Once upon a #Greeksummer’s weekend in Sifnos I found myself hunting down an isolated beach on this island which has much appeal and gastronomic goodness but not too many secrets—or does it? So when somebody told me I might dig a beach north of Kamares (the main port) called Vroulidia, I went.
The hairpin turns were layered up on top of each other like icing on a Kardashian wedding cake—they just wouldn’t quit. On a high portion of the road ahead of me I noticed two lovely and lightly-dressed women trudging along under the very hot Sifnian sun. The road then turned to dirt and barely clung to the mountain’s edge. The blue sea views were swoon-inducing. I drove as far as I could, but finally had to leave the car under a cliff and continue down to the sheltered beach on foot.
It was too windy for swimming, you know how that goes, so I ordered a lemonade from a lonely beachfront taverna which according to Google Maps is located at “Unnamed Road, Sifnos.” (Perfect.) But after a little while the two ladies turned up—one was German and the other Austrian, and between the three of us they could have made a movie called Uncommon Pallor. There was no one else around, and it wasn’t long before we were exchanging travel tips, joking and taking turns leaping into the luminous water from a makeshift jetty. We kept ordering small homemade nibbles from the taverna kitchen and everything was so good and the owner so nice and smiling that we decided to prolong our unforeseen elation by staying for dinner.
With the sea in front of us we shared a whole grilled fish—something I never would have ordered on my own—that was probably the best piece of fish I have ever tasted. And you haven’t tasted capers until you’ve been to Sifnos. Our après-feast cocktail came in the form of a crescent moon peeking through a ridiculously fuzzy violet sky, and as I drove my new and pale and happy friends back to Kamares nobody asked what time it was, or much cared. Not along that unknown road, anyway...
2. BLAME IT ON IOS
Illustration by Philippos Avramidis
She flew in/blew in from Santorini, like any gorgeous Air France flight attendant would. I too had just crossed the caldera, but it was my second trip to Ios and Sandrine’s first. I had seen her in the dark struggling with a broken suitcase as we disembarked the ferry, so I offered a hand. She didn’t know how to find her hotel so I invited her to walk with me to mine, where the owner is a friend and I knew could point her in the right direction. Before he did, Sandrine and I made plans to meet for breakfast.
But the next morning I overslept and Sandrine had already bolted for the distant and stunning beach of Manganari. Breakfast switched over to dinner. We got on instantly, but then some of my best friends are flight attendants—sky nomads, as I like to think of them, or the most contemporary kind of fairy. Sandrine was a wild child at heart, zooming around the clouds in a world full of rules and regulations defying them with the requisite dose of mischief one takeoff at a time. Within two days we were inseparable.
The next afternoon she texted me with instructions to meet her at a beach club called Erego. I have seen nothing else like it: call it spaceship chic, with theatrically DJ-curated sunsets over the Aegean and design exuberance on such a grand scale that it would take a complete absence of alcohol for me to truly convey the vibe. I wouldn’t have had the chutzpah, maybe, to go on my own. Sandrine is the kind of woman who will call in the middle of night to say ‘chéri, I am en route to Singapore—are you going to meet me there?” And when I realize resistance is futile I just lean back a little, and blame it on Ios...
