A cold north wind sweeps across Zagori. It’s winter. After the snow comes the frost. In the streets, in the fountains, in the crystal blades hanging from the roofs. Streams and brooks lie still on the ground, their flow seems marbled by time. Above Kapesovo, a road climbs uphill towards the mountain. On its snow-covered surface, old car ruts can be faintly seen. Nothing has passed since the new snowfall. It seems that no one is attracted by the sign with the indication “BRADETO 9”. And why should it? Without guesthouses, cafes and taverns, little Vradeto has no place among the famous tourist destinations of Zagori. The only thing it has in abundance is its natural beauty. But this does not interest the tourist. Because it requires a deviation from the unpaved roads, leaving the car and using the feet, the traditional way of getting to know nature. Only people with the philosophy of a traveller and nature lover are attracted to the Vradeto. The others, the many, are left indifferent.

I stop in front of the sign that sticks out of the snow. I follow with my eyes the winding path of the road, which climbs and disappears among the virginal, deceptive whiteness of the Vradeto’s highlands. How could the little village be snow-covered? We have never seen it. And we don’t know if in this heavy winter there is any human presence left in the village. The innocent sign only gives information about the distance. Nothing else. The rest is for us to discover. We don’t think much about it. The cut-off is not in accordance with logic but with impulse. And that’s what Anna and I have in large doses. Go ahead! The unknown and the allure of danger are here waiting for us. Slow four-wheel drive and off we go. In places exposed to the north wind the snow is hard as ice, while in the hollows it is thick and soft. The dangers of stalling lurk at every moment, but the lightweight four-wheel drive vehicle responds, albeit with difficulty, to the demands of the route.

We cross the neck of Vradeto all alone at an altitude of about 1,500 metres. What happiness this is, what a feeling of unprecedented happiness! Every now and then we stop, get off the road and sink up to our knees in the snow, trying to capture the splendour of the landscape with our cameras.

Noon. Like successive white pyramids in the distance, the first rooftops of the village. Covered by a thick layer of snow, Vradeto looks as if it has surrendered to slumber. Its only breath is a thin column of smoke. It comes from the chimney of a small café in the church square. Auntie-Constanto, the only human presence in the village, is still, at 70 years of age, “guarding Thermopylae”. She welcomes us, surprised by our attempt to reach here.

– Bid by the fire to warm yourselves. And if you’re hungry, let me prepare something.

She adds wood to the wood stove, puts a bun on it to bake, brings a tsipouro to drive away the cold. Then she peels potatoes, beats eggs and makes an omelette, throws in bits of country sausage. We make ourselves comfortable on the narrow wooden bench, next to the creaking wood stove, we drink some tsipuraki and then some wine, eating with great appetite the goodies he brings us.

The little café is old, small and humble, every corner of it exudes the past. A few shelves with poor grocery items, frames on the walls with photos from the “Skala of Vradeto”, the mouth of Vikos in “Beloi”, stone bridges from well-known places of Zagori. From the age of 18 Costanto has been in this café… a whole life. Good years, bad years, with family, with festivals, with people. She has a lot to remember from her life, moments of joy but also of bitterness and great loneliness. Today, times have changed in Vradeto, as in so many places in Greece. The schools have been closed for years, the young people have left for the cities, nothing keeps them in this place, so beautiful but also so lonely and tough. And it is not only an economic problem. It is mainly the lack of sociability, the lack of any possibility of participating in even the most basic pleasures of life that a man of the city has. Little Vradeto is growing old every day and not renewing itself. Costanto is still resisting. As long as she can…

The door opens and a cold breath of north wind comes in. With her enters a group of people in beanies, colorful overalls reminiscent of skiers, ski poles and mountaineering boots up to the waist. They look Austrian or German. They greet us cheerfully. Their cheeks are flushed from the cold and the reflection of the sun on the surface of the snow. They have just completed the ascent of the snow-covered Skala of Vradeto. And as they were about to leave, they noticed the smoke from the one and only chimney that led their coughs up to here. They settled for a few beers – in winter – and then made their way back, again through Skala. We follow them for a while and have our first experience of the Skala of Vradeto, this masterpiece of folk architecture, carved into the cliff. But the snow prevents us from appreciating – at least to the extent we would like to – the constructional peculiarities of this famous spiral cobbled path, perhaps the most famous in Greece.

