Photo: Thomas Gravanis
Trading the tourist trail for a peaceful paradise
Like a great action movie that cuts straight to the chase, we’re struck by knockout views almost as soon as we start our trek up the forested northern slopes of Penteli (or Mount Pentelicus, as it’s also called).
The wide stony trail hugs the mountain edge, falling away to an expansive landscape that’s worlds away from hectic Athens. Beneath us, the valley rolls towards the sea in an emerald sweep of pines, dotted with the terracotta-topped villas of Penteli. We can see as far as the sandy beaches of Schinias on Marathon Bay and Evia island.
“You’d never think you were in Athens,” says my friend Jamila, a fellow hiking nut. “It feels more like we’re in northern Europe.”
Mount Penteli is one of the four ranges that cradle Athens and at 1,006 metres, is the second highest summit after Mount Parnitha. On this sunny spring morning, we’ve driven about 40 minutes from the city-centre to rendezvous with Stephanie and Archelaos from Nefeli Nine, a retreat company that now does guided mountain hikes around Athens on ancient storied trails.
Penteli marble has long been prized for its purity. The marble quarries here operated from around the 6th century B.C. until the 1940s and yielded the vast bulk of the material used to build the Acropolis and the ancient city of Athens.
Today, we’re headed for the Dionysos open-air marble museum, a reconstruction complete with crumbling miner’s shacks, tool sheds and dramatic scree mounds, to drive home this mountain’s mighty marble legacy.
But as they say, the journey is just as key as the destination.
During the four hours or so we are up here, we encounter totally different landscapes; from gorgeous open panoramas and austere quarries to woodland meadows carpeted with wildflowers (and rare butterflies). There’s also a delightful trio of storybook chapels the size of Wendy houses, decorated with holy icons, and springwater taps where we top up our bottles with sweet mountain water.
It’s also about what we don’t see. As in other people. Barring a few faded red markings on rocks, Penteli is not a sign-posted route. It helps keep the crowds at bay.
“This past year, during lockdown, this place has been a godsend for me,” says Steph. “I often come up here on a Saturday morning and don’t see another soul.”
A rock and a hard place
After about 45 minutes, we emerge into a natural clearing backed by an imposing wall of multi-coloured marble rock. This is the climbing section of Penteli. Known as Dionysos, it’s among the most popular in Attica (wider Athens) and one of the few places in Greece where you can pit yourself against sheer marble precipices around 15-20m high. With names like “Psycho Killer” etched onto the sun-baked rock to christen individual lines, Dionysos is clearly not for the shaky of soul. Or grip.
“It is difficult climbing,” admits experienced climber Archelaos with a twinkle in his eye. “That’s because of the way marble rock breaks; it’s not like granite. It’s pretty but slippery.” But climbing on marble is very special too, he says.
“You can’t find it anywhere else. Every Proti Maiou (May Day in Greece), all we local climbers have a big feast and party right here in this spot, with lots of music and wine.”
Marble marvels
We’re standing at the mouth of a steep ramp-like track scattered with marble shrapnel. The path plunges like a black ski-run towards the lush foothills below.
“This is the platform they used to send marble blocks the size of a car down the mountain. They’d tie them up with cables; then release them slowly on ropes,” Archelaos enlightens us.
I try (and fail) to visualise the Herculean Endeavour of shifting all those mammoth marble bricks from here to the Parthenon building site, some 25 kilometres away.
Next, we stop near the stony reconstruction of what looks like an open-air “staff canteen” built into the sloping quarry, adjacent to the old tool construction area. Archelaos gestures to a large marble block scored with deep grooves.
"I try (and fail) to visualise the Herculean Endeavour of shifting all those mammoth marble bricks from here to the Parthenon building site, some 25 kilometres away."
“That’s where they would place the dynamite to break up the rock in modern times. In ancient Greece, they soaked flints in water and stuck them into holes where they would expand and break up the marble.”
Many of Penteli’s quarry workers hailed from Paros island. The Parians were good workers, apparently, and had a knack with marble (the legendary Venus de Milo was sculpted from Paros marble).
The Dionysos marble museum isn’t really a museum in the strictest sense. There are no maps or organised exhibits. It’s more of an atmospheric theatre set, built atop the retired ancient quarry to represent everyday working life.
We continue up the steady incline; marble debris clinking musically underfoot, like pebbles knocking together on a shore.
A forager’s fantasy
It turns out that our Archelaos is also a whiz at botany (and runs a blog about Greek Plant Stories). He’d be a handy person to be stranded on a mountain with.
As we walk, he pauses frequently to identify fascinating specimens of Penteli flora: the ever present pines responsible for the world-famous retsina wine; the springtime blossoms (violet anemones and wild irises). And my personal favourite, the sassy orchids (orchid italica) whose tiny pink leaves unfurl in the shape of funny little men.
We also pick up some useful medicinal smarts.
“Here’s some Valeriana,” says Archelaos, crouching over a clump of green leaves yet to flower. “The roots are great for inducing sleep. You make it into a tea. It smells like crazy but the cats love it. It’s like catnip to them.”
“And this plant here,” now, he holds up a small green leaf with five distinctive veins, “is good for skin rashes. Or if you get stung by a bee.”
The best sightings though are the edible ones. Like the dense green horta leaves that are the antioxidant-rich staple of every Greek taverna (“you just boil them for 5 minutes, and serve them with olive oil, lemon and sea salt); and the abundant wild sage that scents the air around us. Wild sage has a stronger taste, evidently, and more oils than the sage you buy at a supermarket.
The grand prize, we all agree, is the wild asparagus that Archelaos plucks from a spiky, spindly bush for us to take home in our backpacks. Without his expert knowledge, I would have walked right past this humble-looking plant, none the wiser.
Picnic at hanging rock
We arrive at the highest point of the museum, a dramatic stone eyrie about 700 metres above the ground with poetic views of mountain and sea (and tantalising glimpses of Lake Marathon). It’s barely noon but all this talk of edible nature has made us peckish.
Steph has packed a scrumptious morning tea of choc-dipped date and pistachio balls, and energy bars with apricot, pecan, oats and nut butter—all made by her. (Usually, her Athens hikes coincide with lunch, so you’re more likely to score one of her picnic boxes with vegan eats like grain and bean salad with feta, fresh herbs, tomato and avocado or hummus.)
“All our food is based around the Blue Diet and pulled from Greek and Lebanese cuisine,” says Steph. “So lots of thyme and oregano and toasted sesame.”
After we’ve eaten, she shows us an eye-catching landmark just below our picnic spot. A nest of silvery marble bricks forms a circular recess in the ground and the view is equally awesome.
“Wouldn’t this make the perfect spot for a hot tub?” says Steph wistfully.
What’s the verdict?
A well-priced experience that offers a total Athens gear shift. I often hike around Greece but it was a real luxury having an experienced guide do all the heavy lifting. We could relax and soak up the history—and those insane views—without worrying about getting lost! And Steph’s homemade treats? Heaven!
- Duration: 4-5 hours
- Cost: €45 per person (includes meal)
- Time: Depends on season