Landing in Athens you will be greeted by one of our staff and transferred to our hotel right in the heart of the tourist district.

The rest of the day is yours to rest, and explore.

There are a multitude of great restaraunts right outside our hotel, as well as a roof top cafe/bar for light meals in the hotel with a view of the Acropolis!

Today we explore Athens!

On foot, our historian tour guide will teach you about the history, mystery and architecture of some of Greece’s most famous sites.

Stops include the Great Library, the Academy, Emperor Hadrian’s Arch, the temple of Zeus and a few others before exploring the Acropolis Museum, and the Acropolis itself.

After a short rest, we’ll depart in the late afternoon for our flight to Ioannina. From there we will drive to Aristi (B,D)

e begin gently — a walk to tune the body and quiet the mind, to open ourselves to the rhythms of the landscape we’re about to inhabit.

This first path follows the waters of the Voidomatis, one of Europe’s purest rivers, winding softly through a gorge dense with plane trees, mosses, and shade. The trail clings to the slope, unhurried and forgiving, offering glimpses of turquoise current below and the echo of birdsong above.

Our destination is the stone bridge of Klidonia — a graceful arch suspended across the flow, weathered by centuries yet still standing firm. Just above it, hidden in the greenery of the southern bank, is the Boila rock shelter: a shallow cave worn into the limestone wall, once home to early humans after the glaciers had begun their long retreat. Here, archaeologists have found the tools of survival — flint blades, bones, the relics of hearth and hunt — silent traces of people who moved through this gorge with the same attentiveness we now bring.

This is an out-and-back walk, not a race but a return — a way of arriving not just at a place, but into the week ahead. The effort is light, the beauty constant.

We’ll return in time for lunch, taken either in the quiet of Aristi or back at the hotel, with the green hush of the river still lingering in our thoughts. (B)

Our first great walk — and what a beginning it is. Today, we descend into the heart of stone, entering the Vikos Gorge, a chasm so sheer and narrow that it holds the distinction of being the deepest in the world by width. But such records feel almost trivial when you’re inside it — swallowed by silence, cliff, and light.

We set off from the village of Vikos, the stone houses still warmed by morning sun, and begin our slow spiral down into the gorge. The descent is steady, shaded by woodland, with glimpses ahead of the vast rock walls that enclose the valley like ancient ramparts.

Upon reaching the gorge floor, the mood shifts. The world becomes quieter, cooler, more enclosed. Here, we meander beside a river that disappears and reappears with the seasons — at times no more than a memory stitched into the stones, at others a silver thread through the forest. The path winds through groves of plane and poplar, under sheer limestone faces streaked with mineral veins and time.

These cliffs are not just beautiful — they are monumental, forming one of the most breathtaking landscapes in all of Greece. Somewhere along the way, we’ll pause for a simple picnic, eaten in dappled shade with the possibility of a swim in water so clean and cold it startles the skin into awareness.

In time, the trail begins its ascent, drawing us up toward Monodendri — an exquisite village of slate roofs and cobbled lanes, one of forty-six Zagori settlements protected as a UNESCO treasure.

Six hours beneath the mountains. One of those days that lingers — in the legs, yes, but also in memory. (B, L)

Today, we step into the high country — up into the Astraka Massif, whose jagged outlines you’ve been studying from Aristi, perhaps even from the window of your room. Now, at last, we enter them.

Our path leads first to the Astraka Refuge and, for those drawn onward, to the remote and wind-scoured Dragon Lake. Yet, as with all journeys in these mountains, there are choices: turnings for those who seek gentler exertions, detours for those who crave more.

After breakfast, we drive to the stone hamlet of Mikro Papingo, where our ascent begins. The trail winds upward through stands of pine, their scent sharp in the cool morning air. Stinking juniper — twisted, ancient, and aromatic — crowds the slopes, its stubborn presence a reminder of the harshness this land endures. As we climb, the forest loosens its grip and gives way to open pasture, where the cliffs of Astraka surge skyward and the gorge falls away behind us — deep, green, and far below.

After three hours of steady effort, the Astraka Refuge appears on a saddle ahead, perched like a watcher between summits. We pause here to rest — to listen to the wind, to drink, to gaze — before continuing.

Beyond the saddle, the trail softens and sweeps through high alpine meadow — a place of unexpected gentleness tucked between sheer walls of limestone, its solitude broken only by the sound of boots in grass and wind across stone. The scene recalls the Dolomites, but here it feels wilder, less mannered.

In time — another hour and a half, perhaps — Dragon Lake reveals itself. A small, secretive pool held in the palm of the mountains, home to the tiny, flickering salamander that gives it its name. To stand on its far edge is to stand on the lip of a world: beyond it, a thousand-metre drop plummets toward the Zagori lowlands, laid out in ridges and folds as far as the eye dares reach.

