Beaches, Ouzo, Ancient Ruins … and Skiing? Greece’s Lesser-Known Powder is Deep and Plentiful.

This article originally appeared on Ski Mag

When most people think of Greece, they conjure images of black-sand beaches, historic archeological sites, and Mediterranean meals washed down with glasses of ouzo or retsina wine. Few think of skiing. That's because most visitors to the southeastern European country don't know that 80 percent of Greece is mountainous--and home to 21 ski resorts.

Don't come expecting fancy resort skiing. The Greek financial crisis has certainly taken its toll on its ski industry. The lifts are generally outdated and often out of commission. However, as the Greek ski resorts are relatively unknown outside of Greece itself, there are almost no foreigners, and relatively few locals ski midweek.

Yet, when it comes to heart and soul, the Greek people rate five stars. Greece may be a land of empty pocketbooks and old lifts, but also a country filled with big and warm hearts. Their hospitality alone is reason enough for a visit--not to mention the saganaki and incredible olive oil. Their life philosophy is quite similar to that of an old ski bum like me: They do not live to work; they work to live. That is to say that their leisure hours--family time, good food, wine, dance, and music--are often a higher priority than money.

In Nikos Kazantkakis's immortal novel, Zorba the Greek, Zorba gives one of his many little lessons in philosophy. " . . . There is only one life for all men . . . there is no other . . . all that can be enjoyed must be enjoyed here."

With that in mind, I headed off to Athens with a couple of old friends in search of light powder, good people, tasty food, and a little adventure.

If you’re going to ski in Greece, Mt. Olympus is the iconic destination. As we approach the home of Zeus in the country's Thessaly region, we're treated to a light show of mythical proportions. There's not a cloud in the sky, and as the last rays of light shine on her majestic snow, Olympus transforms from snow white to a light shade of pink, then to a rose color, and finally to crimson.

The skiing on Mt. Olympus is truly unique. The lifts are operated by the military to train their mountain troops, but on weekends, it is open to the public. The entrance to the military base is surrounded by razor-wire fences, but beyond this rather intimidating entry is a beautiful world of snow. We show our passports to a soldier at the entry gate and sign in. From there, there’s about a 20-minute hike to reach the lower of two surface lifts; the walk is a bit inconvenient, but the use of the ski lifts is free of charge.

Despite the unbeatable price, there are fewer than 100 visitors, and about half of them are soldiers getting their first ski lessons. Hopefully, they don't get sent to war anytime soon against any mountainous countries.

Wasting little time, we head up the 1,500 vertical feet to the top of the upper lift. There is plenty of boot-top powder on either side of the piste, and nobody is making use of it. We spend the rest of the day leaving our signatures in the virgin snow.

Three hours east of Mt. Olympus is Vasilitsa, a lovely ski resort notable for its beautiful robola trees, a large species of pine which grows in odd, asymmetrical shapes between 5,200 and 7,200 feet of elevation. It's snowing hard, and the snow-laden branches bow down into the powder and give a fairytale look to the landscape. We weave our way between the robolas, playing amidst some small rocks and cliffs, and leave our tracks in 16 inches of fresh snow all over the mountain.

A couple hours’ drive from Vasilitsa, almost en route to our next ski destination, Kalavryta, sits the amazing monasteries of Meteora. This wonder of the world merits a one-day pause from skiing. Meteora is a group of bizarre rock formations that rise up to 1,300 vertical feet above the village of Kalambaka. Atop these perpendicular rock walls are perched ancient monasteries that date as far back as the 12th century. It is difficult to decide whether man's or God's creation is more impressive, but it is certain that Meteora is well worth a visit.

Our final destination, Kalavryta, is located 120 miles east of Athens. The skiing is not free, but in Kalavryta, we actually get a room with breakfast plus a lift pass for 30 Euros a day--about $33 as of press time. In most ski resorts in Europe, even a budget skier would have to pay at least four times that amount. In Vail or Aspen, that is the cost of breakfast alone.

It's a weekday, and there are about 60 cars in the parking lot. The snow depth at the base of the lifts is seven feet. Spyropoulos Leonitas, the mountain manager, explains to us that the season usually goes from late December to mid-April--on natural snow.

The upper mountain in Kalavryta is home to a lot of difficult off-piste terrain, all above treeline, while the lower half of the ski area offers some excellent tree skiing where the snow is more protected from the wind. The tree descents are Spyro's favorites, and he takes us on a few runs in the forest to show us around.

The wind is howling up high, and the snow is falling horizontally, but in the trees, it's calm. For the next few hours, we slither and glide through the powder in the forest, making a new track on every descent, and we never see another soul.

There’s always time for apres-ski, and on the way down to town, we stop at a roadside stand for a drink. This random and seemingly insignificant decision led to a chain reaction of hospitality that probably could only happen in Greece. It all began innocently enough, as we ask the young ladies behind the counter if they have any ouzo. They do not, but instead, dole out a free sample of what we soon learn is a typical Greek apres-ski drink called rakomelo. We are told it is made from honey mixed with raki--an anise-flavored alcohol--and additionally spiced with cinnamon or other herbs.

Feeling quite pleased with our powder day and free drinks, we break into an acapella rendition of our theme song--Country Roads--which in turn results in a Greek local, Giorgos, calling out "Yamas" and toasting us.

After that, the rest of the afternoon and evening is a rather hazy blur. As best I can recall, the girls compensate for our song with a gift of sandwiches and more rakomelo, and before we know it, Giorgos gestures that we should follow him home for a full dinner. Who are we to argue with Greek hospitality?

This is only the start. Giorgos speaks very few words of English, but we communicate with ouzo, music, dance, and laughter. One of his friends begins grilling meat in the living room fireplace, and soon large portions of potatoes, olives, feta cheese, and rose wine are placed in front of us to accompany the meat.

I think for a moment about the Greek financial crisis--which has seen the German banks impose austerity measures on the Greek economy. After this food, wine, and joy-filled trip, one thing is very clear: I would rather spend my time skiing with the locals in Greece than with a group of German bankers in Switzerland. And I think to myself, Zorba must have been a skier.

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