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Purely Pélion

A drive around the unspoiled tranquility of a lesser-known Greek destination

By Georgios Vasilopoulos

September 15^th, 2019

Leaving the congestion of Vólos and industry of Europe’s largest cement factory, Iraklís, the road snakes along the shores of the Pagasetic Gulf, through the town of Agriá, then narrows as it heads inland—the classically Mediterranean scenery bathing in the July sun.

Summer residence of the gods and home of the Centaurs, the Pélion peninsula is the ‘scorpion tail’ which separates the Pagasetic Gulf and the Aegean Sea. The peninsula is headed by Mount Pélion and has varying landscapes of thick evergreen forests, dense vegetation, fields of straw, and groves of apple, almond and olive trees. The north of the peninsula is the largest stonefruit-growing area in Greece—and the village of Ntamoúchari on the east coast was one of the filming locations of the musical Mamma Mia! along with nearby islands Skiáthos and Skópelos.

Pélion experiences a climate distinct from the surrounding plains of Thessaly, with heavy rains common in the east and snowfalls during the winter. While there are no rivers, during winter and spring, streams flow through the shale ravines. Lining both coasts are sand beaches, often empty even during high season and, in the north, slopes at the Agriólefkes Ski Centre—Pélion is small, but has something for everyone.

Unlike the big names in Greek tourism destinations—Crete, Corfu, Santorini, Rhodes and the like—Pélion is lesser-known outside the country. While the islands overflow with tourists from all over the world, Pélion remains tranquil. Often, the silence is only broken by cicadas singing in the trees and waves breaking on the beaches. Tourism is an essential part of the economy but, driving on the quiet roads, Pélion hides it well—in part because, other than the occasional Italian- or Dutch-registered car or caravan, most of the tourists are Greeks themselves.

The road returns to the coast, twisting along the shoreline through Maláki, Kalá Nerá and Korópi, lazy beach villages lined with coffee shops and taverns. Once again it weaves inland, the scenery changing from shrubbery and fruit trees to untouched pine forests as the altitude increases. Nearby, shale quarries around the towns of Neochóri and Sykí help to support the economy. After Afétes, turning right at the t-junction, open grasslands lie ahead. The road gently descends through Argalastí, the last ‘major’ town before the bottom of Pélion with its population of about 2,000, and on to the coast once more.

The clear, turquoise waters at Vathiá Spiliá beach

Just beyond the village of Hórto on the way to Milína, Vathiá Spiliá beach comes into view, with impossibly clear, turquoise water below the olive groves and iron-rich red soil inviting you to stop to appreciate the view. Vathiá Spiliá means ‘deep cave’ in Greek and, indeed, a cave awaits those willing to explore. No queues, no ticket counters, no health and safety, often no one else around—you’re free to look after yourself and explore on your own terms.

Pélion has a longstanding history of women’s agricultural cooperatives, producing traditional, homemade products—including pickled fruits known as ‘spoon sweets’, hilopítes, or Greek egg noodles, and trahaná, a mixture of grain and fermented milk similar to couscous. Preserving these traditions is important to the region as a driver of tourism and ensuring economic independence—so much so, that there are local festivals throughout the year to recognise and celebrate these products.

After Milína the landscape becomes desolate as road hugs the coast, with only a handful of homes punctuating the olive and shrub-covered hills. Soon, the road turns sharply north and starts to climb. An unassuming sign points the way down a single lane road to Kóttes, a charming fishing village with a harbour and a couple taverns. These taverns rely on local fishermen to bring freshly caught seafood each day—the meals they serve literally could not be fresher or more locally-sourced.

From Kóttes the road climbs steeply, with a small gazebo near the top inviting travellers to stop and enjoy the view—and what a view it is, highlighting just how peacefully empty the south of Pélion is, set against the persistent soundtrack of cicadas.

Panoramic view of southern Pélion from near Tríkeri

At the top of the hill is Tríkeri, a tiny town of 1,000 with endless footpaths but only a couple of roads, the houses forming concentric rings around the hilltop. With only a few shops and taverns, a post office, a pharmacy and a handful of Orthodox churches, the village has an almost secluded, island feel to it, with panoramic views in all directions. The area is supported by olives grown in the surrounding hills and a marble quarry to the east.

Continuing on from Tríkeri, the road descends through endless groves of meticulously planted olive trees—the colours are overwhelmingly hues of gold and green against the blue skies above and the turquoise waters below.

