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9 essential dishes to try on your next trip to Greece

9 essential dishes to try on your next trip to Greece

This article was produced by National Geographic Traveller (UK).
Greek food sings of the summer — it's best enjoyed outside, from mainland mountaintops to island beaches. Mezze spreads celebrate punchy purple olives, garlicky dips and herb-sprinkled cheese, while salads of sun-ripened tomatoes, tangy feta and fragrant oregano are perfect with just-landed grilled fish or slow-stewed legumes cooked in outdoor ovens following recipes that date back to antiquity. Here are the nine essential dishes to try when in Greece. Lily Bellos sits at her Corfu home in Benitses as she showcases her pastitsada, or 'la pastizzada', as the island's Venetian colonisers called it. It's a dish that's been representative of Corfu for hundreds of years. Photograph by Marco Argüello Pastitsada is slow-cooked meat — beef, rabbit, rooster or, on occasion, octopus — stewed in a deep-red tomato sauce for hours and flavoured with the island's signature spetseriko spice mix. Photograph by Marco Argüello Pastitsada, Corfu
Pastitsada or 'la pastizzada' as Corfu's Venetian colonisers called it, is a dish that's represented this Ionian island for hundreds of years. Slow-cooked meat — beef, rabbit, rooster or, on occasion, octopus — is served atop a pile of pasta after being stewed for hours in a deep-red tomato sauce flavoured with the island's spetseriko spice mix. This fragrant blend invariably contains cinnamon and cloves along with nutmeg, allspice, cumin and several more besides. Found across the island, pastitsada has a distinct flavour profile that scents the air, notably during Sunday lunch, its traditional foray.
Like many of the island's 'native' dishes, pastitsada can be largely credited to the Venetians who put Corfu on the spice trail more than 500 years ago when they colonised it, forging commercial ties with Dubrovnik — another Venetian outpost. With them they brought powdered red pepper — both sweet and hot — and should you travel to Croatia's Dalmatian coastline, you'll find the same dish, known locally as pašticada, served with gnocchi instead of pasta. Corfu's olives are a prized Greek crop and can be found in many mezze spreads. Photograph by Alamy, Marco Kesseler
Where to try it: The Venetian Well in Corfu Town, Klimataria on the coast, and Ambelonas, set on a hill around four miles from Corfu Town, each put their own spin on the dish.
Where to stay: The Olivar Suites in Messonghi has double rooms from €230 (£193), B&B, and a restaurant, Flya, with a menu of local produce and traditional dishes. Sfouggato, Lesvos
Eleni Chioti remembers her grandmother putting a pan on the brazier, embers glowing below, and preparing sfouggato to swiftly sate hungry stomachs at home. Today, as the founder of the Women's Cooperative of Petra on Greece's northeastern Aegean island of Lesvos, she oversees a team of cooks who dish out multiple servings of the nourishing, flourless dish of vegetables and cheese to holidaymakers.
While sfouggato needs plenty of eggs, the traditional Lesvian dish is neither an omelette nor a souffle, but more a velvety pie. At the cooperative's restaurant, set in the northern coastal town of Petra, the recipe is straightforward yet strict. Shredded courgette and spring or red onion are sauteed in olive oil. Local feta, graviera cheese, eggs and a dash of pepper are added. Elena throws in a few tablespoons of tarhana — cracked wheat with sheep's milk — for the sfouggato to retain volume and absorb juices. Chopped dill and spearmint are sprinkled in for aroma then the mixture is poured into a pan lined with a little crushed rusk and baked in the oven. Once it's ready to serve, she likes to garnish the dish with fresh courgette flowers.
Eleni remembers with great fondness the close friendships formed with guests over the years through the cooperative, established in 1983. 'The aim was to take women out of the home. You can't have equality if you don't have money,' she says.
Where to try it: At the Women's Cooperative of Petra sfouggato is served piping hot with a little grated graviera, the sfouggato at this warmly-welcoming dining spot is considered among the best in town. Walk-ins are fine for lunch while dinner reservations are highly recommended. Open from early April till about mid-October. Sfouggato costs €5 (£4.30) and lunch for two, including drinks, is around €30 (£26).
