The wild side of Greece. Cycling in the Pindus mountains

The world was green and smelled like hot pine needles. The road was empty, and I was happy. I always imagined Greece in the summer was yellow and dusty. But the Pindus was different.

The first thing I noticed after crossing the Albanian-Greek border in Kakavia was the silence. A car passed maybe every 20-30 minutes. No buzzing from electric lines, no nothing. 

Zitsa

-You’re early – said Kostas, my WarmShowers host, when I parked my bike in front of his bakery in the village of Zitsa. 

It was only past 1 pm. I started cycling at 4 am to escape the heat, so I could finish the day early. 

He invited me in and handed me a freshly baked brioche and a cold drink.  

-I barely ever travel myself – said Kostas – but we managed to create a life where we don’t need a vacation. We have a small mountain hut nearby, we can simply go there on the weekend, walk around the mountains, we have everything. 

He even met Anna, his American wife, without leaving the village. She showed up in his bakery one day during her travel to Greece. They had a good click. A few weeks later, she came again and eventually left her career as a lawyer in New York to move to this tiny village known for its wine and food.

Now, they both try to revive the village by organising cooking workshops for tourists and engaging locals to keep Zitsa alive.

While Kostas was baking aromatic cookies, I took a nap in their guest room. The basement was pleasantly cool. Thousands of books on the shelves created a sense of cosiness. The smell of old books took me back to my childhood. I used to love visiting the local library in my village, constantly looking for something new to immerse myself in and forget the real world. 

The sound of thunder jolted me awake. Watching the pouring rain felt cathartic after the weeks of drought. 

I decided to explore the refreshed world and walk to a hill where Lord Byron, a big fan of Zitsa, got drunk with the local wine served by a monk.

“Monastic Zitza! from thy shady brow, Thou small, but favour’d spot of holy ground! Where’er we gaze, around, above, below, What rainbow tints, what magic charms are found!“, wrote the poet, impressed by the peaceful green hills around.

There was some magic charm in it, indeed. Since the English poet visited, invited by the local Albanian ruler Ali Pasha, the hills overgrew with wind turbines. Besides that, things must be pretty much the same. Life was slow, nature thrived, and the air felt light. 

Before I left, Kostas asked me to write my name on a big blackboard in the bakery. I was guest number 1144, following another Polish cyclist who left in the morning.

The only traffic on the small country roads were turtles, slowly migrating from one tuft of grass to the other. I took a turn on a lonely gravel road. Passing by an industrial building, I got surrounded.

There were five of them. Hefty, shaggy and angry, the pack of dogs growled, exposing sharp teeth. I tried my usual tactics, talking to them calmly but firmly. No success. Every time I attempted to move forward, they would form a block on the road.

Alarmed by all the barking, a man finally came from the building and threw a few stones shouting at the dogs. They backed off. 

The man waved at me, hinting I should cycle away.

On the way up, my rear wheel felt a bit sluggish. I stopped and noticed the air was half gone. 

When I was fixing the puncture in the roasting sun, several drivers stopped, asking if I needed help. 

-I am a cyclist too -said one of them, a tattooed, bearded young man. – You should come to my mountain hostel, you can pitch your tent in the garden. 

Free Inn Zagori – read the business card he handed me. I googled the location. The place was less than 50 km away, but I still had to make one detour before heading there.

Vitsa

Vitsa was a traditional village, one of many the region of Zagori was famous for. The stone houses and cobblestoned streets perfectly harmonised with the nature around them. 

It is known for the Vikos Gorge, by some people called the Greek Grand Canyon. I waited until the worse heat was over and took a walk to see it. The vertical walls looked impressive in the evening sun. 

In Vitsa, I had a cosy camp spot in the backyard of an NGO called The Land Beyond. From the terrace of the traditional Zagori house, I watched the mountains turning pink after the sunset.

-Do you see this pavement? – Mr Nikos, the owner, pointed at the cobblestoned alley leading to the house. – We restored it with our own hands. It was archaeological work, you can say.

