“Daisy,” I say, looking heroically at the snow-capped peaks rising before us. “I feel like we’re not at sea level anymore.” The little terrier sniffs a biting cold wind. Imposing peaks, called the Towers of Astraca, shadow the small hamlet of Papigo, which lies at an altitude of around 1,000 meters and is reached by a hairpin road.
The 2,400-meter-high ridges are part of the Tymfi massif in the mighty Pindus Mountains, which stretch like a sturdy spine southeast from Albania to central Greece. We are in Zagori in Northern Greece: known as “the place behind the mountains”, nominated for UNESCO Cultural Landscape status, and it is easy to understand why. A scattering of small traditional towns clinging to slopes and teetering over gorges, all connected by ancient paths and beautiful old stone bridges. And today the Christmas cake is white.
Greece consists largely of mountains: they cover 80% of the mainland. Who knows? Not me. I sailed here. I left Britain a few summers ago and arrived in the Ionian Sea in search of empty horizons and silent islands. Some hope. It is better to leave the shore and take to the air. There is breathing room up here, even in July. But out of season? Then it is as otherworldly as Narnia.
Thundering waterfalls, glacial lakes, ice-cold springs that flow into sparkling pools. Winter is truly incredibly special. We walk along paths where we hope brown bears are hibernating (this is one of the last strongholds in Europe) and also keep an eye open for wolves and lynx. I’m with my friend and Daisy, his small staff. Everywhere it is covered with snow, folding and dazzling, pristine and empty. As the sea once was, I think. We’re almost 2,000 meters high, almost as high as the gods on Olympus, and I don’t think I ever want to come down.
Despite wet boots, soaked socks and icy wind, my face is frozen in a stupid grin
But even when we come down it is spectacular, because at the bottom 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 viewpoint we visit, after Oxya at Monodendri and the village of Vikos. In my opinion, Beloi offers the best perspective, showing the full length of the gorge as it cuts almost 20 miles to Vikos. It’s a vision that’s hard to win. Normally it’s a half-hour walk from the village of Vradeto, but we arrive in knee-deep snow and trudge along the closed road: despite wet boots, soaked socks and icy wind, my face is frozen in a stupid grin. While the other viewpoints are easily accessible, with a small amount of visitors, we are alone here. This clifftop is all the more beautiful for its isolation.
Winter is not the obvious season to visit, but it is certainly the most magical and adventurers can still enjoy activities such as canyoning and rafting, guided walks and horse riding. We explore signposted loops that hang over the gorge with breathtaking panoramas, and try two routes, from Vikos and from Vitsa, each less than an hour down and about the same back. In good weather the entire gorge can be hiked in six to eight hours; in winter, caution is wise. Just like at sea, storms can come out of nowhere.
I gingerly test the steps, roughly cut into the rock and slippery with ice. But as we descend, the snow disappears until we stand in the green valley under a warm sun. Below here lies the Voidomatis River, widely reported 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 like natural sculptures among the oaks and maples. Perfectly layered formations, carved over millennia, they are, according to legend, giants petrified by the gods.
We stay at the family-run En Chora Vezitsa guest house 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 am in their chicken coop looking for where the chickens hide their eggs. There is a beautiful black chicken right in front of me, made to order. I grab the still warm eggs and rush back to the cozy kitchen where Maria beats them into a cheesecake while we chat.
Deep spring lakes glisten and flow through a smooth-walled gorge, from one perfect plunge pool to the next
Fresh from Athens herself, she is back to run this place for her parents and is excited about the lifestyle change. No more stifling city life: instead she takes people on walks and foraging trips and offers cooking and yoga classes. She says she hopes guests feel like they’ve come to a friend’s home.
As she talks, the cake sizzles in the oven. Aletropita is a regional dish, a simple pizza-like cake with thin layers of batter containing yogurt, feta, herbs and olive oil. I don’t so much eat as inhale it. Suddenly I see why they love their cakes so much in the mountains. Spinach pie. Mushroom pie. Orange cake. It’s cake heaven here.
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After breakfast we head back to Papigo, the most timeless of all Zagori villages. The roofs are heavy with snow, the chimneys whisper with warmth inside. And the skyline is dominated by the unforgettable towers of Astraka. The hamlet is divided into Mikro and Megalo Papigo, and between the two are the Rogovo Ovires. Like precious stones, these deep spring pools flow through a smooth-walled gorge, one perfect plunge pool after another. They were created by nature and improved by the locals several decades ago, with locks to control the water and allow cold swimming all summer long. Ingenious.
In winter, the pools are overhung with icicles and surrounded by snow, meaning the rushing stream has only recently melted. I had these crystal pools in my mind the entire trip. I’m going to take a wake-up dip. The water is less than 3 degrees Celsius. I floated for several agonizing minutes with only a few small cries, woolen slippers and a hot water bottle on the side.
The pools are overhanging with icicles and surrounded by snow, the rushing stream has recently melted
Then I rush back to our hotel, the UNESCO-listed Mikro Papigo 1700, which is as old as it says and as tasteful as you’d hope. It is perfectly preserved, like all of Papigo, with cobbled paths, brickwork and wooden doors, the roofs of layered flat stones, each balanced by the weight of the roof above.
The hotel is located on the access road to Astraka and Drakolimni (dragon lake), where small, rare salamanders live. I desperately want to climb to the refuge at 1,950 meters, but for that we have to come back when the snow has melted. In the meantime, we decide to wander “a little bit” up the path. A few hours later we can’t seem to stop. It’s one of those days. Bright blue and white, all sky and snow. We go.
We meet a couple of backcountry skiers, blazing on the way down, and before we know it we’re halfway there. We are also up to our thighs in snow.
As the light begins to fade on the descent, we are delighted with our first sight of the 1700, although the beautiful building is a bit wasted on my tired eyes. I’m obsessed with what’s inside: an eco-spa fueled by that silky spring water. However, it is warm here. I sink and thank the gods.
Accommodation was provided by En Chora Vezitsa (doubles from £65 B&B) and Mikro Papigo 1700 (double from £110 B&B) Alpine zone (alpinezone.gr) offers rafting, canyoning, skiing, horse riding and guided walks all year round