I can’t quite recall the exact moment when Jella, the stray dog and permanent resident of Mount Parnitha, joined our group. But from that point on, she stayed by our side almost without pause, right up until the late afternoon when our Sunday hike came to an end. From the Bafi refuge, perched at 1,160 meters, where we began our journey with our group of seven hikers, to the Flambouraki peak and finally to Mola, the lush habitat in the heart of the national park that we had set as our ultimate destination, Jella seemed determined to guide us through her home. At times, she would vanish among the cedars and firs, and at others, she would take the lead, as if she were our “official” guide.

Yiannis Helis, following just a few meters behind her, has been living on the mountain for the past six years with his family—his wife Maria and their children, Eleni and Panagiotis. He organizes hikes with the company Trekking Hellas and runs the two mountain refuges, Bafi and Flambouri, with his cousin and business partner, Stefanos Sidiropoulos. During winter weekends, Athenians drive there for the fresh mountain air and a warm plate of food in the heart of nature.

Just a 40-minute drive from the center of Athens, Mount Parnitha is the closest national park to a European capital—a unique feature that Athenians are increasingly discovering and appreciating in recent years.

“Jella is a mountain dog; she knows all the trails of Parnitha. They feed and groom her at a house a little farther down, and then she heads up the mountain and walks for hours on end,” says Maria. Beside her, Yiannis carries his three-year-old daughter on his back. Sometimes, the little girl points to a tree with wide-eyed wonder; at other times, she listens intently to the song of a bird. Occasionally, she falls asleep, oblivious to nature’s ceaseless activity.

To meet them, we took a short drive to the cable car station at Casino Mont Parnes. As we got closer, passing through the Acharnes area, our surroundings began to be reminiscent of northern Greece’s rural landscapes—the base of the mountain is dotted with tavernas, weatherworn billboards and chimneys. But there is one difference.

The wildfires of 2023, along with those of 2007 and 2021, have left lasting scars on Parnitha’s landscape where destruction and renewal dance together in a striking, complex mosaic. Yet Jella moves with a confidence that suggests she knows every twist, every secret of the terrain. Her wagging tail occasionally flicks, urging us to follow.

Ahead lies a journey of about two and a half kilometers to Flambouraki Peak, our first major stop.

A Deer Scratcher

“Greeks are starting to be more receptive to the idea of spending time on the mountains. Visitor numbers are rising,” says Yiannis. “Just yesterday, we saw ten kids hiking through the mist with their parents. Two years ago, you’d never see a stroller on the trails. Some people are bothered by this increased activity because they want the mountains to themselves. But it makes me happy. It’s wonderful to see other kids get the chance to experience what my own child gets to enjoy on a regular basis.”

This rise in visitors isn’t limited to Parnitha; other mountains are starting to see more traffic too. “On Mount Olympus, the mountain refuges are fully booked for the next two years,” Yiannis notes. He stresses the importance of educating people about nature from a young age. Proper preparation before hitting the trails and respect for the environment are both essential.

Parnitha offers a variety of hiking trails, whether with a guide or on your own—so long as you plan ahead. There are challenging routes, like Skipiza and Chouni, as well as more relaxed paths that pass the casino, the two mountain refuges, and Mola. Today, we’re following one of these scenic circular routes.

Not long into our hike, we come across a tree stripped of its bark. “This is a deer scratcher,” Yiannis says, drawing the group’s attention to the marks. Parnitha is home to the red deer, and every year, the males shed their antlers to grow new ones. The itching that comes with this process drives them to rub their antlers against trees, a behavior that also helps mark their territory. “In the past, you could see the deer hairs stuck to the tree,” Yiannis continues. “The soft velvet from the fresh antlers would cling to the resin. But it’s been years since we’ve seen that.” 

Today, spotting a red deer on Parnitha has become increasingly rare. Many have likely sought new, safer areas to hide from the wolves, whose presence has become more pronounced on the mountain. Some deer, along with foxes, had grown accustomed to human-provided food—an unhealthy habit for wildlife. But, as with all things in nature, every change creates a ripple effect. The deer’s migration has led to faster soil regeneration, particularly in areas where they once grazed on small plants and flowers in burned sections of the forest.