The property belonged to his family, and he turned it into a space for seminars, hikes and events supporting sustainable development. There was a group of students there that evening, and I regretted I had an early start the next day and couldn’t stay longer and enjoy the barbeque with them. 

All the regrets disappeared when I saw the world waking up to live. The soft light played on the dewdrops on the fields. A blanket of mist lay on the valleys between the mountain peaks. Cycling down, I got goosebumps – for the first time in weeks, the temperature was lower than 20 degrees.

The walls of the gorge kept the sun away. I stopped by Kokkori bridge, tucked between two enormous cliffs. The stone arch had remained untouched for over 270 years spanning the river of Vikos.  

In Tsepelevo, the first town on the way, I hoped to get some snacks for the upcoming days in the mountains. I pushed my bike up the steep cobbled street only to find a chain wrapped around the lock on the door of the small shop. The only one within a radius of about 50 kilometres. Luckily, I still had the iron rations of couscous, oats, nuts and bread. 

My lips were salty when my tongue touched them. Plenty of water taps were hidden in the evergreen forest. I used every chance to refill my bottles with ice-cold water and to listen to the mysterious humming of the trees. 

The smooth asphalt took me higher and higher. The gradient was gentle, perfect for cycling, even with the panniers. 

Free Inn Zagori

A clearing appeared, and I saw a big stone house. 

-Are you that girl with a flat tire? Akis told me about you. – welcomed me Kostas, a friend of the owner of Free Inn Zagori. News travels fast in the Pindus mountains.

He poured me a glass of homemade lemonade with plenty of ice. It was delightfully sweet. The spacious room was filled with musical instruments and books about trail running, mountains and meditation. 

I went to check out the newly built outdoor shower. Two simple wooden walls provided privacy, and a water hose was hooked to the wall. The heavy stream was cold, but the sun was warming my back. 

-Meteora? It will be too hot there. And by the Aoos Lake, there are hordes of shepherd dogs- said Akis when I disclosed my plans for the following days. – Better go up north. That road is stunning. 

I was sceptical. Meteora has been on my radar since my first bicycle trip in 2018. At that time, I never made it to Greece because of an injury. This year, I wanted to catch up with everything I missed. But I have one bicycle touring rule: If a local who knows about cycling recommends a route, you must follow it.

Tymfi

This is how I find myself in the Greek Dolomites. The vertical walls of Mount Tymfi above the beech forests seem impregnable and monumental. I stared in awe, hypnotised, and had to force myself to look at the road from time to time.

Heavy clouds cumulated above the range in the afternoon, and the cuckoos flew low above the meadows. I sped up to not end up on a steep slope with no place to pitch the tent in a thunderstorm. The blood was circulating faster in my veins, and my breath got faster and shallower. I felt alive.

The storm never came. The air was damp for a while before it became scorching again. On the descent, my brakes made a metallic noise. I took the wheel off. Of course, I should have replaced the pads a while ago. On these ups and downs, the wear and tear were fast. 

Konitsa

I found a perfect place to stay behind the town of Konitsa, by the Aoos river. The water level was low, and it looked murky. 

Sitting under a tree and having a snack, I waited to pitch my tent until it was late enough. Suddenly, I heard a bell ringing, and then another one, and soon it was a whole orchestra. A flock of goats showed up, nibbling on the leaves of my tree. Four large guarding dogs gave me an angry look forcing me to leave. I pushed my bike through the rocky plain until I could barely hear the bells and the barking. 

I regretted not staying up in the mountains. It was way too hot. Five minutes after cleaning myself up in the river, I was sweaty already. 

Furthermore, the 1,5 litres of water I refilled in town was far from what I needed to stay hydrated. I drank it within the first hour by the river and now had to survive the rest of the evening and night with just a few drops in the bottle. I went to bed early in pursuit to escape the bothersome dryness in my mouth. 

Extremely thirsty, I rushed in the morning to pack my camp and headed to the town. Luckily, there was a tap before the steep hill to the centre, so I refilled my bottles, washed my face and drank as much as my stomach accepted

-Kalimera, Maria. Kalimera, Christos. – Everybody in Konitsa seemed to know each other. People engaged in small talk while picking the juiciest tomatoes and the sweetest cherries from the market. 

