The Mythological Centaurs & Medicinal Plants of Pelion
We spent the day in a place steeped in myth — the legendary homeland of the centaurs. In Greek mythology, centaurs are half-human, half-horse beings, often depicted as wild, impulsive, and untamed. Yet among them was Chiron, a noble exception: a wise and gentle centaur renowned for his mastery of healing, astrology, and prophecy. Chiron was not just a mythical figure but a mentor to heroes — guiding the likes of Asclepius, the god of medicine, and Achilles, the warrior of legend.
Our magical day began with a wind-swept drive up the narrow, cliff-edged lanes leading to Makrinitsa and Portaria — two of the most enchanting villages in all of Greece. Perched high on the slopes of Mount Pelion, these villages seem suspended between sky and sea. From there, we embarked on the Centaur’s Path, a breathtaking hike through dense, emerald forest. The trail, paved with ancient stones and even segments of petrified wood, whispered of centuries past. Waterfalls revealed themselves at unexpected turns, and the air shimmered with butterflies. It was easy to imagine Chiron himself treading these quiet woods, his hooves steady on the slick stones, his gaze serene and all-knowing.
Later, we wandered through Makrinitsa, often called the Balcony of Pelion, and Portaria, both as magical as the forest itself. The villages are a living tapestry of stone-built mansions clinging to the mountainside, adorned with wooden balconies, ornate facades, and bursts of color. The cobbled lanes — impossibly narrow and winding — are flanked by artisan shops, blooming courtyards, and centuries of layered history.
Along the road, we stopped at herbalist shops brimming with Pelion’s gifts — jars of olives, mountain tea still in plant form, a mysterious fermented leafy herb, and fragrant vials of distilled lavender and wild oregano.
We ended the day at Kritsa’s, a beloved local tavern set beneath a sprawling canopy of ancient plane trees. The kitchen felt suspended in time: sauces waiting in deep bowls, rustic pies both savory and sweet displayed casually, as if a family meal were about to be served — or a still life painted. It was generous, honest food in a place where time slows down.
As dusk settled in, the village came alive in the most charming of ways: three generations filled the streets — grandparents, parents, and children — the adults lingering over wine and conversation while the children played freely in the square. There were no fences, no flashing screens, just laughter echoing into the mountain air.
It was, in every sense, a day touched by myth and grounded in the beauty of everyday Greek life.
