Europe > Greece > Mainland Greece > Zagoria > Articles > Shepherd's Delight

Outside the village of Monodendri, in the heart of the Zagoria region, you can walk along a precipitous ledge above the gorge and peer across to where the horizon is cracked open, or look down into the abyss.

In autumn, the ever-present drama of this 12km-long, 900m deep canyon, the sheer limestone walls, the impossibly dense pine forests below, the birds and butterflies flicking in and out of the caves, was complemented by the malevolent moods of an afternoon storm. Great masses of black and silver clouds broiled above the fissure to the north, while sun streamed in thin shafts to dapple the moorland grasses which somehow prosper in the highest reaches.

Such proximity to a fearsome meeting of weather and location almost makes you want to bolt for the car - but you stay on the cliff edge wondering if the whole thing might not just go off at the next thunderclap, like some cataclysmic event. No wonder the Epirus region (shared, and occasionally disputed, with Albania) has important mythological associations for Greeks.

Thank Zeus then, that due to a legacy of sheep, goat-herding and centuries of peasant farming, Zagoria also provides a refuge, in the form of dozens of quaint mountain villages. I spent my first night in one of the most convivial, Tsepelovo, at the eastern end of the Vikos, where the gorge meets Megas Lakkos, yet another gaping hole in the mountainous landscape.

With only 200 permanent dwellers (more in summer when Athenians take up faux rustic residence in their grand slate-roofed mansions), Tsepelovo is a peaceful settlement. Day trippers do come by, but usually around noon, when those lodging here are out trekking. At dusk you can enjoy a quiet beer in one of the friendly tavernas on the village's small, walled platia, or town square.

Otherwise, the regular ringing of the lofty stone clock-tower or the occasional cowbell are the only likely disturbances to absolute peace, especially in spring or autumn, which happen to be the best times for walkers and nature-lovers.

Driving around the villages, some hubs for trekkers, others, like Elafotopos, ghostly and seemingly uninhabited, on Zagoria's winding roads and dirt tracks is fun and the vistas are frequently stunning enough to make you swerve dangerously. But to get a feel for Vikos, you have to explore it on foot.

Fanis Tsavalias, who runs two lovely hostels in Tsepelovo and guides groups of hikes into the wildest parts of the highlands, insists that his region is unique for trekkers. "If you prepare properly for the Vikos and learn to look at the small details as well as the big, obvious sights, you'll get a lot out of it."

In springtime, these details include abundant wild flowers and herbs - the region is famous for its herb doctors. There is teeming bird life all year round, from golden eagles and vultures wheeling over the gullies, to tiny finches, and there's a fair chance of seeing foxes (which I did) and brown bears (which I didn't). "The ideal way into Vikos," says Fanis, "is to set out and find your own path through the landscape. Too many groups come here and file along behind the person in front. But the most important thing is to plan a route so you can look around as you descend and not worry about the scree."

The land is also steep in sections, with loose boulders and indistinct paths along the ridges further complicating treks. But armed with Fanis's tips, a decent map (such as Anavasi's Pindus-Zagori 1:50,000 Topo/Hiking map), and a compass, this is a walkers' wonderland.

After roaming round Fanis's territory to take in the impressive Megas Lakkos and a lovely trail through a pine forest at the edge of the village, I drove the short hop, give or take a few false turns and dead ends in one-goat towns, to Megalo Papingo. It's the larger half of a twin-hamlet of just 65 souls which nestles beneath the enormous hulk of Mount Astraka and the looming Towers of Papingo, at the northern tip of the Vikos.

I had booked two nights at Nikos Saxonis's pretty, vine-laden grotto of a cottage, one of several smart guesthouses in a village that looks a lot more polished and preened than Tsepelovo - and which seems to have as many restaurants as a small town. Zagoria has become fashionable with city types in the past five years and it is wealthy Athenians who are keeping up architectural appearances.

From my low-slung bed, as is the traditional style here, I could see clouds rolling in on to the towers, fearsome rocky colossi akin to those on the tablelands of the American West, but a dun slate grey. In September, storms throttle the summits of the towers and of the 2,436m-high Astraka, offering enough drama to fill a whole afternoon.

The next morning, I set off first to Mikro Papingo, the smaller sister-hamlet, to lunch on cheese baked with tomatoes and herbs at Pension Diaz. Throughout the region I dined handsomely on traditional pies of cheese (Monodendri's speciality), spinach and chicken, and lots of lean roast lamb. Bread was invariably home made, and organic honey was provided for both breakfast and for mixing with the raki firewater that is distilled in Zagoria's homes under special licence.

That afternoon on the trail, to visit the minute settlement of Vikos which is perched on a ridge beneath the angry brows of the towers, it became eerily quiet. I wasn't sure if it was just the seclusion or an augur of some final foul storm that would dash my plans to make it to the village - and back home - before dusk.

For all the rumbling above and around the rocky heights, the rain held off, and after two further hours' traversing a triangle of scree and small boulders, I arrived at an aquamarine spring in the very bowels of the Vikos Gorge. As elsewhere in these valleys, with their sizeable Greek Orthodox congregations, the only signs of human presence were an old monastery and a shepherd's lodge. Following a lung-busting ascent up a kind of staircase - the shepherds always higher than me, whistling while shooing their beasts on to a patch of grass in the heavens - I stumbled into Vikos.

Only a three-hour drive from Karavostasi on the coast, you can visit north-western Greece and do the beach thing before or after some hikes. But the Vikos and its environs are an age away from man-made Greece, and you are advised to learn at least the alphabet to navigate the many Greek-only road signs and say "hello" to the friendly, but reserved farmers.

The balance of rest and recreation, challenge and chilling out while in Zagoria is perfect. Unlike more insipid Mediterranean destinations, nature never lets up here. On my last evening, after a feast of rabbit, mixed vegetables and cheesy sauteed potatoes, I walked to the edge of Big Papingo, where the streetlamps peter out. It was a crisp, calm night and the narrow cobbled alleys glistened with the rain that had fallen earlier.

Stars and distant villages twinkled all around and airplanes hurtled overhead towards Corfu. But, for all the tranquillity, silent lightning could be seen miles away, illuminating the cumulus clouds and faces in the rocks. Back in the grotto, I fell asleep, only half-hearing the growl of thunder.

Articles

• More from Chris Moss