Traveling The Beautiful Hidden Mountains Of Greece

Mountain ranges with snow-dusted peaks cool their feet in the clear blue sea. Greece boasts 13,000 kilometers of shoreline. Welcome to Hellas. Welcome aboard a journey of discovery to the sites of classical Greek mythology, the roots of Occidental history, the birthplace of Western culture. Welcome home. This part of our journey, Epirus, starts in the wilderness near the Albanian border, takes us through little mountain villages to the historically significant town of Ioannina, and then all the way down to the Ambrasian Gulf. High in the Pindos mountain range, the roofer Thanassis perches atop an old church, covering it with stone shingles typical of the region. The building material is delivered to him by Dasi with his mules, which manage to keep a firm footing even on perilous mountain paths, ensuring that the mountain villages regularly receive supplies. Eurydice gathers wild herbs in the mountains for her pita pastry and shows us how she makes the delicacy. Shepherd Nikos lives in the mountains and tells of his encounters with wolves. In the mountain village of Kalaritis, Napoleon runs a shop with an adjoining taverna, keeping the villagers supplied with the basics. Georgos shows us his cliffside monastery. He acts as a caretaker of the now vacant building complex. Dimitra guides us on a tour of a recently discovered cave that is home to a river. And finally, shrimp fisher Konstantinos invites us to share the beauty of his workplace, the Ambrasian Gulf. Epirus, a site steeped in historical upheaval in the border area between Albania and Greece. Over the centuries, Romans, Ottomans, Hellenes, Serbs and other Slavic peoples all took turns asserting their supremacy here, but little visible evidence of them remains in a region that now appears virtually uninhabited, nothing but wild nature, silence and deep chasms up to 1,000 meters deep. Vikos, said to be the world's deepest gorge, is located within a national park near the Albanian border. Steep rock walls plunge down along a stretch of 10 kilometers. At the foot of the massif bisected by the gorge, we find the Voidomatis River, ice-cold mountain water, crystal clear, its treacherous currents are barely visible. Fleeing the numerous conquests of foreign powers, the coastal farmers repeatedly took refuge up here in the mountains, where they led a very spartan life, but were at least in safety. Over the course of time, what were called free villages were established, some of which were even exempted from taxes in the isolated mountain region. The houses in these mountain villages typically have natural stone roofing, which is especially suited to withstanding the extremes of storms, snow and heat, shingles made of a material that nature supplies here in abundance. Thanassis Mitroyorgos is a real specialist in the local stone. In late winter, he tends to the traditional stone houses in the area, replacing and repairing the roofs with heavy stone slabs. Not only is it the cheapest building material in Epirus, because it's closest to hand, it's also the best. Because they're so heavy, the slabs offer the best defense against the winter storms. I learned the technique from my father. It's not an easy job. It takes a lot of patience until you reach the point where you can do beautiful work, and things turn out the way you envision them. That's what I've always tried to achieve. I've always really liked this work. I've been doing it for 40 years now. With each year that passes, I've gained experience. You learn and know why something's gone wrong, why a tile has come loose, for example. But it's a painstaking job. On the other hand, the houses were built to last for a very long time. Back then, there were no other building materials. The people got everything locally. They took what they found. At some point, clay roof tiles came on the market, but there were no roads fit for transporting tiles like that up here. It was all very difficult. Almost all the roofs display a curious little cone on their ridge. Some say the cones have mythological or religious significance. They're thought to bring luck or fertility. Thanassis, however, takes a more pragmatic view of the cones. It's for beauty, for pleasing aesthetics, that we make these triangles, and also to add more weight to withstand strong winds. On a large roof, we attach three or four, on a small one, two cones. Thanassis works without a safety rope, and in most cases without a net, even on the steep church rooftops. His work is a risky business, but thankfully, he's never had a serious accident. Over the course of time, I've become very daring. Some roofs are quite dangerous, so we take some small safety