More and more people are discovering the joys of walking in the countryside, and the need to decide how we maintain our footpaths – but, above all, how we make them truly useful and safe – is becoming more urgent than ever.
*By Lefteris Tsouris
What do a walk with a close friend, an outing with friends and the realisation that a balanced life is essential have in common? My answer is: the countryside, the forest and the footpaths. After thirty years of coming into conflict with nature and the Greek countryside, this seemingly unrelated pattern is becoming increasingly clear to me.
In recent years, we have been reading more and more about hiking and mountaineering – about new trail networks, certifications, signposting, accidents and rescues. Behind the increase in visitor numbers in the mountains, in the forests and in the countryside in general lies, in my opinion, a very simple need: to reconnect with nature and with our fellow human beings.
Of course, paths were not created for this purpose. For centuries, they served as routes for labour, transport, trade, livestock farming, communication and daily survival. In some places, in fact, they remained the only essential transport network until very recently. In Ikaria, for example, settlements and areas were connected almost exclusively by footpaths until the final decades of the 20th century.
There are even instances where entire cobblestone streets were built for purposes that seem paradoxical today. In Asprorema in Agrafa, or between Domnista and Roska in Evrytania, sections of paved paths were once laid out to accommodate the telephone network. In other words, they were used for almost every purpose except the one for which we mainly use them today: recreation. So, at some point, an interesting reversal took place.
The simplest form of transport
The network, which had largely lost its usefulness, began to take on a new purpose. As everyday life became more urbanised, as the car replaced walking, and as leisure time became more important, more people began to return to the simplest form of transport we know: walking.
And this was enriched. It became exercise, a quest for experiences, a journey, an exploration. It became a hiking trip, a climb, a mountain hike. Like two opposite poles – the city and the forest, the excess of everyday life and the simplicity of a path – they began to draw each other in more strongly.
One does not have to idealise nature to see this. A walk in the forest or in the mountains often requires nothing more than a little time, a little bit of the right frame of mind, and a little bit of attention. And it almost always offers something that is rare: physical and mental space.
After a short while of walking, the rhythm changes. The body moves differently, the mind calms down, conversation takes on a different quality or, conversely, silence becomes completely normal. The light, the air, the vegetation and the rhythm of walking bring us back to an environment in which human daily life was shaped for most of our history.
Exercise, socialising and self-discovery
That is why I consider trails to be more than just leisure facilities. They are spaces for exercise, socialising and personal exploration. They strengthen relationships, forge new ones, and provide opportunities for both conversation and quiet reflection. And, with the right choice of route, they can appeal to people of all ages and abilities.
Perhaps most importantly, one does not always have to travel far. Often, there are trails close to towns and villages that can offer this experience. Hymettus is perhaps the most obvious example in Athens. Similar opportunities exist almost throughout mainland Greece. Up until now, however, the answers to these questions have been relatively straightforward. The difficult part begins when we move from “why we need trails” to “how we need them”.”
In my view, the discussion in Greece often starts from the wrong place. When we talk about developing trails, we immediately think of wooden structures and signposts. We have spent decades filling forest areas with recreational infrastructure, often where there may not have been a real need. The first thing a trail needs is not structures and signposts. It is the ability to walk along the trail itself.
Smooth and clear paths
Accessibility is the most fundamental aspect of infrastructure. A clean, clearly visible and functional footpath is worth more than an impressive signage system installed on a path that, after two years, has been overgrown with vegetation. Signage is a useful but secondary tool, not a cure-all. My personal experience in Greece and abroad confirms this: the best and most rewarding hiking experiences – whether with a few fellow travellers or in larger groups – have always been those where the trails were easily accessible, regardless of how extensive or elaborate the signage was.
The same applies to safety: the accidents that have occurred from Lousios and Orlias to Astraka, Symi and the E4 in southern Crete serve as a reminder that safety must be an integral part of any serious planning. But this does not mean that we can or should strip the natural environment of every danger. We cannot cover the mountains with railings and grids. Nor can we install shade sails and water fountains every 100 metres along every exposed island path. But we can do something far more substantial: recognise what we have and provide accurate information about it – where there are exposed sections, where the terrain and topography become technically challenging, where the route becomes unclear, and where the summer heat turns an otherwise straightforward path into a serious ordeal. To be able to state clearly that a path is not suitable for everyone.
Each place has its own approach
This holistic approach, however, requires a different approach for each location. A forested trail in the Pindos Mountains has different needs to an exposed route in the Cyclades. In a dense forest, the biggest problem may be vegetation that obscures the trail within two years. On an island, it may be the lack of shade and water. In an ancient mountain range, it may be the collapse of a cobbled or dry-stone wall. There is no one-size-fits-all solution.
And there is another limitation that we usually avoid discussing: we cannot preserve everything. Greece has a vast, historic network of footpaths. Just one relatively small island, such as Ikaria, has hundreds of kilometres of them. Believing that every old footpath can be cleared, marked and preserved indefinitely is not planning but wishful thinking.
Which networks are of genuine benefit to their local communities? Which can be maintained? Which are of architectural or natural heritage value? Which can form part of coherent walking routes? This, in my view, is where proper management begins. And here, even the choice of words matters. In Greece, we often use “path” and “route” as synonyms: they are not.
A hiking route may follow a path, a dirt track, a cobbled road, a road within a settlement, or even natural terrain without a marked walking trail. A path is a specific type of track. A route is the course we choose to follow. This distinction is by no means precise, but it does have practical significance.
When we refer to a path along an exposed ridge, a crossing over a ravine, or a path made of 90% dirt as a “trail”, we are already creating a mental image for those who will use it. If the words are imprecise, expectations become imprecise as well.
The same thing happens when we use the terms ‘hiking’ and ‘mountaineering’ interchangeably: not all walks in the mountains and countryside are the same. The gradient, type of terrain, exposure, difficulty in finding one’s way, altitude and weather conditions can make two hiking routes of the same length completely different from one another, whilst mountaineering requires specialist knowledge and familiarity with the use of climbing equipment and belay devices.
The next day
Words shape meanings, and meanings shape expectations. Having the right expectations is part of safety. So perhaps the next phase for Greek trails does not need to be so fixated on how many new networks we will create or how extensive their signposting will be. Perhaps we first need to gain a better understanding of what we already have. To document them, to assess them, to decide which ones can actually be maintained, to organise them into logical routes and to describe honestly what walkers will encounter.
Trails were once the paths that enabled people to live in the countryside. Today, in a society that has become more distant from the countryside than ever before, they can become the paths that enable us to return.
* Lefteris Tsouris is a geographer, hiker and mountaineer, and the founder of Geopsis Maps – a company specialising in general mapping, outdoor applications and the design of trail networks.
Source: kathimerini.gr