We rose, ate and skedaddled early that morning, so by mid-morning we had crossed the Gulf of Corinth into the Peloponnese. Victor shared a bit about the Rio-Antirrio Bridge as we drove, claiming it as an engineering marvel – spanning the Gulf of Corinth and symbolizing modern Greece with its seismic-resilient design.

Diakopto to Kalavryta via cog railway

The first stop of the day was a steep, scenic cog railway ride from Diakopto to the historic town of Kalavryta. Grabbing our day packs, we boarded the train. Our ride climbed through the narrow Vouraikos Gorge, passing waterfalls, dramatic limestone cliffs, caves, and a few very determined hikers.

We spotted a rather incongruous pair of men just outside the tunnel we’d emerged from – doubled over, hands braced on their knees, red-faced, sweaty, and gasping for air beside the tracks. It took us a moment to piece it together… apparently those tunnels weren’t designed to accommodate both pedestrians and our train at the same time. Those poor fellows must have had to sprint for it!

George, our bus driver, was waiting for us at the top. Loading back onto the bus, we carried on passing the historic hill with a massive white cross. It was here that we learned about the Massacre of Kalavryta, which took place on December 13, 1943.

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In retaliation for resistance activity, the German Wehrmacht first executed nearly 200 people from nearby villages. Days later, they assembled the men and older boys of Kalavryta and carried out a mass execution – nearly 500 lives taken in a single, calculated act of brutality. The women and children were forced into the town school, locked inside, and the building was set on fire. In an almost unfathomable flicker of grace amid such horror, they were able to escape the flames.

After Victor finished his solemn explanation of this event, the bus fell completely silent. No one shifted in their seats or spoke. We all seemed to be absorbing the weight of what had happened there – the loss, the grief, and the enduring sadness carried by the Greek people. The quiet felt shared and respectful, as if words would have diminished the moment. In that silence, it became clearer how such history has shaped Greek culture, infusing it with depth, resilience, and a profound sense of remembrance.

We drove on.

Eventually we had to slow down for a herd of sheep. I don’t know my farm animals, but their markings reminded me of the plastic toy Fisher Price farm sheep I had as a kid, with their little black faces, ears and feet.

I was genuinely surprised when I looked out the bus window next and saw signs for ski resorts. It had never crossed my mind that Greece offered skiing – my assumptions about this entire country were clearly so misinformed!

Lagkadia

Then we carried on to Lagkadia, high in the Menalon Mountains. We dropped our luggage where instructed, and practically leapt off the bus, needing to explore this incredibly picturesque village. Wandering its steep, cobbled alleys, we admired the stone-built homes with brilliant colored bougainvillea spilling over steps and windowsills. Shops were filled with handmade textiles, artisan cheeses, honeys and preserved fruits. Scott picked up some locally made wine in recycled plastic jugs. Won’t lie – it was not my favorite of this trip.

Lagkadia is known for its “hanging village” view. Clinging dramatically to a steep mountainside, the houses look like they’re literally defying gravity, dangling over the landscape – and yes, it absolutely lives up to the hype. After dinner, we decided to go UP (since we went down earlier) and discovered our hotel’s surprise bonus level.

At the very top, three staircases later was a fully glassed-in sunroom with a hot tub, a sauna, and lounge chairs just begging for a long linger. We could only imagine the daytime views – wall-to-wall valley drama.