Where to stay: Archontiko Petras 1821, in Petra, is a romantic five-room boutique hotel housed in a stone-built mansion dating to 1821, where guests can enjoy a home-style breakfast often featuring sfouggato. Doubles from €106 (£88) per night, B&B. Craving skordalia? You can find it in Thessaloniki, home of the 15th century-built White Tower. Photograph by Getty Images, Panos Karapanagiotis Skordalia, Macedonia
This potent garlic dip dating to antiquity is served throughout Greece, but its most eclectic version is found in the northern Greek region of Macedonia. Here, skordalia is traditionally made with walnuts – which have become a rarity due to rising costs. If you do find the dish done this way, it's most likely to be in the regional capital, Thessaloniki, at the fish tavernas of Kalamaria or the tapas bar-like mezedopolia of Ladadika. In Athens, chef Konstandina Stavropoulou says she considers walnut skordalia — on the menu at her fish taverna Thalassinos — to be exceptional. 'When crushed, walnuts release essential oils that balance out the flavours of the garlic and olive oil,' she says. 'It has quite a robust taste.'
Today, however, across Greece the recipe usually combines garlic, olive oil, salt, and lemon or vinegar, with either boiled potatoes or stale white crustless bread. And skordalia is inextricably linked with Greek Independence Day, celebrated on 25 March, when it's served with bakaliaro – crisp-fried salt-cured Atlantic cod.
Where to try it: Sample loukoumades-style cod with two types of skordalia — walnut and beetroot — at Thessaloniki restaurant, Maiami.
Where to stay: Matriarch Mrs Loulou pairs walnut skordalia with fried cod, mussels or courgettes at Akroyiali, the seaside taverna dating to 1924 that forms part of family-run Hotel Liotopi, in northeastern Halkidiki. The dish is also a staple of the monks on Halkidiki's Mount Athos. Doubles from €131 (£109) half board. Many know mastiha as a digestif but, in Chios, its bitter-sweet, herbal flavour has long enhanced local desserts and pastries. Photograph by Getty Images; Iremtastan Masourakia, Chios
On Greece's northeastern Aegean island of Chios, mastiha is king. Said since the fifth century BCE to aid digestion, this aromatic resin is gently coaxed by hand from mastic trees that grow in the south of the island. It has myriad uses, from chewing gum to face cream, while studies have found evidence of anti-inflammatory and antioxidative properties. Many know it as a digestif but, in Chios, its bitter-sweet, herbal flavour has long enhanced local desserts and pastries. And masourakia, buttered filo almond pastries, are by far the local favourite.
Anna Moniodi, born in the mastiha-producing village of Tholopotami, says home cooks created masourakia around 1965. And, soon enough, the filo-wrapped tubes of almond and mastiha found their way to patisseries like Moniodis, owned by her family.
'Masourakia are unique to Chios. You can't find them anywhere else,' Anna says. Due to their shape, they're believed to have taken their name from the Greek word for spool. 'Traditionally, masourakia were served to guests at weddings and baptisms with a glass of soumada, a local drink made from bitter almond. But it's really an everyday sweet,' she adds.
Chios has long been known for its excellent almonds, so it makes sense that many local sweets feature this ingredient. Masourakia are no exception. Anna offers three types of masourakia at Moniodis, all made with almond. Mastiha flavours the original version, while another has the addition of Chian thyme honey syrup, coated in a thick layer of finely chopped almond. Local mandarin adds zing to a third, equally popular version.
Where to try it: Take your pick from Moniodis' masourakia, which come individually wrapped, or sample all three flavours. Track them down at one of two locations in Chios town (at 26 Voupalou St and 4 Psychari St).
