Sight seeing is about your eyes, the real Greece is about your heart. To warm your heart, you must get far from the madding crowd. That takes a bit of research and a bit of luck.
What you are looking for is an island with a few good tavernas and just a few small hotels or rooms with ensuite bathrooms. Less and you suffer, more and you will be less likely to find the flow of village life. It helps if it takes some effort to reach a good beach.
A bit of good, or disheartening, news depending on your spirit for adventure. Your undiscovered island will be discovered. The search is always on going. Let me give you some personal examples.
In 1992 I was working on the most high stakes, stressful deal of my career. A never before tried benefit plan would, if successful, allow my employer a 380 million tax deduction as part of a divestiture. If my idea failed, as I was reminded daily by lead counsel, I would be fired.
When the deal successfully closed, I needed a vacation to decompress. It was a time before google. Researching a trip meant reading travel guide books and other source material. I came across a New York Times article about an island desolate enough that from 1900 until 1970 it was a place of exile for political prisoners. But the article said it had a certain charm and a beautiful chora, which means town. and is usually the designated name for an island's main town.
Folegandros had no gas stations. The one bus ran between the port and Chora and continued on to the main beach, and finally to Ano Meria the other town on the island. I was intrigued.
My first wife, who has since passed, and I, arrived on Folegandros in late September. The bus from the port filled us with some trepidation. In the fall the land was barren, befitting of a former prison colony. Our mood lightened when we were let off at one of the most charming Cycladic towns in the entire chain of islands.
We stayed at Polikandia, just a one minute walk from the main squares. The rooms were basic, but spotless. The owners, Maria from the island, and her husband from Crete, became fast friends.
In total there were no more than 20 tourists on the island. I soon settled into a routine. I would go to the village bakery with an oven built into stone, to get my wife a spanakopita. I would then go to Manoli's restaurant, sitting outside in the main square for Greek coffee and a light breakfast. I would relax and read, buffeted by the gentle trade winds. At lunch time Manoli, who spoke no English, would tap me on the shoulder and lead me into the kitchen. He would open the oven and I would point at my choice.
Sometimes I would, alone, or with Lynne, spend the entire afternoon there. Other times I would take the bus to the beach. The beach was perhaps a gentle slopped 1/2 mile walk from the bus stop, but seemed much steeper on the way back. In fact when I was lazy I would ride a donkey back up.
Dinner was a group of 8. In addition to Lynne and I, there was a Dutch couple that are now close friends, a Belgian couple, and Canadian newlyweds. After dinner we would drink the suitably rustic 3 star Metaxa until well into the night.
I have since visited Folegandros many times, including for the incomparable Orthodox Easter. But the last visit will be my last. The island is filled with boutiques and chic coffee houses and restaurants. Hotels are fancy and expensive. Polikandia has tripled in size with the rooms surrounding a newly added pool. Folegandros is now trendy.
On the same trip we and the newly weds went to Naoussa, a small fishing village on the island of Paros. I discovered an Ouzeri and ordered an ouzo. Everyone had calamari on their table, as it is traditional to have an appetizer with ouzo, often gratis. I asked for a metza, Greek for appetizer. No response. I asked in English. Again, no response.
The place of honor in a Greek taverna is often closest to the kitchen. I saw two weathered fisherman sitting in the prime spot. I pointed to them and ordered another round. Suddenly peanuts appeared on my table. I went back the next day and was served mixed nuts. When we had to leave the island, I complained to my wife that I was this close to getting the calamari.
Now Naoussa harbors rows of yachts. Scratch another town off my list.
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