precautions. But otherwise, what you really need is a good sense of balance. After a while, you come to know where you should plant your feet, then there's no problem. I really do like the work. I like working with the stone, and when I finish the job, I look at my work and I'm about what I see, and that it will hold up well. Thanassis relies on the local pack mule service to deliver the stone slabs to the building site. Where people in other places might hire a man with a van, here they call Dasnarkeletsi, the man with the mules. Even in the sudden strong rainfall, you can always count on his sturdy animals to get the job done. Thousands of meters of mountainous terrain, centuries-old, difficult-to-negotiate narrow paths, isolated villages, churches, the odd lonesome farmhouse. This is Dasnor's turf. There are few roads here suitable for vehicles, so the age-old mule train is still a vital means of freight transport. We'll always need mules here for all kinds of things. I need them to carry firewood from the forests, to transport sand and stone slabs to church building sites, to supply all the places that cars can't get to, which means all of the villages around here in the region. Mules are the infertile offspring of a horse mare and a donkey jack. They're significantly more robust, and have much better endurance than horses, and can also keep their footing when there's snow and scree on the rocky trails. And they are by no means as stubborn as donkeys, if you know how to handle them. I talk to them, because if you don't talk to them, they won't understand anything. They each have a name, all of them, and when I call them, they know they should stop and then stand still. They're animals, but they understand us. We don't always have paved roads here, also because we're not always allowed to build them. There are rules about historical monument protection, especially in the popular tourist destinations. And it really doesn't make sense to build roads in the forests, not even for four-wheel-drive SUVs. That's why we need the animals here, always. The little town of Syrako, in the Pindos mountain range. The paved road stops just outside the village. Thanassis is responsible for many of these stone rooftops, too. Two hundred years ago, under Ottoman rule, Syrako was the administrative capital of 42 villages in the region. Back in the day, Syrako had a population of 5,000. Nowadays, only a few families remain, most of them seasonal residents who return only after the snow melt in late spring. The little town is at an altitude of over 1,100 meters, after all. I think that's an interesting thing. This one piece will make 52 layers. Watch on mobile devices or the big screen. All for free. No subscription required. The inhabitants used to live from livestock breeding and the wool trade. One famous product is the Syrako rainproof woolen coat, said to have been standard issue for Napoleon's armies. Local shepherd Nikos Gizas wears a similar coat. He needs it. The mountain weather is highly changeable, even in spring. Doing a shepherd's work at an altitude of over 1,000 meters is arduous business. Coping with the caprices of nature and the high mountains, an ongoing challenge. Where the mountain is concerned, no one can say he's not afraid of it. You have to be a bit in awe of the mountain. The weather as well. But we know the mountain. I was born here. I know every centimeter. Still, something can befall you at any moment, day or night, with all these gorges and chasms. The sheep that Nikos and his colleagues raise are an especially robust breed. The greatest danger the sheep face in this mountain region is the wolves that roam the area. For our animals, danger is always lurking. We protect them like our own children. Yet we've often seen the wolves kill our sheep before our own eyes. Once there was a wolf only 50 meters away from me. It had snuck up and infiltrated the herd without my even noticing it, and slaughtered seven sheep. In the meantime, we've gotten used to it and we're no longer afraid. We're with the livestock every day, and we also have our dogs. Our animals and we shepherds are one big family. Nevertheless, there is a feeling of loneliness. The conditions here are difficult, and there are very few other people. And that isn't easy, especially in the winter. Syrako seems to exert a special attraction on rain clouds. But that doesn't stop Eurydice Vaitsi from going on her herb-gathering forays nearby. She, too, wears a sturdy, rain-proof garment made of lanolin-soaked local wool. Eurydice runs a little taverna in the village. On the steep slopes above, she gathers wood for the fire. She also gathers wild herbs for her pita, a pastry-dough delicacy, specialty