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The road from Pyli does a lot of the talking for me today. You leave the Thessalian plain around midday, the heat sitting heavy on the fields, and then you start to climb. Thirteen kilometres of switchbacks, but it's not the kind of climbing that makes you nervous. It's the kind that keeps opening up a new view behind every bend, the fir trees getting denser, the air getting cooler, until you swing around one last corner and there it is: Eláti, all stone and timber, stacked up the hillside at about 950 metres.

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I've been planning this leg for a while, the move north from Arachova, through Lamia and Trikala, to finally get above the heat. And the drive itself was worth it. I stopped at Pyli on the way up, because you have to. The Arched Bridge of Portaikos River from 1514, built by Saint Bessarion himself, is still standing there, one great stone arch spanning the water. Right beside it is the Porta Panagia church, dating back to 1283. I walked across the bridge, the river moving fast below, and I thought about how many people must have crossed it exactly like that, over five hundred years. You can almost feel the history in the stone.

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Then the road got serious. Up past the village of Elati — the lower one, Kato Elati, down on the plain — and into the forest. I rolled the windows down and the smell came in, that resinous fir smell that just means mountain. It's a different world up here. The temperature dropped maybe ten degrees between Trikala and the village square. You could feel it on your skin as soon as you stepped out of the car.

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I'm staying at the Fretzato Traditional Guesthouse, which is exactly what it sounds like. A stone building with wooden balconies, and a room that looks out over the village roofs toward the Koziakas slopes. The owner showed me to the room herself, apologising that the summer crowd has pushed prices up a bit. She quoted me around eighty euros a night, which seems to be the going rate for this kind of place in August. It's not cheap, but you're paying for the cool nights and the view. I think it's worth it.

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I dropped my bags and went straight back out. The village itself is a maze of cobbled lanes and old stone houses, and one of the first things you see is the Church of the Dormition of the Theotokos, built in 1822. It's right in the middle of things, the parish church, and the square around it is where everyone gathers in the evenings. I found a bench in the shade and just sat for a while, watching the world go by. A couple of kids kicking a football, a man carrying a tray of coffees from one of the kafeneia, the usual Greek summer hum.

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And then I got hungry. It was that time of day when you start thinking about food, and I'd seen a taverna called Kanavia mentioned as one of the village institutions. It's a straightforward kind of place, wooden tables and a grill, and the menu is what you'd expect up here. I ordered the trout, which is a local specialty, and it came grilled whole, with lemon and a few boiled potatoes. It cost about thirteen euros, and it was the freshest thing I've eaten in days. You can taste the cold water it came from. I had a glass of local tsipouro after, because when in a mountain village you simply have to.

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After lunch, I walked it off up the hill, past the last houses, toward the Kokkinos Vrachos, the Red Rock. It's this big crag at the edge of the village, and it gives the place its character, I think. There are climbers there, even in August, doing the bolted routes up the face. I'm not a climber myself, but I stood and watched them for a while, their ropes hanging against the red stone. The trailheads for the Koziakas hikes leave from right beside it, and I thought about trying one today, but I'd rather go properly tomorrow, early, when the light is good.

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I read that this whole mountain, from here to the summit, is about thirty-three thousand acres of fir forest. That's a lot of trees. And the animal life is something else — brown bears, wolves, roe deer. You hear stories from locals, of course. A bear spotted near the edge of the forest at dawn, a wolf howling somewhere up the valley. It gives the place a wildness that a lot of Greek resorts, the coastal ones anyway, simply don't have. You don't get that feeling at the beach. Up here, you feel like you're on the edge of something real.

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Back in the village, I stopped at a kafeneio for a Greek coffee. Three euros for an ellinikos, served with a glass of cold water and a spoon of something sweet. That's one of the things I love about this country, the filoxenia that comes free with every coffee. The old men at the next table were playing tavli, and the sound of the dice, that specific clack-clack, is like the soundtrack of a Greek afternoon. I could have sat there all day, but I had things to do.

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I needed to sort out my banking situation, because there's no bank in the village itself. The nearest branches are down in Trikala, about thirty kilometres away, and everyone I've spoken to says the same thing: you just make the trip when you need it. I drove down in the late afternoon, and it was a different climate again — hot, dusty, the plain shimmering in the evening haze. I stopped at a branch of the Cooperative Bank of Thessaly, which is the one bank with a presence up here, and asked about opening an account. They gave me the usual list of documents — passport, proof of address, my tax number — and said to come back in a few days. It's the same dance as everywhere else in Greece, just with a longer drive.

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On the way back up, I took a small detour to the stone bridge and waterfall of Palaiokarya. It's about eight kilometres from the village, and the road is narrow, but the spot is magical. An old stone bridge, single arch, and a waterfall coming down beside it. There was no one else there. I got out and stood by the water, the spray cooling my face, and I thought about how many of these hidden corners there must be in this country. You can spend a lifetime and still be finding them.

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Evening in Eláti is a thing of beauty. The air turns cool again, and the village square fills up with people — families, couples, groups of friends. The tavernas set up their tables outside, and the smell of grilled meat drifts down the lanes. I had dinner at a place called Panselinos, which means full moon, and it was packed. A plate of wild boar with a rich sauce, some fried potatoes, a salad. The bill came to around twenty-two euros, and I didn't feel robbed. The boar was the best I've had in years, tender and gamey, and the sauce was thick enough to stand a spoon in. They make their own tsipouro here, too, and the waiter suggested I try it with honey and cinnamon. I did. It's dangerous, but I did.

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After dinner, I walked up the hill one more time, to a spot where you can see the whole village laid out below, the lights flickering in the darkness. The sky was thick with stars, more than you ever see in the cities, and there was a coolness in the air that reminded me why I came north. I thought about the label they've given this place, winter Mykonos, and I can see it. But in August, it's something else entirely. It's a breathing space, a place where the pace of Greek life slows down even further, and you can feel the forest pressing in from all sides.

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I know people who skip the mountains in summer, who head straight for the islands. And don't get me wrong, I love the islands. But there's something to be said for this — for sleeping under a blanket in August, for waking up to the smell of fir trees, for a glass of tsipouro by an open window with the sound of the wind in the pines. It resets something in you.

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Tomorrow, I'm going to hike the trail to the Koziakas Refuge, the stone hut at about 1,700 metres on the E4 path. It's the base for summiting Astrapi, the peak up at 1,901 metres, and they say the view from there takes in Meteora, Olympus, the whole northern Pindos. I want to get an early start, before the sun gets high. There are bears in that forest, and I'll take the usual precautions, but mostly there are just trails and old trees and a silence you don't find anywhere else in August.

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Everything I talked about today — the guesthouse, the tavernas, the bridge at Pyli, how to get a bank account sorted from a mountain village — it's all in the episode notes. I'll put links to the places I mentioned, and a few practical tips for making the drive up from Trikala. If you're thinking about a summer escape from the coast, this is the place.