Points on the map

Apologies to Yannis for the title. I have just come back from a ten day
adventure in Greece. I had one of the best beers of my life there; not
because the Greeks are particularly skilfull at making beer, but because
they are very skilful at making mountain trails that make test you and
tire you, so that by the end of the day you just dream about surviving
long enough to get to the taverna (Greek pub/restaurant).

I travelled with a German IAC friend, Birte Luebbert, who now lives in
Germany, to Thessaloniki first, in the north, and we then took a 6-hour
bus ride to the city of Ioannina, before getting another bus into the
Zagoria region. This part of Greece bears little similarities with the
south. It’s mostly green, mountainous, and there are few tourists.
Furthermore it is only a few miles from the Albanian border, and there
is a frontier feeling about the place.

Zagoria is an area of soaring limestone peaks high above small villages
built of stone with streets too narrow for cars. The area has a small
but growing reputation with foreigners as a trekking destination, but in
May most places were still deserted. Greek people from the cities come
but only on weekends in their cars to sit in the village squares and
drink coffee. They vanish by sundown and you have the village to yourself.
Our first stop was Monodhendri, perched high above the Vikos Gorge. It
is the deepest gorge in Europe, with cliffs falling 1400 metres in some
places. Unluckily, we had rain for the first 24 hours, so when we
descended to the floor of the gorge, we could not follow our route due
to flooding.
Declining to give up we hitch-hiked (via a German and then Greek couple)
up to the village of Mikro Papigo. Sitting at 1100 metres below the
massive limestone cliffs of Gamila Mountain, this village has to have
one of the best views I have seen. Women wearing black urged goats
through the narrow cobblestone streets as the lowering sun lit up the
cliffs with a deep rose hue.

OUR ALBANIAN BROTHERS

The next morning we set off for the Astraka Hut, at 1930 metres. It was
a steady 3 hour climb and we were rewarded with a stunning 360 degree
snowy panorama. The hut had just opened, and the only other hikers we
could see were a mountain guide and his customer, climbing the snow-clad
cliffs above with crampons and ice axe. We did a 2-hour hike from the
hut to Drakonlimni (Dragon Lake), which had views to neighbouring
Smolikas Mountain and beyond to Albania.
As we returned to the hut, we saw two small groups of what looked like
poorly equipped hikers, setting off over the mountain at 4pm. The hut
warden told us they were Albanians entering Greece illegally to seek
agricultural work. He told us they were no longer a problem for hikers,
although 8-10 years there had been some incidents. He did, however, warn
us about bears, the fact that the trail was poorly marked, and that
there were some “tricky” parts to the trail. So the following day we set
off with some trepidation.
Far from being a problem, our Albanian brothers, as we would call them,
showed us the way. We never saw them of course, but we followed their
tracks through the spring snow while the Greek sun beat down on us. We descended first over the soft snow, with spring flowers breaking through, and then over loose limestone which often went crashing down below us. We then followed the trail along a narrow ledge 200 metres above the valley floor, my hands sweating as I tried not to look down.
As the altitude decreased, rock turned to grass and we lost the Albanians tracks. Our destination was the village of Tespelovo, and of course the Albanians would not enter any towns or villages, instead they would go across country, sleeping in the woods to avoid detection.
As we lost our way, we came to a cliff. We could see Tsepelovo about 1 km in the distance, and Birte, being tired, decided to try and find a way down even though I preferred to retrace our steps to a safer path. As we scrambled down rocky ledges, it some became apparent there was a real drop below us, and no way down. We edged sideways along the cliff, my heart again beating and my hands sweating. If only I had followed the Albanians! Soon we were lodged half-way down the cliff, feeling very foolish and very exposed. We had the choice of tough climb back up por trying to use a scree slope to our left. We descided on the scree slope, and then spent 30 minutes slowly edging our way down. Finally we made it to the bottom, my nerves gone and energy almost gone.

MAD DOGS AND ENGLISHMEN

Our final trial came as we trudged wearily towards Tsepelovo. All I could think about was the beer that awaited me at the taverna, and my heart was still racing after the last descent.
Suddenyl to ferocious dogs appeared above us on a bank to our left, barking and showing their fangs. Then another two came from the right, and a further two from the front. I thought my time had come and I would end as footnote in a Greek newspaper “English and German trekkers eaten by dogs”. We held out our poles, and moved slowly forward. We were NOT going back! The dogs came within 1 metre, not barking now but growling and baring all their teeth. We knew if we fell over or panicked it could provide the trigger to make the dogs attack. Somehow we got by, I don’t quite know how, but as my heart rate doubled again and I forgot all my hunger and tiredness, the dogs finally gave up. 20 minutes later were arrived at the town square of Tsepelovo. In the taverna we found some Greek yuppies from Ioannina, wearing white shoes and trousers that had never ever seen a dirt path. Next to them were the Greek Border Police. Smoking and drinking coffees. We knew where the Albanians were, they didn’t, but we weren’t telling.

The next day we took it easy, and decided to walk with an English couple who were on a ’self-guided’ trekking holiday. They had instructions from a tour company, hotel reservations, and their baggage was taken on each day. Still, they were 70 years old, and could walk faster than many 30 year olds in the IAC! We walked with them through a gentler landscape, with oak trees alongside the upper reaches of the Vikos Gorge, over the famous Zagorian stone arched bridges, the oldest of which is from the 9th century. That evening we stayed in Vitsa, within view of Monodhendri, our first stop. We had come a full circuit. This beautiful stone village with panoramic views of the surrounding mountains and forests was almost completely empty. We nagotiated with the hotel restaurant over dinner. They had a menu but had almost none of thr ingredients to make anything. After we settled on olives, tzatziki, pork chops and chips, the lady came out with a head of lettuce to tell us there was no tzatziki but she could make a salad. Her friend turned up, and the two of them cooked away to make us a great meal.

Our last day in Zagoria we decided to try and tackle the Vikos Gorge again. There had been no rain for 4 days so we thought the river level would have gone down. It had, and we spent 6 hours threading our way along the narrow track that led along the floor of the gorge. We looked up at the towering cliffs above us, with the grandeur of Yosemite or the Grand Canyon.

North-west Greece was a big surprise, the beauty of its villages and landscapes rivalling most of Europe, but without the hordes of tourists. Not yet anyway.

I am now addicted to Greek salad.