What we wish to write here is neither about the history of this place, which is of great value, nor about the civilization that has left its traces on edifices and people.
Our wondering to the place has made us feel a wish to witness the chill from the passing of the wind, which many times, resembles the sound of the river flowing downwards.
We wish to write how deeply we are moved by our presence in immemorial churches and monasteries with plain wall-paintings where the Saints' faces, despite the ravages of time, keep on fixing their gaze to a point difficult to define.
We are keeping the tranquility as we are ascending the narrow cobbled roads, the light of the sun over the mountains in the evening, the desolate yards of the houses built of stone taken from the mountainsides being in perfect harmony with the scenery.
The door you pass is inviting ending up to a narrow path on the gorge of Vikos.
And, all of a sudden, the sound of the clarinet is coming close, you do not know where from, archangels may be playing.
How is it possible to convey this sense of swinging felt while walking on the unique stone bridges.
You do not walk, you fly with the nymphs, you are mirrored in the water, you lose the sense of gravity.
And then, with the smells of herbs and wood burning in the fireplace, under the mountainous bulks embracing us, we are getting through a thick night, without moon.
We have time though to see, before it gets too dark, the blue wing of a bird flying through the branches.