Where to stay: Pearl Island Chios Hotel & Spa, often offers sweet masourakia as a welcome at check-in. Doubles from €153 (£128) per night, B&B. This bakaliaros plaki recipe comes from Kalamata native Yiayia Niki, who has been making it this way for decades. Photograph by Marco Argüello Yiayia Niki's dish of bakaliaros plaki. Once known as the 'mountain fish' recipe, this dish can be tailored to vegans with an extra potato and red pepper in place of seafood. Photograph by Marco Argüello Bakaliaros plaki, Peloponnese
This simple baked fish sings of the flavours of Greece's Peloponnese peninsular. The native dish was once known as the 'mountain fish' recipe, due to the salt cod used, which used to be cheap and wouldn't spoil easily — perfect for those living far from the coast in the remote hills of this vast southern region. The cod is baked along with some tomatoes, onions, garlic, potatoes and red peppers, flavoured with fragrant bay leaves, oregano, cinnamon, allspice seeds and sweet Kalamata currants (dried grapes). A perfect balance for salty cod, the currents are a prized commodity in this particular region of Greece, which is better known worldwide for its purple-black Kalamata olives. For those who aren't a fan of this preserved fish, the dish can also be made with fresh cod fillets seasoned with salt. Peppery green Peloponnese olive oil, which is another essential ingredient and a staple in the region, is added during cooking and also in a dressing flourish to serve. And for vegans, the dish can be transformed into a plentiful plant-based meal by omitting the fish and adding some extra potato and red pepper. Either way, it's usually garnished with some chopped parsley and served with a slice of bread to soak up the juices.
Where to try it: On the west coast of the Peloponnese, in the village of Limeni, dine at either of the long-established neighbouring waterfront tavernas, Takis and Kourmas, while watching turtles splash about in the bay. These seafood restaurants have frequently changing menus, but often include various local baked and grilled fish dishes, from around €25 (£22).
Where to stay: Over on the far east of the Peloponnese peninsula, Kinsterna Hotel uses homegrown and local produce on the menus of its two restaurants — including in regional baked fish dishes. It also uses these in its lovely bathroom products, fragrant with olive oil and malvasia grapes, plus wines and tsipouro spirit are made in the estate's surrounding vineyards. Doubles from €180 (£154) B&B. Soufiko, Ikaria
Eleni Karimali fell into the business of cooking classes after her family abandoned Athens for the northeastern Aegean island of Ikaria. Here, at their winery and farmhouse, she teaches guests how to make local dishes including the satisfying vegan stew soufiko.
Ikaria is one of five places in the world where pioneering author Dan Buettner has studied why people live longer, healthier lives, many well into their 90s. His studies led to the concept of 'Blue Zone' cuisine, which revolves around fruits, vegetables, legumes and whole grains. Ikaria's organic plant produce is the cornerstone of its home cooking and is crucial to soufiko, a hearty, ratatouille-like stew of summer veggies.
'Our ancestors prepared high-quality, pure food, often without eggs or cheese because we didn't always have access to them,' explains Eleni. Legend has it that soufiko originated when an Ikarian woman threw some summer vegetables into a pot as an impromptu meal for her husband. She sauteed onions, garlic, potatoes, aubergine, courgette and tomato in olive oil, adding oregano, summer savoury herb and parsley. The story goes, says Eleni, that when the stew was ready, the woman was so taken with the result, she said to herself: 'Andra mou, na sou afiko, i na mi sou afiko?' (Dear husband, should I leave you some or not?).
Today, soufiko is among the dishes Eleni demonstrates to guests, using organic produce from the family's farm. 'I cut the vegetables lengthwise so they retain their shape,' she says, adding: 'Soufiko shouldn't be mushy.'
Where to try it: Mary Mary in Armenistis, an old school-meets-new restaurant, where chef Nikos Politis pays tribute to Ikarian tradition with tummy-warming soufiko paired with kathoura, a local goat's cheese.
Where to stay: Family-run Karimalis Winery comes complete with a guesthouse and restaurant serving exemplary Ikarian cuisine. Doubles from €70 (£58), B&B. Six-day all-inclusive stays from €1,478 (£1,235) per person. Revithada is a baked chickpea stew traditionally served on Sundays and made in a skepastaria, the small clay bowl dedicated to its cooking. Thanks to its rich clay deposits, Sifnos has become known as an island for ceramicists. Photograph by Marco Argüello 'When I was growing up, many of the men on the island were potters,' says Maro, owner of To Maro boutique apartments. 'That left the women to farm the land and the children at home to prepare dinner. That's how I learned to cook revithada myself, from the age of seven". Photograph by Marco Argüello Revithada, Chios
Thanks to its rich clay deposits, Sifnos is known as an island of ceramicists. Clay pots have been used to cook with for centuries resulting in dishes native to this wind-battered Cycladic isle, unique to the vessel in which they're slow-baked. None is more Sifnian than revithada — a baked chickpea stew traditionally served on Sundays and made in a skepastaria, the small clay bowl dedicated to its cooking.
