From Athens' Hills to Ephesus Highlands: Ancient Mountain Trails & Viewpoints

After 35 years behind the wheel, I've developed a sixth sense for terrain, and Athens is a proper mountainous city if ever there was one. While the tourists sweat it out at the Acropolis (worth it, mind you), I headed straight for Mount Lycabettus—Athens' highest point at 300 meters.

The smart move is taking the funicular railway halfway up, but where's the adventure in that? I hoofed it from Kolonaki Square along the zigzagging paths. After 30 minutes of what my knees called 'punishment' and my heart called 'payback for all those bus-seat years,' I reached the summit. The 360-degree panorama of Athens sprawling to the sea made me forget I was breathing like an asthmatic bulldog.

For my money, sunset here beats the Acropolis crowds. Bring a headlamp for the descent—those paths get treacherous after dark, and this rechargeable beauty has saved my aging backside more times than I care to admit.

Next day, I tackled Mount Hymettus on the city's eastern flank. Less famous, more rewarding. The 11th-century Kaisariani Monastery makes a perfect rest stop halfway up. An old bus driver's tip: bring twice the water you think you'll need. The Mediterranean sun is no joke, even in spring.

Let me tell you something about Greek mountain transport—it's nothing like the number 75 to Liverpool city center. Reliability is... conceptual. After Athens, I headed toward Delphi, a mountainside sanctuary that'll have your calves screaming and your soul singing.

Getting there means either renting a car (not my preference on these winding roads) or braving the KTEL buses. As a former driver, I've got respect for the lads navigating these mountain passes, but their timetables are more suggestion than gospel. Always build in buffer time.

For the mountain trails around Delphi, I used my trusty hiking poles, which collapse nicely for bus travel and have saved my knees on countless descents. Worth every penny for us older adventurers.

Between major sites, I've found Greece's shared taxi system brilliant for accessing trailheads. Find fellow hikers at hostels, split the fare, and you're sorted. Just make sure to negotiate the return pickup time clearly—my Liverpool accent plus Greek mountain dialect equals communication disasters I'm still laughing about.

Most visitors see Ephesus as a day trip, snapping photos of the Library of Celsus before retreating to coastal resorts. Their loss, I say. The surrounding mountains of Turkey's Aegean coast hide trails that connect ancient sites like a historical connect-the-dots.

My favorite route starts at the back entrance of Ephesus (less crowded, steeper approach) and continues up Bülbül Mountain. From there, you can follow shepherd paths to the House of Virgin Mary—a much more spiritual experience arriving on foot than by tour bus, take it from someone who's driven enough of those.

The Ephesus highlands remind me of driving mountain routes in Scotland—unexpected weather can roll in faster than a Liverpool FC score change. My weather radio has been essential kit here, as spring thunderstorms are common but brief. This little marvel runs on solar power or hand-crank, so you're never without weather updates or emergency communication.

For accommodation, skip Kuşadası's tourist traps and head to the mountain village of Şirince. Wooden Ottoman houses converted to pensions offer rooms for about 30-40 euros—proper value compared to coastal prices. The bonus is waking up already in the highlands, ready to hit the trails while day-trippers are still on their coaches from the coast.

After decades of watching tourists struggle up these ancient paths in everything from flip-flops to designer shoes, I've refined my gear list to essentials that perform without emptying the pension.

First, your feet. I've tried dozens of boots, but for these rocky Mediterranean trails, my hiking boots hit the sweet spot between support and breathability. The waterproofing handles spring mud while still letting your feet breathe in the Greek heat.

For hydration, forget plastic bottles. My water filtration bottle lets me fill up from any mountain spring without worry. One less thing to carry when you can purify as you go.

The most underrated piece of kit? A proper sun hat. After years of watching my fellow Brits turn lobster-red on holidays, I never hike without my wide-brimmed sun hat. Looks a bit daft, keeps me functioning in the Mediterranean sun, and has survived being stuffed in my pack hundreds of times.

One last thing—these mountain trails are rough on clothes. After splitting two pairs of trousers on rocky outcrops, I invested in hiking pants which have lasted three years of abuse. Worth every penny for us budget travelers who need gear that lasts.

One thing 35 years of bus driving taught me is how to find the best views without following the crowds. In both Athens and Ephesus, the official viewpoints are fine, but the truly spectacular vistas require local knowledge—or the stubbornness of an old Liverpudlian to find them.

In Athens, skip the obvious Philopappou Hill and instead head to Strefi Hill in the Exarcheia neighborhood. It's where locals go, requires a moderate 20-minute climb, and offers Acropolis views without the tourist hordes. I stumbled upon it while following a local bus route on my day off—old habits die hard.

Near Ephesus, the overlooked gem is Isa Bey Hill behind the mosque of the same name. A steep 30-minute scramble rewards you with a bird's-eye view of the entire ancient city. I discovered it by asking a local bus driver where he'd go for lunch with a view—professional courtesy that paid off handsomely.

For serious photographers, timing is everything. I use the sun tracking app to plan golden hour shots at these viewpoints. Worth every penny for getting those perfect light conditions over ancient sites.

The best secret viewpoint of all? The ridge trail connecting the Cave of the Seven Sleepers to the eastern gate of Ephesus. It's unmarked, requires scrambling, and delivers views that would make those Instagram influencers weep with envy—if they ever ventured beyond their tour buses.