I feel like I’m in a time warp — I first went Greek island hopping in my late teens, many years ago, and here I am back in the port of Piraeus. In this time of travel restrictions, I’m taking advantage of cheap air fares and the fact that most of Greece is still open.
And as the islands I visited in my backpacking days, namely Mykonos and Santorini, are currently on the quarantine list, it’s an opportunity to explore some of the lesser-known Cyclades.
There’s plenty of space out on the deck of my ferry, so I choose my spot by the rail and prepare for the five-hour voyage. Safety is key and the stewards come around at regular intervals to check everyone is wearing face masks.
The majority of passengers seem to be locals, with only a tiny smattering of tourists. As we make our way eastwards, the sun sets behind the stern and it’s night when I disembark in Paros.
Parikia port is lined with restaurants and straight after dumping my bags, I’m sitting by the sea tucking into those archetypal regional specialties, Greek salad and moussaka, washed down with a carafe of local wine. There may not be many customers, but everything still stays open until after midnight.
Next morning, I get to explore the town behind the busy harbour. It’s a labyrinth of narrow lanes, too small for cars, with artisan boutiques surrounding the remains of the Kastro, a small ruined tower.
The town is also home to the most important church in the Cyclades. Panagia Ekatontapyliani, dating from 326CE, is actually three distinct churches and reputedly has 100 doors.
Bigger than some of the better-known destinations in the Cyclades, Paros retains its island character with no big hotels and meandering narrow roads, plus a population of around 15,000 — only slightly higher than smaller Santorini.
Planning regulations limit the height of buildings and specify white for the walls, with a choice of only four colours for the woodwork, blue being the most prominent. The countryside is peppered with snow-white villages and domed churches while the coast is lined with sandy beaches.
Since ancient times, the island has been known for the purity and transparency of its marble, supplying 70 per cent of classical Greek sculpture. The marble mines lie inland, just outside Lefkes at Marathi, where the last slabs were quarried in the 19th century for Napoleon’s tomb. A marked path leads up to two huge entrances and you can still explore — take a torch and good shoes.
I leave Paros in one of the new modern hydrofoils, fast but completely enclosed, so no sitting out on deck. It’s only around 30 minutes to Naxos, the largest island of the group, where the imposing citadel of Chora comes into view.
Even more impressive is the Portara, two 6m marble columns topped by a 3.5m lintel rising into the sky. This is the gateway to the unfinished Temple of Apollo, built by the tyrant Lygdamis around 530 BCE.
Behind the usual cluster of restaurants lining the port, steep alleys lead up to what once was the ancient acropolis, topped by the Venetian Kastro. Marco Sanudo, nephew of the then Venetian Doge, decided to stop here on his way back from the crusades in the 13th century and founded the Venetian Duchy of the Aegean. This fortress originally had 12 towers; only one remains but many Venetian mansions survive.
From here I can see Mount Zeus, the highest peak in the Cyclades, rising over 1,000m, and supposedly where the king of the gods was raised. There’s cloud on the top and the rain makes Naxos fertile enough for potatoes.
The interior is carpeted in olive trees and vines, particularly appropriate for an island said to be the birthplace of Dionysus, the god of wine.
Long sandy beaches lead south from Chora down the south coast, punctuated by rocky outcrops jutting over turquoise seas. I’m keen to get into the mountains but stop first at a small temple to the goddess Demeter, sitting attractively among the fields.
It was partially reconstructed in the 1980s and there’s an excellent museum. In the distance, white villages dot the hillside, gashed by the island’s own marble quarries.
Naxos marble is not as fine-grained as that from Paros, so better suited for larger structures. Carving would start in the quarry before being finished at the final destination. In Flerio, two large marble statues remain from the 7th and 6th centuries BCE, each measuring about 5.5m. Both have broken limbs, a result of shoddy workmanship, and were abandoned forever.
Half an hour away, Filoti is the largest village in the interior and the staging post for climbing Mount Zeus. I take the easy way up, starting by Agios Marina church at around 550m and climbing to the summit on a well-marked trail.
The cloud lifts for a moment and I’m rewarded with tremendous views over the whole of Naxos and the surrounding islands.
I can just make out Amorgos, my final destination, beyond the lesser Cyclades. Next day, the slow ferry, misleadingly named the Express Skopelitis, stops at three of these, Iraklia, Schinoussa, and Koufonissi before crossing the rough channel to bring me to Amorgos. It’s less than 20 miles long, with only 2,000 inhabitants, and was the location for the 1988 film The Big Blue.
We dock at Katapola, actually three distinct villages grouped in a horseshoe around the bay. The port is really just a cluster of simple restaurants and tiny guesthouses, reminding me of how life in the Greek islands used to be when I began my own explorations.
Even its own ancient city, Minoa, sitting on the hillside, displays its pottery finds on wooden tables rather than under glass.
Nestling in the high centre of the island, safe from pirate attack, the capital, Chora, is surrounded by rocky hills topped with decapitated windmills. In the centre, the 13th century Kastro perches precariously on an upright volcanic plug, along with a chapel or two. It’s surrounded by low white houses, linked by a labyrinth of narrow lanes, sprouting purple bougainvillea.
From here I take a path downwards towards the sea before starting to climb 350 steps to the 11th century Moni Hozoviotissis monastery. The dazzling white sheer structure is embedded into the cliff face and eight floors, connected by narrow stone staircases, are carved into the rock.
Only a couple of monks occupy the 50 rooms now but they still offer traditional hospitality. Every guest is treated to a sugary lump of loukoúmi, a warming shot of raki, with honey and spices, and a cool glass of water.
I really do feel I’ve found a place where time has stood still.
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