At the bottom of the hill—the end of the road, so to speak—is Agía Kyriakí, the village which hosts Tríkeri’s port and is home to several excellent taverns, with seating right on the docks. The friendly residents warmly welcome visitors to enjoy their little village with its terracotta roofs, whitewashed buildings and brightly coloured shutters and doors.

The small car park can only accommodate about 12 cars and is often full, leaving drivers to tempt fate and play the exciting game of ‘How well do you know your car’s width’—parallel parking as close as possible to the sheer edge of the docks to avoid blocking traffic on the narrow road. And, obviously, with no guardrails to prevent you from plunging into the harbour.

Specialties of Pélion include spetzofái (the definitive Pélion dish—a gorgeous stew of peppers, tomatoes and loukániko, a local sausage flavoured with orange and cumin), fasolátha (white bean, celery and carrot soup), hilopítes (egg noodles) with crab or lobster, tsitsíravla (wild pistachio greens), krímata (samphire), kolitsiánoi (battered sea anemone), boubári (a sausage stuffed with rice, beef and offal), almond baklavá, kopanistí (feta and roasted pepper dip) and glykó tou koutalioú (spoon sweets—immature nuts in their husks, citrus peel, apricots, figs, watermelon rind, sour cherries, even aubergine, mushrooms, jasmine flowers or rose petals, pickled and preserved in a clear, thick sugar syrup).

The tavern food is simple, fresh and delicious—seafood caught earlier in the day seasoned with lemon, sea salt and local olive oil, boiled wild greens freshly picked from the surrounding hills, fried potatoes, courgette balls, and simple salads such as tuna, pepper and onion. There’s something for all tastes and everything is perfectly seasoned to highlight the individual ingredients.

Most of the taverns are family-run with, more often than not, grannies cooking away in the kitchen, and their children and grandchildren tending to the guests. You can never go wrong sticking your head in the kitchen and letting these hardworking people know how much you enjoyed their food—their faces will light up and they will be really touched that you took the time to give them recognition and express your appreciation. Culturally, cooking is love in Greece, so make the effort, even if your language skills are limited to a simple efharistó (thank you)—it will be so appreciated.

Tavern seating on the dock in Agía Kiriakí

A surprise dinner guest waiting hopefully for a wayward piece of squid to fall to the ground

Sat at a table at the edge of the docks, the waves gently splashing up against the concrete, I enjoyed a grilled butterflied squid, served simply with an olive oil and lemon dressing, and a bean and pepper salad on the side. A typically local meal like this runs around €5—to round it out, for a few euros more, I added some fried potatoes and boiled wild greens. The quality and simplicity of the dishes enjoyed in the freshness of the warm sea air, comes together to create an unequalled atmosphere of peacefulness and wellbeing.

Overhead in a tree, one of Greece’s renowned feral cats observes hopefully, waiting for a wayward piece of squid to fall. These are not picky felines—even a bit of potato is gratefully received. Occasionally one will take a shine to you, coming up for a scratch behind the ears, but most will stay at arm’s length. Like the local people, the feral cats of Pélion seem to have weathered out austerity from the financial crisis remarkably well—living by the fishing docks doesn’t hurt, either. They are healthy and friendly, unlike the desperately scrawny cats you see, all too often, elsewhere in the country.

Technically there is a road running through Agía Kiriakí—however, ‘road’ is a bit of a generous term, as it is less than two metres wide in parts, with walls on either side. The village was never designed to accommodate cars—it was built around footpaths. Anything much larger than a city car simply will not fit, leaving you with a 15-kilometre drive to travel the 400 metres to the other side. Of course this isn’t an issue if you’re cycling or riding a motorbike but, if you’re travelling by car, smaller is better. Once through, the road widens up and carries on northeast, joining up with the main road near Kóttes.

A roadside shrine marking the southernmost point in Pélion, just east of Agía Kiriakí

Squeezing out the other side of Agía Kiriakí, the landscape becomes rocky and barren as the road reaches the southernmost point of Pélion. An Orthodox shrine, known as a kantiláki, marks the location, its colours mirroring the sea, sky and clouds. The Greek flag, in the same shades, flutters overhead—this is a perfect spot to have a seat and reflect in silence, taking in the endless views with the hills of Eúboea in the distance.

