Why Greece? We wanted to recapture the magic of those Seventies holidays, but had we dreamt up the lightness of soul we'd felt in Lindos? And could those two weeks with three under-fives on Andros really have been as idyllic as my memory suggests? Our two latest forays to Greece - a package in 1990 to the lager-lout area of Crete, and three noisy, teenybopper-infested days on Spetses in 1988 - had been a severe disappointment.
For a month we studied Eperon's Guide To The Greek Islands as thoroughly as our daughter Lucinda studied her Leaving Certificate Maths. We finally settled on Sifnos, a tiny island in the Cyclades, which in ancient times became rich by mining gold and silver. Eperon loves Sifnos: It has interesting things to see, and variety in its towns and villages," he states. It is not big enough to be commercialised and to lose its undoubted charm.
The Milos Express takes 5 1/2 hours out of Piraeus to reach Sifnos. We blanched at the thought, but the voyage was pure pleasure. as we sunbathed on deck and watched the islands of Kynthos and the stunning Serifos drift slowly into view.
Docking at the Sifnos port of Kamares, with its beach and row of yachts, we took a bus, which meandered up the mountainside. The driver negotiated the hairpin bends with his eyes on the passenger he was chatting to, one hand flicking his cigarette ash duct of the window. I would have been terrified, were I not mesmerised by the valley of well-kept fields, with tiers of stone walls built to prevent landslides, and an astonishing quantity of dazzling white monasteries and churches with blue domes. Socrates, an Athenian shipping friend, owns a church here, and his family travel from all over the world to attend weddings and christenings.
Between the 13th and 19th centuries, Sifnos was occupied by the Venetians, the Turks and others, but, uniquely, the benevolent attitude of the rulers enabled schools, monasteries and churches to survive. Kastro, the ancient medieval capital, which we caught sight of as the bus left Apollonia, was never destroyed.
We slithered down the hill into Platy Gialos, desperate for a swim but doubtful of finding a room. There were no signs up. Most of the householders, who pride in their white houses with blue shutters and courtyards full of geraniums and bougainvillaea, never advertise. Everything is done, by word of mouth here. We were immediately ensconced in an airy two-room apartment adjacent to the beach.
Platy Gialos is a resort, with its line of tavernas and bars literally at the water's edge, but it doesn't feel like one. The two small hotels are set discreetly at either end of the beach, along with a club for watersports. One or two speed-boats skirt the bay, where caiques are moored, and an occasional yacht visits.
There are only two food shops. and the many beach-side potteries make traditional ware. There is no development on the island. No pollution. House-painters are constantly at work. even whitewashing the cracks in the paving stones.
There is a view of fields with goats. sheep, and working donkeys, and the rugged hills beyond. The tired cock, with his smoker's croak, postpones his feeble attempt at a cock-a-doodle-doo, until 11 o'clock. Only the bus reminded us of time, arriving promptly on the half hour; delivering people, papers, bread and gossip.
We rose late, breakfasting outside on yoghurt and honey before stepping down to the beach. The azure water was crystal clear, the blisteringly hot sand golden and unblemished. A constant breeze helped the olive trees to keep the heat at bay. We made elaborate plans each morning as, small though the island is, there is much to see. As the morning passed into afternoon, we would order Greek salad from one of the 15 tavernas, wash it down with ouzo, Sifnos wine, or beer, play backgammon on one of the huge sets provided, and talk while our plans dissolved,, in the heat.
In the cool of the evening we caught the bus to the lively town of Apollonia, where we bought traditional jewellery in the narrow lanes of the old town, lingered in the music bars, and drank in a nightclub before falling into a taxi. We walked from Platy Gialos, over the hill to the monastery of Panagia Chryssopighi (Virgin of the Golden Spring), and saw its miracle-working icon, found floating in the sea by fishermen.
We spent a day people-watching and shopping at Kamares. We planned to visit Kastro, tomorrow along with the fishing harbour at Vathi, but we lost track of our days and all too soon discovered that there were no tomorrows.
Leaving was misery. Our landlady, wife of a ship's captain, entertained us with tea and ice cream. To catch our Saturday 5 a.m. flight we left Sifnos on Thursday at midnight. We slept on the deck. and watched the dawn over the Peloponnese. Then with the aid of a lunatic taxi driver, we booked into an air-conditioned room of a beachside hotel near the airport, where we reminisced. and planned our return trip.