Left in a wood-burning oven overnight, the ultra-soft chickpeas are infused with lemon and bay leaves, and these few ingredients achieve a perfectly comforting dish that sings with the zing of local citrus. Island cook Maro, owner of To Maro boutique apartments, stresses the importance of baking on a low heat for a number of hours. She makes hers, sometimes for guests in the garden outside the holiday rental in Kastro, over an open flame in her specially built outdoor oven.
'When I was growing up, many of the men on the island were potters,' says Maro. 'That left the women to farm the land and the children at home to prepare dinner. That's how I learned to cook revithada myself, from the age of seven. 'Even on a Sunday, our parents would leave the house by donkey to go out and work while the revithada baked slowly, until they returned home.'
This wholesome, hearty meal is often served with slice of myzithra or feta cheese, a couple of olives and hunk of bread.
Where to try it: To Steki, in the bay of Platis Gialos, serves revithada alongside other Sifnian claypot-baked dishes such as beef stewed in a rich red wine sauce. Set almost on the water, this favoured local spot has its own vegetable garden, which provides most of its organic produce.
Where to stay: To Maro has apartments from €45 (£38), room only. Verina Hotel Sifnos offers the opportunity to try your hand at the potter's wheel. The hotel organises classes in one of Sifnos's oldest clay pottery studios, alongside revithada cooking workshops. Doubles from €253 (£212) per night, B&B. Bougatsa, Thessaloniki
Philippos Bantis is one of Thessaloniki's few remaining bougatsa-makers. Take a short stroll from the northern Greek city's crumbling Byzantine fortifications, and you'll find him working at hole-in-the-wall Bougatsa Bantis, which has been supplying the breakfast staple for the best part of a century. The crisp phyllo pie filled with vanilla-spiked semolina custard, says Philippos, arrived with Cappadocian migrants in the population exchanges of the 1920s.
'My grandfather said they were always made in a wood-fired oven,' he says. 'The pie of the poor people, in Byzantine times, women made it at home for their husbands to take to work — something you don't see any more.'
There are probably only a handful of young bougatsa-makers these days, according to Philippos. 'To make a decent bougatsa you need to put in the time. It takes hours to make but doesn't have a shelf life of more than a day, so I suppose it's not the most cost-effective food item. The skill needed to make the phyllo exceptionally thin takes years or practice.'
A good bougatsa has layers thin as tracing paper. 'Traditional 'sketi' bougatsa ('plain') have no semolina in the dough and the phyllo is so thin, crisp and full of butter,' says Philippos. 'By far the most delicious in my opinion. You have to eat it hot out of the oven and always with a sprinkling of cinnamon and icing sugar.'
Where to try it: Bougatsa Bantis, at Panagias Faneromenis 33, Thessaloniki.
Where to stay: Stately boutique hotel On Residence has double rooms from €157 (£131) per night, including breakfasts featuring hand-made sweet and savoury pastries, northern Greek cheeses and locally sourced seasonal produce. Published in Issue 28 (summer 2025) of Food by National Geographic Traveller (UK).
