpaths and beautiful old stone bridges. And today, it is Christmas-white cake.
Greece is mostly mountains: they cover 80% of the mainland. Who knows? Not me. I sent here. I left Britain a few summers back, arrived in the Ionian Sea looking for an empty horizon and quiet islands. Some hope. Better ditch the coast and take to the skies. Up here, there is breathing space, even in July. But out of season? Then it is as otherworldly as Narnia.
Thundering waterfalls, icy alpine lakes, icy cold rushing into sparkling pools. Winter is really, really, really special. We run trails where we hope brown bears are wintering (this is one of Europe’s last strongholds) and we also keep an eye open for wolves and lynx. I’m with my boyfriend and Daisy, his little team. Everywhere is blanketed with snow, folded and dazzling, pristine and empty. As the sea once was, I imagine. We are close to 2,000 meters, almost as high as the gods on Olympus, and I don’t think I ever want to come down.
Despite wet boots, soggy socks and an icy wind, my face is frozen in a stupid grin
But even when we come down it is amazing, because at the foot of the mountains the Earth splits open at Vikos Gorge, the “Greek Grand Canyon”, part of the Vikos-Aoös national park. Beloi is the third sight we visit, after Oxya at Monodendri, and the village of Vikos. In my mind, Beloi offers the best perspective, showing the entire length of the valley as it cuts almost 20 miles to Vikos. It’s a hard-won attitude. It’s usually a 30-minute walk from the village of Vradeto, but we reach knee-deep snow and try the closed road: despite wet boots, soggy socks and an icy wind, my face is frozen in a stupid grin. Although the other viewpoints are easily accessible, with the number of visitors scattered, here we are alone. This cliff top is all the more beautiful for its remoteness.
Winter isn’t the most obvious season to visit, but it’s certainly the most magical season and the adventurous can still seek out activities such as canyoning and rafting, guided hikes and horseback riding. We explore signal loops hanging over the valley with amazing panoramas, and try two trails, from Vikos and from Vitsa, each under an hour down and around the same back. In good weather, the entire gorge can be hiked in six to eight hours; in winter, caution is wise. As at sea, storms can come from nowhere.
I carefully test the steps embedded in the rocks and they are slippery with ice. But as we descend, the snow disappears until we are in the verdant valley under a warm sun. Below here is the Voidomatis River, widely listed as one of the cleanest in Europe, where Vikos spring water is bottled.
From the village of Monodendri we walk to Petrino Dasos, where layered limestone towers stand as a natural sculpture among the oaks and maples. Fine layered formations, carved over thousands of years, they are, there is a legend, giants petrified by the gods.
We stay at the family-run En Chora Vezitsa guesthouse in Vitsa, overlooking the deepest part of the Gorge, with only a few other weekend guests from Athens at this time of year. The next morning I’m in the henhouse looking for where the chickens hide their eggs. A pretty black hen is laying right in front of me, to order. I hear the still warm eggs and hurry back into the cozy kitchen where Maria is beating them into a piece of cheese as we chat.
Deep spring lakes glisten and flow through smooth-walled fields, one perfect pool to the next
She’s fresh from Athens herself, back running this place for her parents, and excited about the change in lifestyle. She no longer interferes with city life: instead she will be taking people on walks and hunts, offering cooking and yoga classes. She says she hopes guests will feel like they’ve arrived at a friend’s home.
While she chats, the pies go in the oven. Alevropita It is a regional dish, a simple pizza-style pie with thin layers of batter containing yogurt, feta, herbs and olive oil. I don’t eat so much as inhale it. Suddenly I see why they love their pies in the mountains. Spinach pie. Kiss a mushroom. Kiss an orange. It’s pie heaven up here.
Related: Impressively unorthodox … The wilder side of Greece holds plenty of adventures
After breakfast, we return to Papigo, the oldest village of Zagori. Its roofs are heavy with snow, its chimneys whisper warm inside. And the unforgettable Astraka towers dominate the skyline. The small town is divided into Mikro and Megalo Papigo, and between the two are the Rogovo Ovires. Like a precious stone, the deep pools of this spring flow through smooth-walled fields, one perfect pool after another. Carved out by nature, local people improved them several years ago, with valves to control the water and offer cool swimming during the summer. Ingenious.
In winter, the pools are hung up with icicles and edges of snow, the stream rushing new melt. These crystal pools were on my mind for the entire trip. I go in for a wake up dip. The water is less than 3C. I swim for several painful minutes with a few small screams, woolen slippers and a hot water bottle waiting on the side.
The pools are hung up with icicles and edged with snow, the new rushing stream melted
Afterwards, I run back to our hotel, the Unesco-listed Mikro Papigo 1700, which is as old as it says and as delicious as you’d expect. It is perfectly preserved, like all of Papigo, with black paths, stonework and wooden doors, roofed in flat, layered stones, each balanced by the weight of the one above.
The hotel is located at the entrance to Astraka and Drakolimni (lake of the dragons) – where tiny berries are scarce. I am desperate to climb to the mountain refuge at 1,950 meters, but for that we will have to return when the snow has melted. In the meantime, we decide to walk “a little” up the path. A few hours later, it seems we can’t stop. It’s one of those days. Bright blue and white, all sky and snow. We are running.
We meet a few backcountry skiers, glowing on their way down, and before we know it, we are past the halfway point. We are also up to our thighs in snow.
As the light begins to fade on the descent, we are very pleased with our first view of the 1700, although the beautiful building is a bit lost on my tired eyes. I’m looking forward to what’s inside: an eco-spa that nurtures that silky water. Here it is heated, however. I pour in, thanking the gods.
Accommodation was provided at En Chora Vezitsa (doubles from £65 B&B) and Mikro Papigo 1700 (duplicate from £110 B&B) Alpine zone (alpinezone.gr) offers rafting, canyoning, skiing, horse trekking and guided walks throughout the year