Afternoon. The winter day is flowing swiftly. We stroll for a long time along the narrow paths of Vradeto. Houses boarded up, without life, elsewhere stoned and walls deserted. The cobbled streets are covered with snow, in most of them fluffy and deceptive, our footsteps echo over it muffled. No other sound disturbs the absolute peace. Apart from us and Costanto, there is no other human presence in the village. Abandonment and desolation bring us melancholy. I don’t know what Auntie Costanto is thinking at the moment of our departure. As she bids us farewell, her gaze is vacant….

FIVE YEARS LATER

It was that unfulfilled wish to walk the “Staircase” on the footsteps of the old Zagorians, slowly and respectfully, as it deserves. It was the unknown route to “Beloi” and the other countryside. It was the need to see Auntie Costanto again and to learn how this hermit still walks in Vradeto. It was, finally, the warm invitation of our good friend Thucydides from Kapesovo. He had, he said, completed his guesthouse, this personal dream of life, and was waiting for us by the fireplace to treat us to wine and tsipouro of his own.

Here it is again, after five years, in front of me, Vradeto. Without Anna this time. Her responsibilities at the magazine are many and her presence in the office is essential. Next to me, however, I have another fanatical traveller and nature lover, Petros, very new to ELLINIKO PANORAMA but already 34 years a soul mate. Since that distant autumn of 1972 in Crete, at the School of Reserve Infantry Officers. In the years that followed, the Aegean Sea came between us. Petros on the island of Paros, and me in Thessaloniki. But nothing changed. The distance and the all-encompassing time were tamed by the quality and depth of our friendship. Where after so many years and so many adventures we were brought together again, in the city that embraces the cove of Thermaikos, the city that Petros loved more than all the others. So a new traveller tries his first steps on this great road that was carved 11 years ago by ELLINIKO PANORAMA.

With this year’s first snows in the mountains and Thucydides’s phone call, nostalgia for Vradeto erupted in me unyielding. I recalled the half-deserted village, its lonely highlands, images of the mountains, the gorges and Skala. We had to catch up before it was covered again by snow and the months of winter stillness.

We chose a route that 9 years ago (issue 7, 1977) had first caught our eyes and left us speechless with its variety of landscape, the difficulties of the road, its solitude and its virgin beauty. It was the famous “Lakka Aou”, little known – at that time – and unseen link between Konitsa and Grevena, West. Macedonia and Epirus. Carved into the forest-covered slopes of Smolikas, the route gazed into the distant horizon the sensational mountain range of Tymfi, while low down, between hidden gorges, the rushing flow of Aoos found its way. Then it was an adventure with countless surprises and twists and turns, a quest into the unknown, filled with traps of waterfalls and mud, with treacherous landslides from the loose and steep slopes. Today it is an unpaved crossing whose minimal wheeled traffic and outstanding natural beauty make it one of the most exciting mountain routes in the country. In winter, however, it is difficult due to altitude, ice and snow.

On the borders of the prefectures of Grevena and Ioannina, the neck of Vasilitsa is captivating. At an altitude of 1,800 metres, it projects through clouds that surround us from all sides. The sunlight thins out, filtered behind waves of grey haze. A veil of mystery envelops the century-old rose bushes, the lightning-struck trunks, the frozen streams, the branches and bushes sprinkled with snow.

We stop. It is impossible to pass the place through closed windows. We step out into the morning hail, smell the dampness of the earth, throw ourselves into the chill of the altitude. For a long time we forget the destination of the journey. The destination becomes the journey itself. Then we descend into the depths of Dystratos with successive turns. Smoke comes from the chimneys of the village, the smell of wood is pervasive. We ascend to Armata, on asphalt now, the rough dirt road is past. Before Palioseli, we leave the asphalt road for Konitsa, we turn sharp left towards the Aoos riverbed. Dirt road wide, paved with pebbles, trucks go up and down constantly. In place of the old and dangerous mud road a new road was born. The safe – and so longed-for connection between Grevena and North Zagori is finally visible.