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In front of us, I learn, are Tuta, daughter Kasper and interloper Arthur, who's likely hanging around in the hope of mating. Survey over, we quietly retreat, leaving them to find some shade as the mercury rises. Good weather for rhinos Guests at Desert Rhino Camp are able to have such unique experiences thanks to a project it runs with Save The Rhino Trust Namibia (SRT). For over 21 years, they've worked with the three communities within the conservancy, leasing land from them and sharing profits from the camp, as well as encouraging them to help with conservation efforts and to report any signs of poaching. SRT also trains and equips Palmwag's rangers, recruiting many of them from those same local villages. I meet the trust's director of field operations, Lesley Karutjaiva, as he's returning to his headquarters in the concession and Bons and I are out on a meandering drive. Leaning on his 4WD, neatly dressed in green shirt and trousers, he tells me that the SRT has trained 71 rangers, and anti-poaching efforts are improving. 'We have around 200 rhinos here,' he says as thunder rattles around us. 'But 500 would be a good number.' The deficit is not down to poachers. 'Our last good rain was in 2011,' Lesley explains. 'During extreme drought we lose many calves — the mothers don't have enough food to produce milk.' In better news, he tells me, Palmwag has received so much rainfall this year, it should see them through for another five. With theatrical good timing, the storm that has been threatening all afternoon finally breaks, raindrops hammering around us with sudden ferocity. Lightning spasms across a sky slashed red with the rays of the setting sun. 'Oh, this is very good weather for rhinos,' Lesley says with a broad smile as we retreat to our vehicles. 'We are all very happy.' The rain is quickly torrential. Puddles turn to little streams. Little streams turn to small lakes. Photograph by Jonathan Gregson The concession's low-intervention approach towards the wildlife on its land means the animals remain unhabituated to both vehicles and humans, and their natural instinct is to run away from both very quickly indeed. Photograph by Jonathan Gregson The rest of my time in Palmwag produces further very good weather for rhinos, and further rhino sightings. We spot Tuta, Kasper and Arthur as they plod along a dry river bed in the soft evening light, and again as they enjoy a roaming buffet of wild grasses on an early-morning stroll through the hills. Each time, they eventually catch our scent on the wind and take off for the horizon with a surprisingly dainty little trot. The concession's low-intervention approach towards the wildlife on its land means the animals remain unhabituated to both vehicles and humans, and their natural instinct is to run away from both very quickly indeed. But it's not a common strategy in the reserves of northern Namibia, as becomes clear almost immediately at my next stop. Coming into land after an hour-long, corkscrewing flight east from Palmwag, I already feel transported to another world. Nature swaggers here, lavishing the land with thick clumps of trees, the whitest sandy soil and vast turquoise pools of water. Humans have added the decorative touches of arrow-straight roads and fences. It's a 10-minute drive from the airstrip to the gates of Onguma, a privately owned reserve of more than 130sq miles on the edge of Namibia's landmark Etosha National Park. Those 10 minutes provide a bumper pack of wildlife sightings. A family of banded mongooses tumble and play metres from the vehicle; a male wildebeest strides nonchalantly past, so close I might lean out and touch him; a small herd of oryx, horns rising like spears, graze at the edge of a clearing; and a lilac-breasted roller perches on a termite mound as kori bustards strut through the grass behind. Nothing is running away here. Walk on the wild side I soon learn that close encounters are something of a theme at Onguma. While the reserve prioritises the welfare of its animals above all, it allows its human guests plenty of opportunities to quietly observe them at near quarters. At the exclusive lodge of Camp Kala, each of the four suites sits on a raised walkway overlooking a water hole, with hyenas and elephants coming in to drink as guests watch from their plunge pools. A custom-built Land Cruiser with a 'star bed' built over the cabin allows couples to spend the night out in the open, listening to the grunts of nearby lions as the Milky Way dazzles overhead. And a hide set partly beneath ground level allows its occupants to peer out at zebras and giraffes standing oblivious just metres away. The accommodation I'm heading to, however, has been open for barely a month, and the wildlife in the area is not yet accustomed to the new residents. With the sun setting and the bullfrogs croaking, my perennially cheerful guide Liberty Eiseb and I bump along a track towards Trails Camp. Liberty stops the vehicle to point out boot prints left in the sand beneath us by Onguma's anti-poaching unit, who patrol in pairs at night. Beside them are the tracks of a leopard. 'This is probably the leopard that comes into camp when we are sleeping,' he says. 'I hear it every night at 4am.' I can hardly blame it for calling in — Trails Camp is a mini Eden tucked within an acacia woodland, from where guests typically head out on walking safaris. Lantern-lit pathways lead to four safari tents, each with a wooden hot tub at the front and an outdoor shower at the back. When darkness enfolds the bush, the Southern Cross and Scorpio shine bright in the firmament of stars above. 