Zagori, Greece
'If you meet one on the track, stand your ground - they can run much faster than you,' suggested our guide Makis as we peered at what were, unmistakably, bear droppings. 'Don't worry - they're mainly herbivores.' No, I wasn't in the wilds of Canada but in a Greece that has nothing in common with temples and tombs, ouzo and retsina.
After landing at Preveza, on Greece's west coast, most holidaymakers head south for the islands; we turned towards the interior and the beech, oak and pine forests that carpet the slopes of the Pindos mountains. Zagori is a little-known region in the far north-west of Greece, bordering Albania and Macedonia. It claims the richest biodiversity in Europe, with 1,750 wildflower species (including 50 varieties of orchid), and 167 bird species, to say nothing of wild boar, lynx, wolves, chamois - and brown bears.
It's an easy three-hour drive via the town of Ioannina to my base, Ano Pedina. A quick recce revealed a mellow village with a square shaded by a huge plane tree, a grey church with a separate bell tower, and handsome houses, some half ruined, each guarded by high walls and heavy wooden doors under arched gates.
There are 43 more of these fairytale villages, collectively known as the Zagorochoria, all with the common denominators of central hub and plane tree, intricately cobbled streets and huddles of stone houses. Stone staircases climbing up almost vertical cliff faces and slender arched packhorse bridges are among the region's other distinctive architectural features.
Zagori enjoyed a fair degree of autonomy under the four centuries of Ottoman rule starting in 1431, then became part of independent Greece in 1913, but fell into a decline until the latter part of the 20th century. Now new roads are opening the villages up to low-key tourism based on walking and climbing, rafting, kayaking and bird-watching. The crumbling houses are being converted into small hotels and B&Bs, but because most of Zagori is in national parkland, development is stringently monitored.
My hostelry in Ano Pedina, the Red House, was a school before its conversion into an eight-room hotel by Yiannis Kirligitsis, who was born nearby, and his Dutch wife Rita. They have kept the wooden floors and shutters, the beautifully carved ceilings and fireplaces, adding a cosy bar and dining room and up-to-the minute en suite bathrooms. Former chef Yiannis rules every evening, with feasts of local trout and lamb, mouthwatering 'Zagorian pies' - like thin-crust pizzas topped with vegetables, cheese or meat - and bougatsas, filo pastry desserts.
Rita takes charge of breakfast: instead of the usual meagre Greek fare of gritty coffee and cement-hard rolls, we're presented with a spread of warm home-baked breads, yoghurt, cold meats, honey and omelettes. She makes her own jams and 60 or so liqueurs, also from local produce (including mushroom and blueberry) and there's an almost irresistible temptation to notch up each one. Just as well I had a programme of walks and visits mapped out.
Lean and lanky, 33-year-old Makis gave up his office job to train as a guide because he's a complete mountain nut, but he decided to break me in gently when he heard that my walking experience was largely limited to Hampstead Heath. Our first ramble started at Vitsa with a descent of the Vitsa steps, little miracles of engineering originally funded by the local merchants.
Progress was slow: it was impossible not to keep stopping to identify animal tracks and wild flowers; half-way down we broke off at the tiny 400-year-old St Nikolas Chapel, where traders setting out for the east with their bundles of wool would pray for their safe return, while those back safe with silks and spices would give thanks. For a few breathtaking moments the steps hug the rim of the great Vikos Gorge, Greece's Grand Canyon, in places more than 1,000m deep. We ate our picnic in a flower-strewn meadow, marvelling at how the scenery can change so quickly from grand, almost forbidding, to chocolate-box prettiness.
Satisfied that I wasn't a total wimp, Makis took me further afield during the next few days - though it's comforting to know that if your knees do begin to wobble you'll be picked up by a vehicle for the journey back.
If there was a prettiest village of Zagori competition, my vote would go to Mikro Papingo, squeezed between dizzying peaks known as the Towers of Papingo, and the great cleft of the canyon below, and reached by 15 hairpin bends. Most visitors come to a halt in the tavernas of Megalo Papingo and miss out on its beautiful little sister a mile further on, a picture-book huddle of vine-covered alleys and cottage gardens brimming with hollyhocks, lilies and geraniums.