Vrysochori, Iliochori, Gyftokampos, pine trees, fir trees, reddish maple trees, brown oaks and beech trees, landscapes known and loved for years alternate at every kilometre with a wondrous variety. Skamneli, Tsepelovo, new guesthouses, reconstruction everywhere. Zagori is constantly developing, some units are too big for the place, taking away its old innocence, giving it the appearance of a cosmopolitan mountain destination.

The setting sun catches up with us on the high ground above Kapesovo. Its rays penetrate the thick layer of clouds, diffusing through the countless folds of the valley that stretches to the foot of Mount Mitsikeli. In the distance, the horizon is clogged by the elongated Peristeri and the heavy bulk of Tzoumerka. “BRADETO 9”. After five years the sign is in place, this time without snow.

– Let Thucydides wait a while, I say to Petros. I want to see what it looks like before nightfall in Vradeto.

High up in the neck of the mountains, chilly but with a stunning view. The lucky visitor to Vradeto always has his eyes filled with the beauty of Epirus.

In the upper part of the village we are greeted by a surprise: a heavy building with brick walls, giving it an urban look, foreign to the architecture of Zagori. Everything indicates that it will be the first guesthouse of Vradeto, the first timid opening, in the world of tourism, of this remote village. I hope that the overall aesthetics of the accommodation will be compatible with Zagori and that its presence will mark the exit of Vradeto from its long isolation.

Only our footsteps echo in the cobbled streets of the village. No door is open, no light comes from any of the shutter crickets. Above the square, however, a faint trace of smoke can be seen. We approach. A black-clad silhouette slowly paces towards the church of St. Nicholas. I have no doubt. It’s Auntie Costanto. At the sound of our approach, she shorts. She turns her head and gives us a suspicious look. Two foreign men in the village. Dusk. And she’s all alone.

– Good evening, I say from afar, raising my hand.

– Good evening, she replies.

– If you’ve closed the café for tonight, we’d better go. But if it’s open, we’d like a coffee.

Her facial features relax for a moment.

– And how are you here at this hour? Who are you?

– We’re from Thessaloniki. We came five years ago. You won’t remember us with all the people that have passed by since then.

The last reservations seem to be dissipating.

– I was on my way home, it’s getting dark, I’m not expecting anyone. But since you beat me to it, let me make you a cup of coffee.

We’re going into the café. When I turn on the lamp, I don’t see any visible change. The same wooden bench, the wood stove, the battered frames with landscapes of Zagori on the walls. Auntie-Costanto tidies up the coals left on the stove, adds a couple of sticks, goes behind the counter and burns the coffee.

She puts water glasses and cups on a tray and brings them to the table. He sits close to us by the stove.

– How are you doing, Aunt Costanto?, I ask her.

– How can I manage in this wilderness? My legs been hurting lately. Thank God I have my children, Stavroula and Lambros. They come every week from Ioannina, they help me and watch me. Without their help I wouldn’t have done anything.

Petros asks her how the winters are. She shakes her head:

– Here, one needs to be young and when it snows, to have a shovel to shovel all day long.

– We’ll come back some noon, Aunt Costanto, and you’ll prepare us something to eat and a glass of wine.

– As you like.

We bid her good night. The café light fades behind us. There remain the lights of the poles that illuminate our steps until we leave Vradeto.

We arrive at night in Kapesovo. It’s not crowded here either. Yet the place seems alive. Two or three windows are illuminated and the smoke from Thucydides’s chimney is thick. Our friend welcomes us with open arms.

– You’re late. I thought you’d lost your way.

With his mustache, jovial face and broad smile, the philologist Professor Thucydides Papageorgiou is still the same as when I first met him. With one small difference. For some time now he has been retiring disappointed from active service after 30 years of contribution.

He throws a big log on the fireplace, fills our glasses with his own tsipouro, and we relax against the nice fire. After his phone call, this is exactly how I imagined the moments.

I roam my gaze around the room. The perfectionism of woodcarver and craftsman Thucydides is visible everywhere: in the exquisite solid oak ceiling, in his handmade collector’s glitter, in the fireplace made of heavy grey stone, in the elaborate flooring with local slate in shades of ochre and grey.