This is where we’ll break for lunch — amid the silence and spectacle, perhaps watched from a distance by a wild horse grazing on spring grass just released from winter’s hold.

From the lake, we return to the refuge for the night — high among the peaks, where the stars feel closer and the world below a little more remote.

Note on route options: For those who prefer a shorter day, the hike to the refuge and return to Aristi offers a rewarding five-hour round journey, rich in views and alpine air. (B,L,D)

For those who stayed at the Astraka Refuge overnight, the objective today is Gamila. Heading out over to the main plateau of the range, Gamila Peak, the highest peak in the area, and the 6th highest in Greece at 2497m stands before us.

From the refuge, the path rises — at first gently, then with more insistence — tracing a northeast line across alternating terrain: meadow and scree, slope and ravine, each turn revealing a new fold in the land. This is walking as revelation. Ahead, the ragged spine of Mount Tymfi commands the skyline, its highest point, Gamila, cutting a stark silhouette against the sky.

Few places in Greece feel so alpine in character — austere, exposed, elemental. The air thins as you ascend, and with it, the world begins to widen. Peaks gather around you like sentinels, and from the summit, the view unfurls in all directions — a vast, unbroken panorama of stone and silence, ridge and gorge.

It is a course not just through landscape, but into it — a route that asks for your breath and your attention, and rewards both with a kind of hard-earned grace. (B,L)

Today, the pace loosens. The boots are left by the door, or at least unlaced. After days of climbing ridgelines and tracing riverbeds, of moving through gorge and mountain, today invites a different kind of movement — slower, inward, and gentler.

The village of Aristi leans quietly against the slope, its stone houses and slate roofs settled into the hillside as if they’ve grown from it. It is a place that knows stillness. Old walnut trees lean over narrow paths, and the air holds the scent of woodsmoke and thyme. You might spend the morning simply wandering — not hiking, not even walking, really — just wandering, letting curiosity guide your steps. Down cobbled lanes. Through hidden gardens. Past the worn benches where old men still sit, watching the hours unfold like a long story.

Or you might do nothing at all. The spa at Aristi Mountain Resort offers a kind of silence that runs deeper than quiet — a thermal warmth to draw the ache from tired legs, a pool that catches the light like glass, a steam room that holds you like fog in the forest. To rest is not to waste time; it is to gather it back in.

For those who still feel the call of the trail, there’s the option of a local hike, one that rises gently from the village to a high shoulder of land where the world seems to tilt outward — views spilling over the Voidomatis valley, to the cliffs of Astraka and beyond. It’s a different kind of elevation — not effort, but perspective.

At sunset, the hills purple and the shadows lengthen. The bells of goats echo faintly through the folds of the valley. And whether you’ve wandered far or barely stirred, the day draws to a close with the same quiet promise: you are exactly where you need to be. (B)

There are places where the past does not lie buried — it stands, spans, and arches. The stone bridges of Zagori, laid across rivers that rise and vanish with the seasons, are such places: remnants of a vanished world, still holding the weight of wind, water, and wonder.

This walk is not long in distance, but deep in time. You do not hike it so much as pass through layers — of stone, of story, of solitude.

We begin near Kipi, where the first of many bridges waits — Plakidas Bridge, triple-arched and elegant, set like a backbone across the streambed. Lichen grows between its stones, and in the wet season, the river speaks beneath it. Built in the 19th century, it once carried mule trains and merchants, pilgrims and peddlers. Today, only walkers pass, and goats.

The trail winds on through a patchwork of forest and meadow — plane trees, wild mint underfoot, the rustle of unseen creatures. We cross Misiou Bridge, narrow and bowed like a taut string, its single arch delicate against the vastness of the gorge. And then Kokkoris Bridge, almost theatrical in its grace, set between walls of limestone that rise like cathedral buttresses.

Each bridge has its own voice, its own silence. Some were funded by local benefactors — their names carved into slabs above the keystone, a legacy etched in stone rather than word. Others were communal works, raised through toil and local pride. All were born of necessity, yet built with a craftsman’s care that feels like reverence.

In the stillness between steps, you might hear more than the water — the clatter of hoofs long gone, or the whisper of stone settling into earth. These are places shaped by passage: of rivers, of people, of time.

By the end of the walk, as we loop back toward the trailhead, the bridges feel like old acquaintances. You’ve not just crossed them — you’ve lingered with them. They do not ask for speed, only attention.(B,L)

Our last morning in the mountains. For those who wish to rise early, maybe a meander along some local trails.

We will then transfer back to the lakeside town of Ioannina. There we will have a short local tour, some lunch and then we will board our flight back to Athens.

Tonight we celebrate as a group at a special farewell dinner all together for the last time. (B,D)

Today we bid farewell. For those staying on in Athens for a possible three more days of history, we are sure you will have a great time. For those moving on, thank you and we hope to see you again.  (B)