'Here you get silence and you get adventure,' says Liberty with some glee before we both turn in for the night. A custom-built Land Cruiser with a 'star bed' built over the cabin allows couples to spend the night out in the open, listening to the grunts of nearby lions as the Milky Way dazzles overhead. Photograph by Jonathan Gregson While the reserve prioritises the welfare of its animals above all, it allows its human guests plenty of opportunities to quietly observe them at near quarters. Photograph by Jonathan Gregson After an undisturbed sleep, I find him sitting by the fire in the muted pre-dawn light, a blackened tin kettle sat within the embers. 'You see the bushman's TV is already on,' he says, gesturing to the flames. 'It always tells a good story.' He heard the saw-like calls of the leopard as it padded through at 4am and 5.30am. 'The animals need to get used to the camp, but they will,' he continues. 'The big leopard will soon be sitting in the trees around us.' With breakfast soundtracked by turtle doves crooning from those same trees, I could get used to the camp myself, but the bush waits for no one, and I set off with guide Tristan Lewis for a day's exploration. We're soon driving through a landscape pocked with water holes, with makalani palms towering above. Wildlife teems around us — the heads of giraffes appear above the umbrella thorns; elephants cross in front of us and instantly melt into the bush; African grey hornbills pick at termites; leopard tortoises bumble along the track; spotted hyenas skulk through the grass. 'Morning drives are my favourite,' says Tristan, his traditional safari uniform of beige shirt and shorts accessorised by a neat little moustache. 'Everything's fresh, everything's waking up.' Like Palmwag, Onguma has seen unprecedented rainfall, and it's changed the behaviour of the animals on the reserve. 'We usually have a little migration with the rain,' Tristan tells me as we stop to watch a herd of impalas chewing on grass, their black eyes fixed on the vehicle. 'Breeding groups go east because that's where the first rains usually fall. But they're finding rainwater everywhere now, so all the patterns are messed up.' The rain has messed up some of the tracks, too, and Tristan occasionally has to coax the Land Cruiser through deep, water-filled channels in the mud, or turn back and find another route. We're on the lookout for a pride of lions seen near the reserve's border with Etosha when one particularly troublesome puddle finally defeats us. After radioing in for a replacement vehicle, Tristan points to a pair of male white rhinos grazing some way in the distance. 'It's not so bad being stuck when you're stuck by rhino,' he says. 'Shall we go for a walk?' He collects his rifle and we quietly creep towards them over sandy soil scattered with lion paw prints. 'We've spent hours and hours with these rhinos,' Tristan whispers as we draw closer. 'We know their behaviour is relaxed. They're not like black rhinos — black rhinos are a handful.' We're 60 feet away when the two males finally become aware of our presence. Tristan motions me to crouch down and be quiet. 'They know we're here, now we give them time to decide what to do,' he says softly as they stand facing us. 'You can see they're curious.' After a few minutes trying to figure us out, one cautiously pads in our direction, head down, ears rotating. He's so close I can hear him breathing when Tristan slowly rises — the rhino instantly canters away. Over the next 30 minutes, the pair repeatedly amble towards us, only moving away when Tristan gently shifts his position. 'They're comfortable with us but we don't want them too close,' he murmurs, watching as they graze. 'They're wild animals and we want them to stay wild.' It soon feels completely natural to sit quietly in the sand, passing the day with animals each weighing up to 2.5 tonnes and sporting impressively long and pointy horns. 'It's nice when they let you into their space and they're not threatened by you,' Tristan says when the rhinos eventually decide to move on. 'You can share this incredible time with them.' It's a parting gift from the rains of Namibia — a vehicle stuck in the mud, a moment of pure magic. As we wander, slightly giddy, towards the guide who's come to pick us up, I'm reminded of something Bons had said to me as we sheltered from a storm in Palmwag: 'The rain is very good for everything — for nature, for animals, for us.' Getting there and around: Flights from the UK to Namibian capital Windhoek entail a stopover. South African Airways, British Airways and Virgin Atlantic fly via Johannesburg and Ethiopian Airlines flies via Addis flight time: prop planes fly to airstrips in Damaraland and Etosha, and are organised by your tour operator or accommodation. If driving, rent a 4WD from Windhoek's Hosea Kutako airport; it's seven hours to Desert Rhino Camp, and a similar time from there to Onguma and Etosha. When to Go: Wet season in northern Namibia falls between November and April, though rain doesn't fall each year and can be intermittent when it does. Dry season (May to October) is a good time for wildlife-viewing, with animals gathering at the few water sources. There's little temperature difference across the year, with highs of 25-30C and lows of 10-17. Where to Stay: Weinberg Hotel, Windhoek. From N$5,654 (£235). More info: How to do it: Africa specialist Yellow Zebra Safaris offers one night at Windhoek's Weinberg Hotel, three nights at Desert Rhino Camp and three nights at Onguma Camp Kala from £9,524 per person, including meals, drinks, safari activities, domestic flights and transfers, and international flights, plus the option to spend a night in the Dream Cruiser star bed. The same itinerary with the last three nights at Onguma Trails Camp (open April to September) costs £8,289. This story was created with the support of Yellow Zebra Safaris. Published in the September 2025 issue of National Geographic Traveller (UK). To subscribe to National Geographic Traveller (UK) magazine click here. (Available in select countries only).