Thucydides’s daughter, Gianna, appears. She brings pie, giant baked beans and cooked eggplant, all handmade by her. She fills our glasses with her father’s wine, pure and fragrant. At some point the eyelids grow heavy. Sleep accompanies us, sweet and effortless, until morning.

A WANDER AROUND AND THROUGH VRADETO

At the beginning of the day, a bright sun shines behind the mountains. On the high ground where we are, the sky is cloudless, blue. Down low in the valley, however, the fog remains thick and unmoving. We head uphill to Vradeto and turn right at the first dirt road. A bare landscape stretches out before us, with gentle ruts and gentle hillsides. Cows graze on the low grass. The monotony of the green is interrupted by ferns of a bright brown colour. One hillside is dotted with countless grey stones, a harsh dissonance in the smooth terrain of the place.

For two and a half kilometres we are plagued by a rough dirt road. It ends on a plateau at an altitude of 1,700 metres. A fascinating horizon reveals itself before us. It is the stunning Tymfi mountain range with its successive peaks, most of which exceed 2,000 metres. There among them, unseen to the eyes of distant observers, nestles in its secret hollow the legendary Drakolimni of Gamila. Less than 4 hours separate us from this dreamy mountaineering destination, but an undertaking that is difficult to accomplish in the limited daylight hours of this season. We therefore limit ourselves to the calm crossing of a well-marked path, which after 25 minutes leads us to the beginning of the “Mega Lakkos”, a gorge secondary to Vikos, but hardly lacking in beauty and grandeur.

We arrive in the sunny Vradeto at noon, with unnatural heat for this time of year. Aunt Costanto is basking all alone at an outdoor table in the church square. Lambridis mentions that N. Tsigaras founded the church in the name of the Nativity of the Virgin Mary, the common church of the village, in the year 1799, endowing it with three bells, with icons and with many sacred vessels and vestments.

Next to the sanctuary stands the large plane tree with its tufted branches, which leaf out with every gust of wind. Aunt Costanto remembers us in a moment. She is cheerful, talkative, a completely different person from our first approach. We sit next to her, surrendered to the rays of the warm autumn sun, at the 1340-meter altitude of the square of Vradeto. Lampridis wrote about this “Roof” of Zagori: ‘This high village, which dominates the whole of Zagori, is situated on a plateau. It has a predominantly temperate climate, an extensive horizon, vast lands, rugged mountains and produces, apart from the excellent cheese and butter, not inconsiderable moss’.

The prominent men are, according to Lambrides, Nutso-Kondodimos, who abolished through his influence many of Zagori’s taxes, the teacher of teachers Anastasios Sakellariou, who benefited all of European Turkey through his rigorous and long-standing teaching in Ioannina, Philip Anastasiou, doctor of medicine, and the Tsigaras brothers, also doctors of medicine.

In Labridis’s time, around the middle of the 19th century, Vradeto had 360 inhabitants and, according to tradition, it was inhabited at the beginning of the 17th century by shepherds who brought their tents to Vradeto from Nuka, part of Skamnelio. Nowadays, that era of crowdedness is long gone; only in the summertime does the place come alive. In winter, and again not all the time, its only inhabitant is Costanto, which, when it is blocked by snow, the crawlers come and take it away.

The old woman suggests a pork pancake. We have no objection. By the time it is done we are enjoying the sun, gazing across to Mitsikeli, Peristeri, Tzoumerka. At some point, Costanto beckons us from the door of the café.

– I put you inside. I can’t carry the dishes that far.

After lunch we walk around for a while in Vradeto. The main cobbled street leads us lower down to other side streets, grassy and narrow or dead-end. Stone, tiled houses. Some have broken from tradition, have tin roofs. In the lower part of the village, among untidy vegetation and trees, ruins abound. However, the examples of masonry in the remaining dry stone walls are excellent. With a little care the village could have a very nice appearance.

