
Fresh snow puffed under my heels like icing sugar, and pine trees glistened like Christmas baubles under skies the colour of faded denim. Apart from the twin-toed tracks of roe deer and the cross-hatched marks left by bird’s feet, the snow swept ahead of me in a pristine swathe. The joy of being the first to plant skis on this powder-soft terrain was akin to the thrill of discovering a new country – it occurred to me that for most tourists who come here for blue skies and golden-sand beaches, Greece in winter is a new country.
I arrived in the mountain town of Arachova on the ski bus from Athens. I was the only foreigner making the two-hour journey. “You Brits hate the bad weather, but we have sunshine all the time – we love rain and snow,” a fellow traveller joked.