Greece’s mountainous profile hides numerous villages that are perfect for a winter break–easily combined with hikes, skiing, or just lazy hours spent by the fire enjoying the view along with good company and good food. One village that combines all this with a beautifully preserved rustic setting is Metsovo. Diana Porter offers her view.

I’d always thought that if I could stand at the top of the world, then I would gaze down at it. But standing at Katara, a pass some 1,750 meters high in the Pindus mountains, I saw nothing below–not even a sheer drop. It’s as if the world was, indeed, flat and everything–or rather, nothing–was located on the on the plane on which I stood.

I can only imagine why or how Katara, which in Greek means “curse”, got its name. The altitude makes the road treacherous even in summer. But ever since the motorway was completed, there’s less traffic through the pass as the new route is quicker.

But speed be damned: who wants to rush across a landscape such as that of the Greek mountains.

It wasn’t until my first late autumn trip to Greece that I felt the mountains. The violent edges of the country’s profile had only existed in geography books and guides before then; in both my conscious and subconscious Greece was swathed in the brilliant whites and blues of the Aegean. And though I had hiked or driven over peaks on the islands and the Peloponnese, the mountains hadn’t registered as more than a backdrop to the sea. But if you observe the terrain around you, it’s obvious that the mountains are as much of the landscape as the sea. Indeed, the Greek mainland and islands are shaped by more than 300 rock masses, with the Pindus massif forming the country’s backbone. With numerous ridges rising over 2,000 meters, then plunging into the sea, Greece’s mountains are famous for their biodiversity and beauty. After all, it was on a mountain, Olympus, that the Greek gods made their home.

The first time I felt the mountains was when traveling through Epirus. I had flown from Athens directly to Ioannina to meet friends, and after spending a very pleasant week with them that included a trip to the Zagorohoria, I decided to explore the region further. I would set off on my own and gradually make my way, via KTEL bus, to Thessaloniki where we would meet, in a week, to drive down to Athens. I don’t know if it was the claustrophobia induced by the old buses or the detachment that comes from traveling alone, but after a couple of days I found the mountains overwhelming. Here I was, in the purest mountain air–as almost everyone I encountered emphatically informed–yet I was having trouble breathing. It was then that I understood: you need to know Greece’s mountains to understand Greece.

Greeks have always seemed impulsive and open, as free and flowing as the sea. Yet there’s also a chary side to the Greek collective psyche–an introversion born from the instinct for self-preservation during successive waves of occupation. During these times, it’s the mountains that have provided retreat and it’s from the mountains that Greeks have waged their battles–in modern times against the Ottomans and later the Nazis. And the Pindus range, which rises in splendid isolation along the length of western Greece, has been at the forefront of these struggles.

Countless villages and towns huddle in the Pindus, but among them Metsovo stands out. It’s not just its location, or architecture, or rich folk tradition as the center of the Vlachs–but all of these. Metsovo survived and has thrived largely because it claims the origins of several important national benefactors who also showered their benevolence on their home village. Of course, throughout its history, Metsovo has been privileged. Likely founded sometime in the early fourteenth century as a settement of shepherds, Metsovo was strategically located in the mountain passages to Ioannina. In return for guarding that passage, the village basked in the benevolence of successive sultans during Ottoman rule who granted Metsovo and a cluster of surrounding villages autonomy. This benevolence allowed Metsovo to become a center for Greek education and enlightenment with the location there of an important school in 1700. But it was also the school’s presence and activities that likely led to this status being revoked in the late eighteenth century. After the Greek independence revolt broke out in 1821, Metsovo came under attack from the Ottoman forces. Though destroyed in 1854, the village rebounded quickly after its liberation in 1912 thanks to infusions of money from its wealthy expats.

Geographically, Metsovo spills over a westernfacing slope along the Ioannina-Trikala national road. It’s a sizeable settlement and the entire municipality–which includes three other villages, among them Anilio (named for its location on a shaded slope that receives less sunlight–and an official population of some six thousand. From a slight distance, the village seems like most other mountain villages, albeit a little larger–a jumble of slanted red-brick roofs mingling with the greenery. Up close, Metsovo is not. The town vibrates with the bustle of tour buses–Greek and foreign daytrippers come to enjoy the traditional color so care-fully maintained, from the frequent exhibitions of folk dances in the main square to local specialties such as pies and hand-rolled noodles to the famed Metsovo cheese.

Given Metsovo’s origins as a shepherds’ settlement, it is hardly surprising that local industry revolves around dairy production. For this, and the appellation-controlled metsovone cheese, locals have the Tossizza family to thank–and especially the Baron Mihail Tossizza Foundation which founded and runs the creamery that is at the heart of the town’s economy. Opened in 1958, it produces the log-shaped semi-hard smoked cheese associated with Metsovo. To hear the cheesemakers rattle off the process for making and smoking the cheese, you’d think it’s easy but they’ve refined their techniques and their expertise over several years. You have to watch how long you leave the cheese in brine, how long it matures, and how it is smoked. The secret to the latter, I’m told, is using branches from local vines and aromatic shrubs. Rows of the pale brown logs hang at an open-air shop on the main square and are picked up fresh by tourists along with other local cheeses, like a soft goat cheese, noodles, spoon sweets, and handwhittled walking sticks and decorative objects.

Sheep-breeding also spawned the town’s other industry–textiles. Metsovo is known for both the quality of its wool as the intricacy and design of the motifs in woven rugs, bed covers, and other items. These motifs are typically set against a monochromatic background–black, red, blue but seldom white. Natural dyes are used to color the wool, which fades beautifully and adds to the value of each piece.

If it weren’t for the bell-towers, Metsovo’s churches wouldn’t be distinguishable from other structures. Ayia Paraskevi, from the rear, looks like a large house, complete with two rows of windows. Ayii Pantes, which rises on the rim of the town’s lower district, likewise resembles a large farmhouse, while Ayios Haralampos in the southeastern neighborhood nearby looks like a stone cottage at the edge of an shaded square. This was likely deliberate, an effort to camouflage churches from the Ottomans’ view.

Lovely in spring, Metsovo feels out of season in summer–although the mountains offer wonderful respite from the heat. But the best to truly get a sense of place is late autumn, when the peaks pierce the clouds which slip down to cover the slopes. It’s those early days of winter, when the chill has a light bite and the smell of wood burning in fireplaces first tickles your nostrils, that is best to visit Metsovo. This is the season for claiming a table at one of the tavernas around the square and tucking into a hearty meal of meat and home-made pasta, pies made from local cheese and wild green, and wine that sparkles with the light of a garnet. This is the season for hiking over the hills and breathing in the crisp freshness of the pine-scented air. It’s these days that a visit to a mountain village feels like you’re standing at the edge of the world–or on top of it.