of the house. For her signature dish, she doesn't only select herbs that taste nice, she also looks for those that bring a special benefit. Back at the taverna, she surveys her spoils. These are the wild vegetables from the mountain. That's poppy from the mountain. And that's moscolachano, Mediterranean heartwort. We mix all that together to make the filling for our pita. The wild herbs, the wild plants, are always healthier than the ones we can grow in the garden. We only need a little bit of the poppy for our pita. It's more to make it mix well. The parsley is good for the health, for high blood pressure. We also gather burning nettles here to mix into our pita. They say burning nettles are also good for lowering the blood pressure. I really don't want to say much about the other herbs. I'm not a doctor, after all. Ground nuts, spices, sheep milk cheese and oil. All of it home-grown. There's no other option in Syrako. There's no shop in the village. If we need to go shopping, we go into town, to Ioannina. Now there's a road, but we used to go on foot. We were out roaming in the mountains with the animals. We watched over the sheep. We slept outdoors. We milked the sheep, made cheese. There weren't as many wolves back then. Now we've become wolves. Back then there were many wild animals. Dogs, too. But there weren't any wolves. But now they're here. Making the pastry for the pita is quite a demanding job. Many individual little dough rounds are rolled out very thin and layered in the baking tin. Between the layers, a few drops of oil and the filling of cheese and wild herbs. This is where I was born. And this is where I've lived my life. We only left in winter when we went to Arta. And then we returned here in summer. When I married and had children, we came here to the village in summer and opened the taverna. Then in the winter we'd go to Ioannina so the children could go to school. Most of the villagers still leave for the winter. Only a few remain to keep an eye on things on behalf of the whole community. Most of the livestock, too, is driven down into the valley as soon as it really gets cold. Then it gets even lonelier in this isolated mountain region. A daily challenge for those left behind. Not only where schooling and shopping is concerned. When the snow melts in spring, it doesn't just cause the rivers to swell. Often the whole mountain shakes off the deep freeze, covering the streets with rocky debris. It's a one and a half hour drive from Siraco to the next doctor if the road is not obstructed by landslides. In the old days, before the road, it was impossible for the sick to get to the doctor. How could we go to the doctor? You died here. How could it have been otherwise? It took eight days to get to Arta on foot. After one and a half hours in the oven, the pita is done. And soon, the first pandas take a seat on the patio for pita and the local schnapps, tsipouro. Right up until a hundred years ago, Siraco still belonged to Turkey. The border between Greece and the Ottoman Empire ran just to the west of the houses, right outside the village. After the first Balkans war in 1912, the border was changed. Siraco fell to Greece. Even the neighboring village of Kalaritis is a good hour's hike from Siraco on foot. And the white-knuckle journey by car on the steep mountain roads with their hairpin curves isn't much faster. Kalaritis has belonged to Greece for much longer. Kalaritis lies at an altitude of 1,200 meters. Its big advantage over Siraco is a little village shop, which is also a cafe and a taverna. But here, too, the road suitable for vehicles ends just outside the village. So, the residents of Kalaritis also still have to rely on mules and donkeys for heavy lifting. The packed mule service mainly transports heavy bulk goods, beer, potatoes and onions. The provisions come from both the wholesalers in the city of Ioannina, 50 kilometers away, as well as from small local farmers. The shop stocks all the things villagers need for their daily lives and can't produce themselves. Everything from dishwashing liquid to super glue, to sugar and salt. The shop has been here ever since about 1840. I'm the fifth generation to run it. Down through all the decades here, animals have been used for transportation. The mules were always indispensable helpers, in their professional capacity, but also for the homemakers in the village. We villagers said, we don't want a new road to the village, which would have ruined the whole place, really. So, we still rely on animals for deliveries. For Napoleon Tsaklis, the decision against a new road to the village was a mistake. But now, the village has paid off. All those unwilling or unable to journey by car or donkey into