Find a new reverence for Rome on a thousand-year-old pilgrimage to the capital
Find a new reverence for Rome on a thousand-year-old pilgrimage to the capital

National Geographic

time2 days ago

  • National Geographic

Find a new reverence for Rome on a thousand-year-old pilgrimage to the capital

This article was produced by National Geographic Traveller (UK). It's holy week and music is rising from the Chiesa di Santa Maria. First comes the slow sigh of baroque strings, then a wash of operatic harmony as a soprano and alto plunge into the opening lines of Pergolesi's Stabat Mater. Outside, a blood-orange sun is slipping behind the sage hills surrounding Vetrella, throwing a square of sunlight onto the church's frescoed walls: a honeyed beam that writes life into the eyes of every painted saint and martyr. I'm coming to the end of my first day on the Via Francigena and already I'm getting a sense of the trail's strange power — though I'm 12 miles closer to Rome than I was this morning, I appear to have stepped further back in time. In many ways, it stands to reason. After all, I've spent the morning tracing one of Lazio's ancient holloways — the sunken roads etched by the Etruscans sometime between 800 and 300 BCE and deepened over the centuries by the footfall of Roman legions, Frankish knights and modern-day pilgrims. After the concert, the congregation spills onto the lawn, where I get talking to blue-eyed Tiziano, who's travelled from the nearby town of Bracciano to be here. 'The springs surrounding this place made it a site of pilgrimage long before the church was built,' he explains, 'and yet most people pass it by without even noticing. For me, it's an overlooked masterpiece.' The same could be said of the Via Francigena itself — a quiet backroad compared to the bustling pilgrim highway that's Spain's Camino de Santiago. The key difference is that the former didn't begin life as a pilgrimage trail, but rather evolved into one, its network of roads originally serving as arteries between the Roman Empire and northern territories like Britannia. The sunken roads etched by the Etruscans sometime between 800 and 300 BCE were deepened over the centuries by the footfall of Roman legions, Frankish knights and modern-day pilgrims. Photograph by Gilda Bruno By the Middle Ages, any pellegrino (pilgrim) worth their communion wafer could be found traipsing towards Rome, where the spirit of St Peter was said to suffuse every root and rock. For the next few days, I'll be following in the footsteps of one such wayfarer: 10th-century archbishop Sigeric the Serious, no doubt a notorious party animal. In 990 CE, he travelled some 1,200 miles from Canterbury Cathedral to St Peter's Basilica — by way of France and Switzerland — to collect his official garment from the Pope. Handily, he documented his return trip, providing a blueprint for today's official Via Francigena route. Tackled in full it's a mammoth 100-day trek, so many pilgrims choose to walk key stages. My own journey takes in the last 60 or so miles to Rome, a five-day hike through cavernous valleys, emerald forests and rarely visited hilltop towns. The route is liberating in its simplicity — so long as I make it to my B&B each night, I should reach the Eternal City just in time for Good Friday. The wandering monk Spring is a good time to be on the open road. Lazio is in the midst of a great transformation, the region's cobbled towns brimming with early artichokes, its boulder-strewn woodlands carpeted with anemone and pink cyclamen. Striking out towards the hilltop town of Sutri the following morning, I pass a gaunt, olive-wreathed farmhouse. The year's first swallows glide in and out, their long migration finally at an end. It's here I meet Brother Ambrose Okema, a Benedictine monk undertaking the Via Francigena by bike. For him, there's little difference between we pilgrims and the birds dancing above our heads, for we're all stirred to wander by the same invisible force. 'It's a call from within,' he says, beating a pulse on his chest. Dressed in Lycra and sat astride a gravel bike, he's a far cry from your stereotypical wandering monk: the solitary, staff-bearing pilgrim whose effigy graces every waymark along the Via Francigena. His companion Victor Hernandez, a stubbled Puerto Rican, shows me footage from morning Mass on his phone; a priest in Tyrian purple robes using a garden spray pump to douse the congregation with holy water. 