Greek Islands holidaysThis small Cyclades island seems to be all sparkly sandals and chic frocks but out of town fantastic cliffs and quiet beaches take over
Next week: Milos and Sifnos
Amorgos, Kalymnos, Ikaria
Ikaria was arcadian, Kalymnos devilishly entertaining and Amorgos hauntingly beautiful. So far, my Greek island-hopping adventure has delivered, but as I reach Folegandros, my faith wobbles. I’m in Chora, as the main towns on many of these islands are called, it’s evening and hundreds of well-heeled visitors, dressed in tailored summerwear, are settling in to the artful maze of outdoor eating areas. It’s all very chi-chi, with not a donkey plop in sight. Will Pierce Brosnan leap out and attempt to sing? Has Folegandros sold its soul?
I examine the portents and they are not good. On the way here the ferry stopped at neighbouring Santorini. There were three giant cruise ships in the bay, a coach jam on the cliff and, as we disembarked, a socialite in stilettoes tripped on the ferry gangplank, causing a pink wheelie bag pile-up. A Japanese wedding party came aboard, exhausted but still bingeing on selfies. It was all a bit instagrim.
Next morning, though, Chora is unrecognisable from the night before: old ladies are sweeping the steps where kittens play. I get disoriented in the twisting alleyways and emerge on the edge of an impressive cliff. An ancient cobbled road leads me back inland, suggesting I might like to explore a different part of the island. Today, I decide, I will follow my nose.
I take a stony path across the island and down to a beach at the village of Agkali. There is only one person around – a young lad collecting snails among the sage. “Karavoli,” he says, miming eating. After another cove I loop inland, climbing past an abandoned village, then down to a lighthouse on a jutting headland. The narrow path then leads across a cliff face above a fjord of translucent turquoise water to a gorgeous deserted beach where I swim, and fall asleep.
When I wake up there are two naked people lying asleep at the water’s edge, like the Venus de Milo and her consort washed up. Feeling overdressed, I press on up the coast, hoping there will be a bus back to Chora from wherever I end up. This early morning stroll has turned into an epic hike. A detour takes me down cliffs dotted with samphire to rock pools filled with pure white sea salt, like slush in my hands. It tastes utterly divine.
I walk back up the mountain in the heat and reach the road that runs down the spine of the island. I’m now desperate for a drink and head for the nearest building which turns out to be the Iliovasilema (sunset) taverna. A man rides past on a donkey. Both of them appear to be asleep. The menu on the door states: chicken, rabbit, pigeon, meat balls, cheese. In the kitchen an elderly man in a white vest is rolling out flatbreads while a woman chops tomatoes. Now I know where this walk is going: to real Greece.
I’m feeling the effect of my exertions. Sweat drips from me. I’m dizzy and dehydrated. I drink a litre of tap water. My clothes are soaking. I retire to the bathroom and change into the only alternative outfit available: my swimming trunks. I hang my clothes outside in the sun and sit down. The old man says nothing; he just keeps rolling the bread.
They bring me a Greek salad: tiny pungent olives, homemade cheese, home-grown onions, cool cucumber and sun-soaked tomatoes. Slowly I am revived. I examine the map: down the cliff on the other side of the island there is a beach, Serfiotiko. I put my clothes back on and leave. The sounds of bread rolling and tomato chopping fade.
The village of Ano Meria seems sun-stunned and silent. An octopus hangs on a washing line, plastic buckets stand by stone rainwater cisterns, vines laden with tiny grapes crawl across narrow, terraced fields choked with sage and thyme. Then, from a curtained blue-framed window, comes the sound of someone singing in a high-pitched wail. It can’t be Brosnan, not here. I descend to the sea, popping out on a narrow shingle beach. There’s a patch of shade under a tamarisk tree and I lie down. A lizard comes to inspect me. I fall asleep again.
When I wake up the golden light of late afternoon has arrived. I swim then set off, without thinking, taking a cliff path further north to another beach. I know this now means a massive return hike and I’ve no idea how I’ll cope but, frankly, I never want this day to end. I lose the path and come across a lost garden where the vines have run wild, snaking through self-seeded figs, carobs and aromatic herbs. How those butterflies defy the wind is a mystery. Finally I see the beach far below and, regaining the path, drop down to the sea. I swim and watch a small octopus attended by two dancing green fish at my feet.
Once I’m out of the water, the thought of the significant hike back up to Ano Meria is too much. I’ll wait for a boat. Sunset is imminent. Maybe I’ll spend the night under a tree. Then, almost by magic, a couple with film-star good looks arrive on a motor scooter. Is this real? Yes, they say, we are Swiss actors on holiday. They offer me a lift up the hill, drop me outside the Sunset taverna, then disappear.
I set off walking back to Chora. It’s like strolling up the back of a sleeping dinosaur. Long after dark I reach the town to find the streets filled with couples in tailored eveningwear: men in cerise shorts and yachting shoes, women in frocks and spangled sandals. All I’ve got is tide marks of sea salt and the dust of five beaches. A man leads two mules past me and winks: kali spera. Brosnan does not sing. Folegandros is redeemed.
Hidden Greece has seven nights at the Hotel Meltemi in Chora, Folegandros, from £695 room-only, including flights to Santorini. Ferries can be booked online at ferries.gr (Amorgos to Folegandros, €69.80). More information from visitgreece.gr
Looking for a holiday with a difference? Browse Guardian Holidays to see a range of fantastic trips
ncG1vNJzZmivp6x7tbTEoKyaqpSerq96wqikaKyilsOmuI5rZ2pxX5bCqHuQcGafp5yatKK6w6umrGWZqLmiusNmnqudlZiybq%2FYnKOanJWoerity6Sgp59dnbyttcOasGaalZawqQ%3D%3D