the next city, are obliged to shop in his place. My great-great-grandfather built this shop over 200 years ago. Then, my great-grandfather took it over, and not only ran the cafe, but traded in leather as well. My grandfather was a cobbler as well. That's him there in that photo. My father was also a grocer, and my sideline is offering meals in the taverna. Like village shops throughout Greece and elsewhere, this place is a traditional social hub, where locals meet to chat, debate and keep up to date, and simply to enjoy each other's company. It's a place to exchange information, the latest news and gossip, rumor and conjecture. Stories have been told here, and tall tales as well. And always games have been played, dominoes, cards, in the old days, chess as well. Much tsipouro has flowed, and many festivities have been held here. A cafe like this is clearly the vital heart of village life. For a village, it is necessary for social co-existence and for a lot of other things. The population of Kalaritis also fluctuates with the seasons, from a few sedentary stalwarts in winter to over 2,000 inhabitants in summer. Today's travel route began in northwestern Greece near the Albanian border, in Evikos Aos National Park, and continued on past the Zagoria villages to Syrako and Kalaritis, and now takes us to Kipina Monastery. After that, it's on to Ioannina, Dodona and Pramanda. Wide valleys, washed-out riverbeds and sparsely wooded rocky slopes tell of the tumultuous geological history of Epirus, of rainstorms, floods and erosion. Millennia of eventful weather have left behind a craggy but also fertile land with a plentiful water supply. Centuries ago, monks had already arrived, built monasteries and settled in the untamed side valleys here. Hewn into a steep, craggy slope of the Tsoumerka Massif rests Kipina Monastery. Named after the Kipoi, the fruitful gardens that the monks in the area laid down back then. Not far from the monastery, on the road between Kalaritis and Christoi, Georgos Vangelis and his family run a little cafe. Georgos is also the keeper of the key to Kipina. Visitors can stop and pick it up here. The municipality has entrusted Georgos with the job of caretaker of the monastery. In the old days, 12 monks lived here. The last resident of the hermitage left many years ago. Since then, the monastery, devoted to the Assumption of the Virgin Mary, has been vacant. One day I came here to the village. My wife brought me here. We saw the monastery and both of us knew at once we want to stay here. Now we can't even imagine being without this monastery or this village. We started our family here and now we're doing all we can to be able to stay. We live from our animals, from the proceeds from the cafe, from the work we do for the monastery. We take care of everything necessary to maintain the monastery. We do the cleaning inside, keep the courtyard clean and tidy, the forecourt too. We tend the flowers, keep the place stocked with everything the visitors need, the souvenirs and the candles. My family has the key and we're here all year round, 365 days a year. For Georgos, the monastery is not just a workplace, it's a place for reflection. Because the monastery is so close by, I come here every day to pray. The monastery gives me a feeling of security. I take every opportunity to feel that. When we're struggling with something or have problems, we just come here. Georgos regularly inspects the passageways cut deep into the rock that lead to the former sleeping quarters of the monks who lived a very simple, austere life here. Could Georgos imagine that life for himself? I'd have no big problem with it, actually. But of course, nowadays we younger ones have wishes we couldn't fulfill as a monk, like having a family. The monastery now feels like home to me. I feel safe here. I get my energy, my strength from this place. 50 kilometers to the west lies Lake Pamvotis. Despite clean inflows from the mountains, its waters are rather cloudy. There's no adequate outlet, so most of the water seeps down, leaving suspended solids behind in the riverbed. On the west bank of the river lies Ioannina, an important trading center with a long and eventful history. In the 6th century, Emperor Justinian founded an outpost of the Byzantine Empire here. Then, in the year 1000, the Normans arrived from southern Italy. And finally, in 1430, the Turks invaded Ioannina. For almost 500 years thereafter, the city belonged to the Ottoman Empire. That's the origin of the many still-existent mosques. The Ioannina of today, within and without the old fortress wall around the city, is a lively place. The former capital of Epirus, it is the shopping center for an entire region. Ioannina