On our final day we climbed above the tree line from Vradeto, Zagori's highest village at 1,200m, its slopes inhabited only by shepherds and their flocks, each sheep and goat wearing its own distinctive bell. They're accompanied by a breed of dog whose trick when they're bored is to ambush passing cars and leap at their tyres.
Greek music and the smell of sizzling pork on the spit lured us into Vradeto's inn, little more than a hut on the hillside, patronised by hunters and shepherds who were well into their tsipouro, the local firewater. Amazingly, also having lunch there was a British woman who lives and works in Corfu but seeks sanctuary in Zagori whenever she feels stressed out. 'Try the pork, the spinach pie, the chips and the small wild pears,' she urged. I did: they were mouthwatering, and the whole lot cost me less than £5.
After lunch it was time to tackle one of Zagori's highlights: the Vradeto Steps, an old stone staircase that zigzags almost straight down the cliff. We scrambled among the herbs and hollyhocks, past a possible bear cave (without a qualm), over yet another lovely bridge - and I felt as if I was walking on air. Zagori, I had discovered, is one of Greece's best-kept secrets.
· Jill Crawshaw travelled with Travelux (01580 765000; traveluxgreece.co.uk) which offers small-group walking tours and fly-drive holidays in Zagori. Prices start at £628, which includes flights, seven nights' B&B, and car hire. All-inclusive walking tours start at £875 (based on two sharing) for a week's full board at the Red House.
La Matarrana, Spain
Chosen by Annie Bennett
A convenient situation is usually regarded as an advantage, but not in my book. Places that are not particularly handy for anything are invariably more interesting than those that are an easy drive from an airport or half an hour from a resort. La Matarraña is just the ticket. Tucked away in the right-hand corner of the Spanish region of Aragón, it is only around 80km from the Mediterranean but feels like a remote medieval kingdom. Inhabitants are pretty thin on the ground in Aragón, let alone tourists. The region is inland from Tarragona - sort of between Barcelona, Zaragoza and Valencia - but not really near anywhere.
Although the area is sparsely populated, you can barely move without bumping into an artist, writer or poet. Pablo Picasso spent time in nearby Horta de Sant Joan, which had a great influence on him, but these days the real cultural hub is the pretty village of Calaceite, which has a glut of creative types in residence.
Driving across a landscape of olive groves, vineyards, almond orchards and forests of holm oaks, you reach Valderrobres, which passes for the capital of La Matarraña, with around 2,000 inhabitants. On the banks of the Matarraña river, the town comes complete with a 14th-century castle, a couple of Gothic churches, a Renaissance town hall, a spectacular medieval bridge and a labyrinth of cobbled lanes flanked by elegant mansions in golden stone. It's rated as one of the most beautiful villages in Spain, but the only tourists you are likely to come across are hikers or cyclists.
This village is a good base for exploring the area, but I always stay just outside at La Torre del Visco (00 34 97 87 69015; torredelvisco.com), a surprisingly chic hotel in a 15th-century mansion which is hidden down a track. There are no televisions, no phones and not another building in sight.
If I can force myself to move, I drive down to the fishing town of Sant Carles de la Rápita on the Ebro delta, to gorge on oysters and gaze at the sea. Now that's my idea of a Mediterranean holiday.
· Writer and broadcaster Annie Bennett, based in Madrid and Barcelona, specialises in Spanish food and culture
The Cote Vermeille, France
Chosen by Rosemary Bailey
The Côte Vermeille is where the Pyrenees meet the Mediterranean, a coastline of secluded pebbly coves and rocky headlands tinted the vermilion red from which it gets its name. Matisse and his Fauvist chums (fauves means 'wild beasts' and the paintings were characterised by wild brush strokes and bold colours) loved it here, inspired by gaily painted fishing boats and stuccoed houses in pistachio, rose and yellow, the silvery olives and dark green cypresses, but most of all its famous light.
The artists based themselves in the Catalan fishing village of Collioure, and you can follow the 'Chemin du Fauvisme' to see the views they painted. You, too, can stay at Les Templiers (00 33 4689 83110; hotel-templiers.com) - its bar crammed with paintings, a good terrace restaurant, and rooms overlooking town and sea. Three sheltered beaches, pebble and sand, nestle round the harbour and chateau, though a better bet for bathing is the long sandy Blue Flag beach at Le Racou to the north.