'You've gotta love Italy,' Victor says, beaming. The last 60 or so miles to Rome are a five-day hike through cavernous valleys, emerald forests and rarely visited hilltop towns. Photograph by Gilda Bruno Tackled in full the Via Francigena is a mammoth 100-day trek, so many pilgrims choose to walk key stages. Photograph by Gilda Bruno We walk together for some time, descending into the Valle di Tinozza, where a jade stream guides us past rockfaces honeycombed with Etruscan tombs. Conversation flows easily on the road, and soon Ambrose is recounting his life story: the childhood in war-torn Uganda, his move to a monastery in America. I get the sense that this pair's pilgrimage is as much an act of friendship as it is of faith. 'I did the Camino de Santiago solo,' Victor tells me, 'so I knew I didn't want to do this trip alone. After meeting Ambrose at his monastery, it made sense to do it together.' That evening, with 14 miles under my belt, I drink a Campari in Sutri's main square, its baroque fountain trickling sapphire. Beside me, an elderly man with thick-framed spectacles is filling his pipe, eyes cast skyward as the rain clouds part. A passing friend berates him for staying out in such conditions. 'La pioggia lava tutto,' the smoker replies — rain cleans everything. His words are still with me two days later. They echo something Sigeric and his fellow medieval pilgrims must also have felt to be true — that in enduring the elements they were somehow cleansing themselves. Call it purification by suffering. From their howls of laughter, it's clear English pilgrims Maris Waterhouse and Sarah Thompson have no intention of suffering their way to Rome. 'We're not religious at all,' Maris tells me as we fall into step entering Insugherata Natural Reserve, a 1,800-acre patchwork of forest and farmland bordering Rome. 'Most of our lives are spent in the same routine — but this is something different.' With comically good timing, at that moment, a very large, very hairy wild boar emerges from the forest. I fleetingly wonder if he's here to enact revenge for last night's dinner, pappardelle pasta served with ragù di cinghiale, but he simply raises his snout, sniffs the air and trots off. Our friend's habitat slowly recedes, giving way to glimmering shopfronts and warm-lit cafes — every table adorned with some limp-limbed pilgrim unable to move another inch. Their reluctance is understandable, as the Via Francigena has one more challenge in store: Monte Mario, Rome's tallest hill. Praying for divine intervention, I crawl up its cobbled back; past silvery olives and flat-topped pines swaying in the afternoon breeze. I spot two peregrine falcons circling overhead, and then, quite without warning, catch sight of something I'd nearly forgotten: St Peter's Basilica, its gilded dome a second sun above the city's sweep of ancient spires. The final approach is like a dream, baroque avenues heavy with orange blossom giving way to the Renaissance splendour of St Peter's Square. Photograph by Gilda Bruno The final approach is like a dream, baroque avenues heavy with orange blossom giving way to the Renaissance splendour of St Peter's Square. At this point, Sigeric would likely have commenced the obligatory circuit of Rome's other holy places — a pilgrimage within a pilgrimage. But after a few moments of gazing at the basilica's gold-encrusted interior, Sarah's earlier words start ringing in my ears like a command: 'All I want from a trip like this is a long walk and a good meal at the end of it.' Within the hour I'm sat outside La Quercia, an osteria in Monteforte, stretching my legs beneath a table set with a bowl of smoky, parmesan-dusted pasta amatriciana. Dinner and a well-deserved rest. Some pleasures truly are eternal. UTracks' 10-day, self-guided Orvieto to Rome tour costs £950 per person, including B&B accommodation, meals and luggage transfers. This story was created with the support of UTracks. Published in the September 2025 issue of National Geographic Traveller (UK). To subscribe to National Geographic Traveller (UK) magazine click here. (Available in select countries only).

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