is the bustling hub of Epirus, boasting a university with around 20,000 students, magnificent historical merchant's villas, and an exclusive lakeshore location. In the 18th century, under the rule of Ali Pasha, the region flourished economically. The governor, known as the Lion of Ioannina, was a free thinker, his court frequented by the intelligentsia of Europe. Ali Pasha's dream was to secede from the Ottoman Empire and establish an independent state. But the Ottoman Turks were having none of it. They laid siege to the citadel for a whole year, and the fortress overlooking the lake where Ali Pasha had taken refuge. Even today, Ali Pasha is still a very popular figure in this part of Greece. Many visitors from the surrounding area and tourists from farther afield come here to retrace the steps of the Lion of Ioannina. Another popular leisure time destination is the island in Lake Panvortis, with its seven monasteries that outlive the 500-year Turkish occupation. Ferries depart hourly from the river promenade in Ioannina. Back in the day, Ali Pasha had fled to the island, the Turks hot on his heels. In vain. He was captured and killed. His corpse was decapitated, his head preserved, and sent to the Ottoman capital, Constantinople, now Istanbul. A bit further to the west, towards the coast, is Dodona, an ancient shrine, major oracle, and sanctuary of the Zeus cult. Especially stunning to behold is the amphitheater, one of the largest in classical Greece. However, here you will find none of the ritual baths and opulent temples that are normally a representative feature of the ancient oracles. The priests of Dodona simply hunkered down around a sacred oak tree and interpreted the rustling of the leaves, or they listened to the cooing of the doves, thus divining answers for those who came here to seek advice. There is an abundance of water in Epirus, lakes, rivers and streams, and not only above ground. The whole region is honeycombed with subterranean chambers and caves. Dimitra Merantza is the caretaker of such a grotto, giving visitors guided tours of the cave of Pramanda. Many millennia of rain and meltwater have made the limestone porous. The water releases the lime from the stone, causing stalactites to form. Greece is known as the land of grottos and caves. These subterranean natural wonders play an important role in ancient Greek mythology, and new discoveries are still being made. This cave was first found and explored just 50 years ago. The cave is called Anamatrypa, which literally means wind hole, and was discovered by chance by two shepherds' children. They'd lost their sheep and were afraid to tell their parents. So they hid, and in their hiding place they noticed there was a crack in the ground with warm air coming out. They were so excited about this that they went home to their parents after all to tell them about it. The parents, in turn, informed the head of their community. Explorations followed to find out what they were actually dealing with. The special thing about this cave is that not only can it be seen, it can be heard as well. In addition to a slowly flowing, shallow body of water, the cave system has inaccessible secondary chambers where more vigorous streams apparently flow. That's what it sounds like anyway. This cave here has a very special feature. It's one of the few caves in the world with a river running through it. It's actually part of the riverbed from the Arachthos. The river starts here and goes all the way to Arta. Dimitra regularly measures the water level, an important indication of the flagging activity of the river. Because the Arachthos river flows through the whole cave system, the temperature here is a constant 19 degrees Celsius year-round. The water temperature maintains a consistent 10 degrees. Moreover, Dimitra explains with pride, apparently there are metals in the rock beds here that keep the water extremely clear and clean, as it flows out of the cave and into the villages. It supplies the locals superior drinking water. From Avikos Aos National Park, we journey to Syrako and Kalaritis, then Paiakipina, Ioannina and Dotona to Pramada. From there, the Arachthos flows to Arta, and finally empties into the Ambrasian Gulf with its towns of Preveza, Nikopolis and Koronisia, where today's travels come to an end. This is where it ends up, the Arachthos, the river from the cave in Pramada, broad and sedate. In Alda, a 400-year-old stone bridge spans the river. The striking bridge is the protagonist of a gruesome legend. During its construction, every night the foundations built that day would collapse again. The work was getting nowhere, until the head builder, following the edict of the oracle, killed his own wife and buried her in the foundations. Just beyond the bridge, the sweet water of the Arachthos empties into the Ambrasian Gulf, an extended brackish water area that transitions into the Ionian Sea. It is a nature reserve and heaven on earth for birds. The Ambrasian Gulf, a body of water covering an area of over 500 square kilometers, is also an El Dorado for kite surfers and other water sports enthusiasts. 