Home of the Greek unorthodox

Artists' colonies do not necessarily begin with artists. More often than not it's a traveller passing briefly through a place and reporting back who sows the seeds of its birth. Then, somewhere along the line, the information is picked up by an artist; as he listens to tales of cheap wine, low rents and glorious light, his eyes sparkle. And before you can say "Gauguin", he's packed up his easel and departed. Finding Paradise a bit lonely, he writes home inviting a few friends to join him. And so the dance begins.

Artists' colonies do not necessarily begin with artists. More often than not it's a traveller passing briefly through a place and reporting back who sows the seeds of its birth. Then, somewhere along the line, the information is picked up by an artist; as he listens to tales of cheap wine, low rents and glorious light, his eyes sparkle. And before you can say "Gauguin", he's packed up his easel and departed. Finding Paradise a bit lonely, he writes home inviting a few friends to join him. And so the dance begins.

Most such colonies then follow the same pattern: they attract like-minded souls with limited means, flourish for a good while with the usual infidelities and tribal jealousies, then attract richer, less artistic souls who buy up the houses, and push up the prices. The original artists either move on, bunker down in the surrounding hills, or quietly go about their craft, invisible to those who came in their wake.

Deia in Mallorca is a good example of this. The creative energy that made it an artists' community is still there in abundance, but as time passes this beautiful mountain village is entering another stage of its evolution. Once it was impossible to read an article about Deia without a mention of its artists or of the poet Robert Graves. But in some recent articles Graves has not figured at all. For many, the famous names now associated with the place are Sir Richard Branson and Michael Douglas.

Yet evolution is, after all, a natural cycle. And the joy of such communities is that there is always a new one in gestation. Whisper it quietly: creativity is flourishing in the village of Lafkos in Greece.

Legend has it that mainland Greece's beautiful Pelion peninsula, where Lafkos is located, was the summer holiday retreat of the gods of Olympus. Being gods, they chose wisely. It's a spectacular region of lush mountains and rich forests, with a stunning quality of light; a rugged coastline tumbles into picturesque harbours and secluded beaches. The area's recent development as a focus for artists, writers, performers and musicians seems, in retrospect, long overdue. Artists are, after all, no slouches at slouching in beautiful locations. Mostly, these newcomers are arriving from other parts of Greece, and establishing themselves in summer homes. But a growing number are making a permanent move to the area, and the recent arrival of artists from other parts of Europe suggests that internationalisation is imminent.

Of the 24 mountain villages in the Pelion peninsula, Lafkos is probably the one that is most immediately observable to a visitor as a gathering point for creative folk. At night outside the Dimos taverna run by Kosta Mesalouris, painters and sculptors argue over their tsipouro (the local aniseed-based tipple) under the spreading plane trees of a magical village square. On a patch of land near the old school house by the side of the church is a fine set of stone sculptures depicting village traditions ­ a gift to the people of Lafkos from its most famous son, the artist Thanasis Fabas, now well in his 80s. And the summer months in particular are frequently enlivened by concerts up at the monastery of Agios Athanasios, or open-air performances at the amphitheatre in the nearby coastal village of Horto. How much all of this creative activity is appreciated by Pelion's ruling powers is a moot point. The amphitheatre's performances are enthusiastically received, but the organisers have a constant struggle with money. And Fabas's wonderful sculptures seem more abandoned than displayed. Still, the energy is there.

Buzzing round the winding cobbled streets of the village, you'll see the battered red and black 2CV that belongs to the sculptor Antonis Tavanis and his partner Nancy Vekiarelli, a university lecturer and translator. Although too modest to take the credit for his achievement, Antonis is very firmly at the centre of Lafkos's rebirth as a place of culture. The famous car ("Red and black for Anarchy!") is named Tzitzivarou, after a local snack of pickled leaves. We sit sampling this odd delicacy in their courtyard, drinking home-made wine the colour of honey, while Antonis tells us of his move to Lafkos from Athens 10 years ago. Later, in his studio, we see the new work he is creating: a series of wrought metal sculptures that depict Greece's seafaring history. In March 2002 he'll be exhibiting in a church in Pisa, before the installation transfers to Milan.

The similarities with the Deia of 20 or more years ago are immediately striking. Even the physical settings of the two villages echo each other. Like Deia, Lafkos has wonderful views of the sea – in this case, looking out towards the brilliant blue waters of the Pagasitic Gulf. Like Deia, it is set in a region densely packed with olive trees and lemon groves. Roads are fringed with fig trees. Walls and gardens are a mass of colour and greenery, of roses and bougainvillea, hibiscus and trumpet vines. Like Deia, there is something of a hidden "secret" quality to the place. A visitor passing through Deia on the main road towards Soller, could easily miss the pretty road (Es Clot) that winds down to a former goat path that in turn leads to the sea. Likewise, entering Lafkos via the narrow road that leads into the main village square, you might well imagine that you'd come to a dead end and that the quaint houses across a little valley (where most of the artists are settled) were entirely separate from the village.

Both places contain hidden treasures. But while Deia might now be overcrowded in summer, and too expensive for struggling artists, Lafkos still has the sense of quietude that people like Graves first sought. Its streets are near-silent in the daytime. The few shops are dark, cool and cavern-like, set back on the shady side of the road. The leafy village square is a place to sit and dream. Enjoy it while you can.

Getting there: The quick and easy way to Lafkos from the UK is on a charter flight from London or Manchester to the small airport at Volos, about an hour's drive away. Tapestry Holidays (020-8235 7788, www.tapestryholidays.com) with whom the writers travelled, has a series of summer charters which is just coming to an end. They resume in May 2002. A week's holiday in Lafkos itself will cost from £525 per person, including flights and car rental. Until then, reaching Lafkos is tricky. Tie in a cheap return on easyJet (0870 6000 000, www.easyJet.com) from Luton to Athens, with a four-hour bus ride from the Greek capital to Volos, and a further one-hour bus trip.

Traveller's guide

Accommodation: The £525 package price applies to simple rooms. For £650 per person, you can stay 10 minutes' drive away from Lafkos in Pounda Paou (00 30 423 54 350). This gorgeous waterside hotel is run by an architect Panos Triantafillou and his wife Loula. The price includes a boat to explore the coast.

Alternatively, book a place to stay through a company like Houses of Pelion (01963 210 667, www.pelion.co.uk) – this company can advise on, but does not arrange, flights to Greece.

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