The road rollercoasts to the Spanish border between the sea and steeply terraced vineyards. Port-Vendres has a big marina, a small secret beach, and a terrific fish market, and above it Cap Béar is a good place to walk and admire a dazzling vista of sea and mountains. Just beyond is the beach of Paulilles, a hidden bay with clear water and good snorkelling. Restaurant Le Sole Mio (00 33 4688 23562) offers fresh fish (local anchovies a must) right by the beach, and parking.
The village of Banyuls is as sweet as its wine, with a harbour full of palm-shaded cafes, wine caves in the old streets, and roads leading up the wine terraces and over the mountains to Spain.
· Rosemary Bailey lives in a village in the foothills of the Mediterranean Pyrenees. Her new book, Love and War in the Pyrenees, will be published by Weidenfeld & Nicolson in July
Alentejo, Portugal
Chosen by Christopher Somerville
In the deep shade of a leafy canopy, well out of sight or sound of the 21st century, I recline waist-deep in grass and wild flowers with my back against a knobbly cork oak trunk. Where is the tense fellow who landed at Lisbon airport yesterday, all knotted up with work and worries? Evaporated into the blue Portuguese sky, that's where. In his place lounges a man with a smoked ham sandwich in his hand and peace in his soul, lazily watching a farmer jogging to the cornfields on a horse-drawn cart. Such is the magic of Alentejo.
Hammering southwards on the nose-to-tail highway linking the Portuguese capital with the Mediterranean coast, you'd never dream that the flat-seeming landscape on either side could contain such beautiful country. The grass plains of Alentejo, dotted with roaming cattle and horses, give way to undulating cornlands interspersed with sprawling forests of cork oaks. Purple and yellow lupins spatter the fields and forests as far as the eye can see.
The dip and roll of the country conceals low hills topped by historic towns: Evora, all sloping streets and arcaded courtyards; Monsaraz, a nest of whitewashed houses inside a belt of medieval walls. This is slow exploring country. You won't find it without venturing out along the bumpy country roads with plenty of time to wander and gaze.
Down along the coast it's all pine forests and long, sandy beaches, brisker and breezier than the Algarve, cleaner and greener too, and free of crowds. Out by the lagoons of Melides or São André, eating grilled dourado in a back street restaurant in Praha da Ilha, or just sauntering the endless empty sands, you'll wonder why anyone in search of easy times and delectable country bothers to make for anywhere else but Alentejo.
As for laidback places to lay your head, look no further than Tuke and Sophie Taylor's Cortinhas (00 351 283 976076), a beautiful house sleeping six, perfectly placed near Odemira.
· Christopher Somerville has written more than 20 travel guide books and specialises in off-the-beaten-track destinations
Marathasa Valley, Cyprus
Chosen by Helena Smith
As a child growing up in Cyprus, I delighted in its beaches. This was long
before the hordes discovered the little fishing village that was once Ayia Napa
or had heard of Paphos and the marvellous peninsula that is Akamas.
But nearly 30 years later, it is Cyprus's mountains that give me undiluted pleasure, and in particular the Troodos range on the island's western side.
The foothills and upper-reaches of Troodos, with their pines and glens and nature trails and streams, are by far the best thing about Aphrodite's island of love, and it is easy to see how they were so redolent of Scotland for the British servicemen who spent summers there during colonial times.
No other part of a Mediterranean that has become increasingly commercialised remains as untouched, or as undervalued, by tourists.
Here you are as likely to encounter the old-world charm of the Levant (embodied by establishments like the Forest Park Hotel in Platres, a good base to explore the range and one that inspired Daphne du Maurier to write
her bestselling Rebecca) as you are frescoed Byzantine churches and villages
lost in time.
For a perfect example of the latter you should head to idyllic Kalopanayiotis,
overlooking the Marathasa valley, known for its cherry orchards. This is poetic land, a walker's paradise that is steeped in history and natural beauty. Across the river from the village is the Ayios Ioannis Lambadistis monastery, among the most breathtaking on the island.
It is only fitting that agro tourism has finally reached these parts. The 13-room Olga's Katoi (00 357 223 50283; olgaskatoi.com; doubles €70) offers to the adventurous splendid, if simple, accommodation in some of the handsome buildings perched on the village's terraced hillsides.
· Helena Smith is the Observer and Guardian's correspondent in Greece, Turkey and Cyprus