Now awake from her short nap, Little Eleni brushes her fingers along the tips of the fir branches above her. Every three sets of branches represent one year of life. The young shrub in front of us, six or seven years old, wasn’t as lucky. The seed that birthed it traveled through the air before lodging in a patch of soil that was too exposed to the sun. On some fir trees, we also notice mistletoe, the pale parasite that feeds off the tree’s sap. It sticks to the branches like bird droppings, eventually causing disease that weakens and consumes the tree.

“At some point, it will die,” Yiannis says. “But that’s natural. We must not intervene.”

“A Different God on the Mountain”

A few meters ahead, we come across a spring. Under normal circumstances, water would be flowing freely from it. It’s mid-December, yet the rocks beneath our feet aren’t slippery. “The earth is thirsty,” Yiannis remarks. “You don’t see any mushrooms. This time of year, the forest should be full of them.” Biological assessments have determined that 90% of Parnitha’s water sources are unsuitable, as there isn’t enough continuous flow to cleanse the springs. “This has become more pronounced in the last six years. There’s no rain, no snow. Everything is changing,” he says emphatically.

In the past, Parnitha would have been covered with snow by December. Now, there is some snowfall after the Christmas holidays, sometimes as late as February or even March. The erratic weather patterns have made forecasting increasingly tricky. “It might rain relentlessly for four days, then snow for the next four, and get sunny the day after that,” Yiannis explains. “Spring and autumn have practically disappeared.”

Maria tries to explain to her daughter, who is puzzled by how much the sky has changed since yesterday. “Today, it’s a different god on the mountain. Yesterday, it was Winter; today, it’s Spring,” she tells her.

Jella approaches from a distance, looking slightly impatient due to our delay. Once the group catches up to her, she resumes her lead, this time guiding us to her favorite spot: Flambouraki Peak. She settles to rest under a Greek flag that flutters in the wind. From this vantage point, the entire Attica basin unfolds before us. A hazy layer of smog hangs over the buildings, and the sun’s rays pierce through the clouds, illuminating the neighborhoods of the city. We can see Hymettus, Tatoi, Lake Marathon, Chalkida, Thebes, Evia, with and Penteli.

A hawk glides past us, its wings motionless as it hovers in an arc. If you trace its flight, you can follow the scars left by each of the wildfires over the past two decades. The fire of 2007 was the most devastating, burning 70% of the fir forest. Maria recalls the feeling of uncertainty during the most recent fires. She was pregnant during both. When she left, she never knew if her home would still be standing when she returned. “And even if it is, what does it matter if everything around it has burned?” she says. “Our home isn’t the refuge; it’s the mountain.”

During the winters, just a few strong gusts of wind are enough to unsettle her daughter. “Mom, will the mountain burn?” Eleni asks.

“We can’t dwell on the fires. The forest regenerates. Let’s protect what is trying to be born,” Yiannis adds before we leave.

The only untouched part of the national park, deep within the reserve, is Mola. That will be our next destination.

First, we take a break at the Flambouri refuge, sipping hot coffee and enjoying traditional cheese pie, surrounded by new groups of friends and families who’ve parked their cars nearby to walk the short 20-minute trail to the refuge. Kostas, Peni, and their three children settle into the dirt. “We’re tired of playgrounds,” they say. They drove an hour from Ilioupoli to get here. “The last time we went to Bafi, we saw deer on the road,” Peni recalls. “We’ve taken the kids to the Attica Zoological Park, but seeing an animal in its natural environment is an incomparable experience.”

Under a nearby pavilion, we meet Nikos, who’s waiting for his friends. “I’ve been in Athens for two months, living in Koukaki, but I come to the mountain as often as I can—almost every weekend,” he says. Life in the city has been difficult for him. “I feel sick in the city. Parnitha is practically unspoiled, and I can get there relatively quickly,” he adds.

Jella, who has been circling around us this whole time, gives me a knowing look. It’s time to move on.

