Meteora is the kind of place you assume is a trick of photography until you round the bend. Enormous grey pillars of rock rise out of the Thessaly plain, some more than 300 metres high, and on top of several of them sit monasteries, walls and windows flush with the cliff edge. The name means suspended in the air, and the sandstone and conglomerate towers were shaped over millions of years by water, wind and earthquakes, long before anyone thought to build on them.
Hermits settled in caves here around the eleventh century, and by the fourteenth, with the Byzantine Empire under threat from the Ottomans, monks built monasteries on the summits for safety. Materials and people were hauled up by ropes and nets, or by long ladders that could be pulled up after use, and there are stories of monks who dangled in baskets for hours. At its height there were over twenty monasteries, and six are still active today, including Great Meteoron, Varlaam and Roussanou. Visitors need to dress modestly, with covered knees and shoulders, and the monasteries keep different closing days, so check locally.
From Kalambaka, the town at the foot of the rocks, a short loop road winds up among the pillars, with sharp bends and lookout points. Light is best at sunrise and sunset, when the rock glows copper and gold. Summer is hot and crowded, so spring and autumn make better visits. Beyond Meteora, the ride heads into the Pindus mountains, a range of forested ridges and deep gorges, with the high villages of Metsovo and the stone bridges of Epirus, where roads are twisty and traffic is thin.
Kalambaka, with eight thousand people, has fuel stations, supermarkets, bakeries and many guesthouses, and Kastraki, a village right under the rocks, is quieter, with simple tavernas serving grilled meat and fresh bread. The roads in the Pindus can be closed by snow in winter, and fuel stations in the mountains are sparse, so fill up before leaving town. Sit down for a coffee at a table with a view and watch the evening light change.