Greeks don't hike. You'll hear this everywhere you go in Greece - usually from the locals themselves. They can't see the point, apparently; uses up too much beach time.

If that's the case then no one told Anna Diamantopoulou and her jovial group of trekking pole-wielding beginners. I encounter them on the steep stone path that snakes down into Vikos Gorge from the village of Monodendri. They're audible long before they're visible, excited chatter echoing up through the thickly forested slopes of the canyon. It's slick underfoot from the morning dew, and every inexpert manoeuvre or half-slip is greeted with a mini cheer.

Mountain leader Anna - in a neon orange T-shirt, her long dark hair plaited over one shoulder - is the back-stop for the 20-strong gaggle of hikers from Thessaloniki. She chats amicably as she walks. "Greeks traditionally don't hike, but that's starting to change," she tells me. "There's been a big shift since Covid, with people starting to realise how blessed we are with so many wonderful trails. But we're still miles behind other countries."

At that exact moment, there's a curt, German-accented "excuse me" from behind, and we're overtaken by a quartet of hikers, as synchronised in kit and movement as an Olympic cycling pursuit team. "See!" says Anna, with delight, as the foursome disappear down the path. "There's the cultural difference right there."

Vikos Gorge is the flagship hike in Zagori, and the only one that offers even a vague threat of crowds. Head out pretty much anywhere else on the network of narrow paths that lace together the area's 46 stone-built villages - known as Zagorohoria - and it'll likely just be you, your thoughts and the soporific whir of the cicadas.