The Road 20

Stocked with bread, cheese, halva and fruits, I set off on National Road 20. Sweltering up the first hill, little did I know about what waited for me along this road that was once the fastest connection between Epirus and Western Macedonia. After Egnatia Motorway was built, road 20 became lonely, nearly deserted.

Sparse vegetation was somehow surviving in the blistering sun. I was longing for some shade and welcomed every tiny puff of wind eagerly. I zoomed in on my map to look for water taps, shops, gas stations or restaurants as my water supply was shrinking faster than usual. 

There was nothing within the radius of 40 kilometres.

Not even enough cars drove past me so I could wave at them and ask for water. The content of my bottles was already close to boiling and tasted disgusting.

Finally, I saw a handful of houses. The wooden sign Cafe pointing toward one of them gave me hope. 

I entered an obscure room and took two bottles of water and lemonade from the fridge. A man in a worn shirt stood behind the counter dully looking at the TV screen. 

I sat at a wobbly table outside. The owner brought a glass with ice cubes and shared some watermelon with me. Even though we didn’t share a common language to have a conversation, he seemed relieved to find some distraction from his apathetic day.

After this short break, I found myself struggling again. The smell of melting asphalt and dust irritated my nose. My lips were dry and salty. My brain had no joy cycling through the monotonous and harsh landscape. 

I started worrying about the big climb ahead and finding a place to camp. The thought of spending another night without enough water made my heart pound faster.

Somewhere in the wild

But once I made it to the crossroads, the aura changed. Green pastures leading to a river gave me hope for surviving some more kilometres and finding a shaded place by the water for the night. 

To make things even better, a white van with german license plates stopped.

-Do you need some water or food? – asked a sporty older lady with short-cut grey hair. 

My euphory when she handed me a cold bottle of water was immense. 

I could again enjoy being in one of the wildest corners of Greece, surrounded by dense forests and beautiful mountains. I kept cycling up the hill, frequently stopping and looking around for a place to stay the night. 

Too visible from the road, too many flies, not flat enough, too wet, too many goat faeces, indicating I might expect another visit of goats and dogs. There was always something until I reached a plateau by the river, shielded by pines.

I carefully inspected the site looking for any warning signs. And of course, I found them! 

Among the patterns in the mud, one footprint caught my eye. It was big, with long toes ended with sharp claws. A bear must have been here! 

I instantly put music on to avoid taking the animal by surprise and evacuated from the site. After fifteen minutes, I saw a small forest road and a white van parked on the side. The German couple I met a while ago was setting up their camp. 

– Can I camp next to you? I asked. They gave me a warm welcome putting an extra camping chair by their table and offering watermelon. They even borrowed me their watering can, so I could take a proper shower. 

Franz and Renate were retired biologists from southern Germany, and the evening with them was a real education. They could name every bird we heard and all the insects and butterflies buzzing in the long grass.

Now in their 80s, they have lived an adventurous and exciting life, travelling by their self-converted VW van to South America, Iran, Pakistan and many others. 

They knew a lot not only about biology and wildlife but also about history. Franz recommended Eleni, a book by Nicholas Gage, a story of the author’s mother and the Greek civil war in 1948. 

-Grammos, that mountain you saw coming from Albania, was where the decisive battle took place. Very brutal and bloody – he said. – No animal is as cruel and stupid as a human. I can’t understand why even intelligent and educated people turn into monsters during the war, that circumstances can make people do such terrible things. 

He shook his head and started to sob, moved by the suffering one person can cause another. 

Renate tried to comfort him with a hug. We avoided the topic of wars for the rest of the evening, focusing on subjects like nature and travel and enjoying the sweet Greek red wine.

A bat flew above our heads. The forest started to look like a micro-city, with thousands of glowworms. I forgot all the struggles I went through that day. 

The night was peaceful, and my mind was calm. Soft grass under my tent and a green forest full of glowworms – these simple things made me feel complete.