Carrying on, the road comes full circle and, heading back north, it’s necessary to retrace your steps for a while, as this is the only route until Milína. Further along, reaching Argalastí, another road runs east to Páltsi, known locally as Ágios Konstantínos, a quiet beachside village of only 100 residents, surrounded by lush, almost jungle-like greenery.

Even in the height of summer, on weekdays the sandy beach is nearly devoid of people—the view is breathtaking with rocky hills covered in shrubbery, the island of Skiáthos in the distance, and the looming cliff face at the south end of the beach. A perfect spot for a picnic, a swim, or a lounge in the sun—those without Mediterranean or darker skin will find high-SPF sun cream a prudent investment.

Behind the beach are a handful of taverns and guesthouses, but Páltsi is a quiet, peaceful retreat—even the waters are usually calm, as the cove provides a natural barrier from the Aegean winds.

With afternoon making its way into evening, it was time to head the 13 kilometres back toward Argalastí to ultimately continue north to Vólos. After an initial climb with several hairpin corners, the road is easy and travels through rolling hills of wild herbs and olives. From the centre of the peninsula, it is only about 12 kilometres in either direction to reach the Aegean Sea or the Pagasetic Gulf, and these can often be seen in the distance.

Panoramic view from the centre of the southern Pélion peninsula with the Aegean Sea in the distance

A small grove of evergreens frames another Orthodox shrine along the way. A popular assumption is that these shrines memorialise those who have died in crashes and, in many cases, this is true. However, shrines are also built to invite travellers to rest or pray during a long journey—and others as offerings to publicly give thanks to a saint for miraculous intervention following a near miss.

Looking through the glass door, shrines will traditionally have an icon or card with the image of the relevant saint staring back at you, along with a candle or a small olive oil lamp gently flickering. Occasionally, you may find a photograph of the person who died, or small trinkets and memorabilia.

Underneath or beside the shrine is often a compartment with spare candles or olive oil, and a lighter or book of matches, so the flame can be relit easily. Some shrines are tended by the family of the victim, others by passers-by who’ve noticed that the candle or lamp had gone out and those near villages are often looked after by the villagers.

As the road approaches Vólos, the quiet villages and open landscapes fade from the rearview mirror. The buildings become denser and traffic heavier. Reaching the city limits, it’s difficult not to feel a bit sad about getting back to normality.

Whether you visit Pélion for a day or for a month, the purity and charm of the region stays with you and leaves you feeling soothed, relaxed and energised. Its slow-paced demeanour hides an incredibly rich culture where tradition is instrumental to its continual survival. The more you scratch the surface, the more this becomes evident—and the more this magical place calls to you to return.

Tips for visiting Pélion

Communication

In hotels and restaurants/taverns you’ll usually find people who can speak some English—but it’s good manners to learn a few Greek words, such as:

Γειά σου (YA-sou): hello/goodbye
Ευχαριστώ (ef-hah-ri-STO): thank you
Παρακαλώ (pa-ra-ka-LO): please/you’re welcome
Καλημέρα (ka-lee-MEH-rah): good morning
Καλησπέρα (ka-lee-SPEH-rah): good afternoon
Καληνυχτα (ka-lee-NICH-tah): good night
Ξενοδοχειο (xe-no-tho-HEE-oh): hotel
Εστιατόριο (es-tee-ah-TOR-ee-oh): restaurant
Ταβέρνα (tah-VER-nah): tavern
Παραλία (pa-ra-LEE-ah): beach
Νοσοκομείο (no-so-ko-MEE-oh): hospital

If you’re visiting from within the EU, you can roam using the included minutes/texts/data of your plan in any other EU country—but it’s a good idea to check with your carrier for the specific details, such as any limits.

If you’re visiting from outside the EU, buy a local pay-as-you-go SIM to pop into your (unlocked) smartphone to avoid roaming charges. You should be able to get around 10 gb of data for €10.

Getting around

The closest airport is Néa Anchiálos National Airport (VOL)—20 minutes’ drive from Volos. The airport is served by easyJet, Austrian Airlines, Condor, Transavia and Enter Air. After landing, planes pull up parallel to the terminal (there is no pushback service) and you walk across the airfield to go in. There is a car hire counter but reservations must be booked in advance, as the cars are brought in from offsite. You could also fly into Thessaloniki (SKG) or Athens (ATH) but these are a two- or three-hour drive, respectively.