Rare Plants and Therapy

The first thing we notice as we approach Mola is the line of parked cars stretching along the side of the road. But soon enough, the busy scene fades, giving way to an idyllic landscape. Before entering the lush habitat, we stop by the small chapel of Aghios Petros, one of many chapels scattered across Parnitha that were originally built as shelters for shepherds.

Stefanos Sidiropoulos, co-owner of the mountain refuges alongside Yiannis, points out the major hiking routes available from there. For those with stamina, there’s the trail lined with poplars, which ascends all the way to the Air Force base. Hikers can also take a circular route around Parnitha to the Skypiza fire lookout. For more seasoned trekkers, there’s the eastern path that leads to Malakasa and Avlona.

As we enter the habitat, we’re immediately struck by the towering fir trees. The air is damp, and we feel the moisture seep into our bones. Lichens, moss, and mushrooms cling to the trunks of the ancient trees, while the sun’s rays, barely able to pierce the thick canopy, scatter into small patches of light on the forest floor. The scene feels like something out of a Tarkovsky film.

A clearing opens up in the middle of the forest, revealing a small lake surrounded by dense foliage. The Cephalonian fir, which can be found only above 800 meters on Parnitha, is one of the reasons the mountain was designated a national park. It thrives in cold and humid conditions, and in Spring, when the firs sprout their new growth, their pale green branches create an almost phosphorescent glow across the landscape.

Angela, our fellow hiker and guide from Trekking Hellas, explains that Greece is home to 6,000 different species and subspecies of plants. Of those, 1,100 can be found on Parnitha. “There are 90 endemic species found only in Greece, three of which exist solely on Parnitha,” she tells us.

The most beautiful among them is the bellflower, a rare wildflower species that grows on rocks, its tiny purple blossoms adding color to the rugged terrain. “I’ve guided people on Parnitha ranging in age from 8 to 75,” Angela continues. “One young woman cried before we left. She was overwhelmed by the sheer number of images she had taken in, completely relaxed and de-stressed. Last year, there was a doctor who came here every Sunday. She told me, ‘I come to recharge my batteries so I can endure the rest of the week.’”

“This Is All of Athens”

After climbing down from Yiannis’s back, Little Eleni decides to splash around in the puddles. As she soaks herself completely, her spontaneous laughter rings out through the air, pure and joyful. But as night begins to fall, the cold sets in, reminding us it’s time to return to the cars. Nearby, we spot a fir tree decorated with a string of red plastic ornaments. Some well-meaning parents must have thought it a great idea to create a live Christmas display for their children. They were so proud of the result that they left it, exposed to the elements, for all to see.

In spring, Mola will be alive with families enjoying picnics. Visitors will park their cars right in front of the barriers, obstructing access for firefighting vehicles in case of an emergency. We meet three friends—Thomas, Niki, and Christina—at the exit with their children. They’re clearly frustrated by the large number of people on the mountain today. “This is all of Athens,” they say, gesturing at the sea of cars. “We can’t tell if we’ve come to the mountain or to Kifisia for coffee.”

The challenge of managing crowds on Sundays, Yiannis tells us, is becoming more and more pressing.

After bidding farewell to our fellow hikers, we make one last stop before leaving the mountain: the Park of Souls, located opposite the abandoned Xenia Hotel. This site was once home to a sanatorium in the 1910s, where tuberculosis patients, including the poet Yiannis Ritsos, were cared for. When penicillin arrived, the sanatorium declined, eventually operating as a hotel and later as a tourism school until it was abandoned in 1985.

Across from this spot, in 2012, artist Spyridon Dassiotis used felled trunks of 500- and 600-year-old fir trees from the “Park of Giants”—trees that had been consumed in the 2007 fire—to create a series of wooden sculptures. Once, there were many. They captured the memories and souls of the people who had passed through the sanatorium. Today, most of them have been devoured by woodworms. Only one remains standing, alongside a metal angel that was added later. The angel gazes at the hills as if in prayer.

With this image in mind, we leave Parnitha behind. Before boarding the cable car, I glanced around for Jella, but she was nowhere to be found. She must have slipped off to another trail, perhaps annoyed that we had fallen behind again.