Afternoon. The little café of Costanto is closed. For whom else would it remain open? From the upper part of the village we set off for Beloi. After 800 meters the path starts, well-marked and smooth, with gentle slopes and relaxing. The natural environment is idyllic, reminiscent of a romantic painting by a Renaissance painter. Soft earthy tones of brown ferns and dry grasses dominate everywhere, forming velvety carpets of ochre. Now and then there are clusters of rocks with beautiful formations and parallel layers of thin slates, so characteristic of many parts of Zagori.

The last part of the path is covered by large flat slabs of natural rock. They are followed by a nice cobbled path leading to ‘Beloi’. It is a natural “loggia” on the edge of the cliff, offering an indescribable view of Vikos, after a leisurely walk of just over 20 minutes.

The wooded ravine bed is already sunk in shade, while at the highest points of the gorge the evening sun is still shining.

A few huge trees are clinging to the abyssal crag. We wonder where their roots found soil, how they hold the weight of the trunks. Only nature knows the answer.

SKALA OF VRADETO

The Skala of Vradeto is worth getting to know on the descent. Not just because it is less strenuous than the ascent, but mainly because each step on the descent offers a comprehensive view of the magnificent gorge and the details of its unique construction. In fact, if the hiker has time at his disposal, the aesthetic pleasure is greater.

Thucydides takes us to Vradeto in his car. Following the relevant sign, we easily find the road to the chapel of St. Athanasios outside the village.

About 100 meters before the church we follow the path to the right, which passes a few meters below the chapel and continues towards Skala. We are already on a new cobbled street, which has been rebuilt in a crude manner. The feeling is very different from the old stones, artfully planted in the ground and rounded by the feet of so many men and women over the centuries.

St. AthanasiOs is closely tied to the tradition of the place. As the 90-year-old Kapesovite Kostas Zampalas (magazine “TO ZAGORI MAS”, Vol. 304-305, 2003) recalls, “In those years, relatives and villagers would send their loved ones to the foreign land with tears and wishes from St. Athanasios and on their return they would cut a few vines, so that they would come back from the foreign land in good health. From here, they would gawk at them until they were ready to leave. I experienced these customs and felt the feelings of sadness and joy. When the foreigners returned, the relatives and the villagers waited at St. Athanasios and cheered their arrival at Kapesovitika and then up the hill, at ‘kangelia’. When they reached ‘Alonoutsi’, everyone shouted “they are coming”, “they are coming”. At St. Athanasios, the hugs were opened and the eyes were filled with tears of joy”.

A few minutes after St. Athanasios, the beautiful cobbled street and the spirals of Skala begin. At every step the view becomes breathtaking of the plunge of the Kapesovitiko gorge, the unspoilt rocky towers, the facing continental mountains. Purnaria, cedars, gavros and maple trees are interspersed among the grey stone of Skala, which already reaches the peak of its architectural perfection with its successive bowers.

Carved with unparalleled patience and mastery on the steep cliff, the Skala delights our aesthetic with its excellent protective dry stone and the elaborate cobbled path, which has gentle slopes, sweet curves, and pilasters that protrude from time to time to protect the gait of people and animals from slipping. About 1,500 metres of dry stone and over 1,100 cobbled terraces cover an altitude difference of 250 metres, linking Vradeto with Kapesovo. Countless powder stones, 20 years of hard work and 40 loads of salt for the masons’ food were needed to complete this famous project. The exact date of construction is not known, but it is speculated that in the beginning of the 18th century, Vradetians living in the Tsar’s court sent money for the construction of Skala.

In the early 1970s, the mountain route connecting Vradeto and Kapesovo was laid out, and in the last three years the road was paved. The Skala of Vradeto, however, retains its unparalleled glamour as one of the most prominent monuments of folk architecture, not only in Zagori but in the whole of Greece.

How long does it take to descend Skala? Half an hour? More? I don’t know exactly. It took us more than two hours to enjoy the scenery and appreciate the art of the craftsmen who made it.

THANKS

We would like to thank Thucydides Papageorgiou and his family for their hospitality and all their help.

DISTANCES OF VRADETO

From Ioannina: 55km.

From Athens: 490 km

From Thessaloniki: 350 km (via Konitsa), 310 km (via Grevena-Vasilitsa)