Pélion is rural and public transport is not comprehensive or easy, particularly if you don’t have a good grasp of the language. Many out-of-the-way, unspoiled areas of Pélion either have no service or extremely limited service—like once a week. A heritage train runs from Áno Lechónia to Meliés at weekends and holidays from April to October (daily in July and August) but this is more of a scenic tourist attraction than a practical mode of transportation.

The best way to explore Pélion is by car. Hire a small car—for so many reasons—something in the city car class such as a Renault Twingo, Hyundai i10, Kia Picanto, Volkswagen Up, Fiat Panda, Suzuki Jimny etc. These are light, agile vehicles—much more manageable and comfortable to fling around the narrow, twisty roads. Most villages were built long before cars and some have streets as narrow as two metres. Fuel is expensive in Greece and smaller cars use less. And most people drive small cars in Greece, so you will not be seen as ostentatious, particularly during times of austerity in the country. The driving skills of Greeks are mixed, so ensure you drive attentively and defensively at all times—it’s not unheard of to find an oncoming car half in your lane when coming out of a blind corner, or even a cow or goat in the road. Most cars have manual transmissions—automatics are generally by special request only, so be aware of this when you book. And make sure you have an international driving permit (IDP) if you’re not an EU resident—if you get stopped by the police and don’t have one, you can be fined €1,000.

If you don’t drive, some taxis can be hired at a day-rate, or you can try to find accommodation with a pick-up and drop-off service. Cycling is a good way to get around but ensure you are fit enough to cope with the hills and climate—and you should have a reasonable amount of road riding experience. Hiring a motorbike or scooter is also a great option, although it’s important to resist the urge to ride in shorts and flip-flops. Wear at least a minimum of protective gear, which means a helmet, sturdy jeans and a jacket, even if the weather is hot—it could quite literally save your skin (and your life).

If possible, avoid travelling from Vólos on Friday afternoons or Saturday and Sunday mornings, and to Vólos on Friday, Saturday and Sunday evenings—while Pélion itself never feels busy, the road in and out can be jammed up, as city-dwellers escape for a bit of peace.

Eating, drinking and sleeping

Most restaurants and virtually all hotels take debit and credit cards and contactless payments, but it’s still a good idea to carry some cash on you—Pélion has very few ATMs and they often run out of money, especially at weekends. If in doubt, ask before you order.

Like anywhere, restaurants and taverns full of locals will generally have the best of the local cuisine. Avoid places full of people who are obviously tourists, as these often serve mediocre food in an attempt to cater to the broadest possible range of tastes. Pélion is all about fresh seafood, spetzofái (pepper and sausage stew), traditional fare such as lemon-roasted chicken with potatoes and street food like gyros and souvláki—this is not the place for pizza or chow mein!

Most taverns offer 50ml bottles of oúzo or tsípouro with a bucket of ice and a glass for €7–10. Each order will typically come with four mezze which can include anything from fried fish, stewed vegetables, steamed greens or dolmáthes (stuffed vine leaves), to fried saganáki cheese, hummus and pitta, grilled octopus or squid. At the end of the meal, the waiter/waitress will often bring out a kérasma—a complimentary small dessert, such fresh fruit or a sweet. Tipping is not required but you will almost certainly be better off than your waiter/waitress so, if the service was good, leave a few euros in cash.

The Greeks enjoy an occasional drink but it is socially unacceptable and in extremely poor taste to be drunk and unruly in public. Don’t bother driving if you’ve been drinking—the legal limit is 0.05% BAC, which is just over half the limit of the UK/US/Canada. For motorcyclists and scooter riders it's 0% BAC, as in zero, none. Police in Greece can stop you without cause and require you to take a breathalyser test—if you are over the limit, you will be fined from €200–2,000 and possibly jailed. Compounding this, your insurance will be automatically invalidated, which potentially means another €500 fine and losing your licence for 10 days. Don’t risk it—if you break the law, your consulate isn’t going to want to know and won’t be able to help you anyway.

Even in 2019, many (non-chain) hotels in Greece are not on any booking websites. I’ve never found a need to book ahead, even in high season, so you could try your luck on apps like Booking.com, Hotels.com etc but you’ll probably have more success asking around for hotels in the area. Expect to pay €25–35/night for a 2-star hotel.