2,000 years ago, the lagoon was the site of one of the greatest naval battles in history. Opposing Roman armies and their leaders fought a battle at sea over the succession of Caesar. Octavian emerged victorious and from then on called himself Emperor Augustus, ruler of the Roman Empire. To mark his glorious victory, Augustus had a city built here, Nicopolis, the walls and ruins of which still remain today. With a population of 300,000, Nicopolis was one of the biggest cities in the whole of the Roman Empire. It featured an amphitheater, a stadium, villas and aqueducts. In the year 375, an earthquake destroyed the city. The architectural highlights are currently being lovingly restored. Just next door, in Preveza, we find wonderful sandy beaches, leaside of the Ionian Islands. The Ambrasian Gulf is only a few meters deep in places. Thousands of aquatic birds that originally just stopped over on their north-south migration have ended up settling here for good. The confluence of salt water and fresh water with an abundance of algae, plankton, mussels and little fish offer a rich supply of nutrition. Narrow roads stretch for kilometers atop the dikes that mark the border areas of the lagoons. These arteries connect the shore to the only little island in the bay. Koronesia. The entire island, which is just five meters above sea level, originally belonged to a monastery but then fell to the Muslim Ottoman Turks during their rule. It was only returned to Greek jurisdiction a hundred years ago. Nowadays, the island has only about 150 inhabitants, most of whom live from fishing. Evening time in Koronesia harbor. The fishermen are just getting ready for the night shift on their fishing boats. Konstantinos Tsoumboulis moved from the hinterlands here to the coast several years ago and retrained as a fisherman. My mother is from here, but I was born and raised in Arta. At some point I realized it would be easier to earn money here on the coast than with another job back home. And that was the main reason. The other is the freedom I have in this job. You work with nature the whole time, and the ocean. And that's the place that I love. The main work of a fisherman in the Ambration Gulf is prawn fishing. That's what we earn our living from. But now it's become very, very difficult to even cover our basic expenses with that. May and June is the peak season for shrimp and prawn fishing. Every evening at sunset, Konstantinos sets off from the harbor and is gone all night. The catch has become increasingly small in recent years, mainly due to overfishing. We have one central problem. More and more big fishing boats with trawl nets that also catch the little freshly hatched young fish. So the next generation is wiped out. The fishermen always work at night on the lagoon, because the fish and shrimp can't see the nets in the dark. The net that Konstantinos drops in the water is more than a kilometer long. A buoy, attached to the end, helps him find it again later. It's a full moon night. The weather is mild and not too windy. Hopefully signs of portent for a good catch. Night falls and Konstantinos and his colleagues have to wait several hours out in the lagoon before they can start bringing the nets back in. The next morning, harborside. Konstantinos was out fishing the whole night. Now he has to pick the catch out of the net, meter for meter. Every morning the same arduous work. And every morning his wife comes down to the harbor to give her husband a helping hand, so that he can finally get to bed after 14 hours at work. The long, strenuous night shift has not paid off. Less than a kilo catch. That doesn't even cover his fuel costs. On good days Konstantinos returns with 10 kilos. At up to 20 euros a kilo, an acceptable return. His colleagues have not fared any better. And yet, most of the fishermen love their work, just like Konstantinos. I love it. It suits me. I feel free. It's a part of my life. I wouldn't dream of doing something else. It's like this. If there were more fish and more money coming in, so that I could easily cover my running costs, I'd be absolutely happy. Maybe this time the fishermen were trumped by the other prawn-picking competition. The flamingos. They feed on plankton, but also shellfish. So that come summer, their plumage will have a lovely pink glow.