Sunday afternoon in Chora and men in faded white vests sit on plastic chairs playing backgammon; Leather-skinned farmers ride sleepy donkeys and old women in colorful aprons rub dried thyme between their palms.
Folegandros is the Greece of yesteryear, where wild goats make their way through arid fields, octopuses hang from clotheslines and Yia Yias (Greek grannies) sweep their steps while throwing handfuls of pellets into the streets for stray cats.
The island, measuring just eight by three miles, nurtures ancient traditions dating back to 3000 BC. Children are taught how to build and care for its stone walls, and each family is responsible for maintaining one of the 65 churches. Greek Orthodox churches filled with incense around the island.
What makes it extra special is that, with its bright white houses and domed churches, soaring cliffs, volcanic landscapes and outrageous sunsets, the island is no different to Santorini. Except there’s hardly anyone there.
The population is 600 inhabitants. There is no airport or cruise terminal. The use of umbrellas and sun loungers on the beaches is prohibited. Electricity didn’t arrive until 1974 (and some parts of the island remain off the grid, relying on solar panels and generators).
Virgin: On a tour of Folegandros, Harriet Sime walks a zigzag path to the 17th-century Church of Panagia (pictured)
The first car left a ferry in 1984. And the first tourists (four British girls in miniskirts, according to the locals) did not arrive until 1964.
Suffice it to say that Folegandros has maintained a low profile, long condensed to a few sentences in tourist guides. While 2.8 million tourists come to Santorini during the high season, Folegandros receives 50,000.
Our base is Gundari, the island’s first five-star hotel located atop soaring volcanic cliffs in the southeast.
It was inaugurated last month. Located amid 80 acres on the island’s southeast coast, Gundari (meaning “rocky place”) has 27 suites and villas, all with solar-heated infinity pools and rustic oak interiors with cream walls, brown linen and unpolished marble floors. Nothing distracts the view of the endless Aegean. It’s the brainchild of Australian marketing mogul Ricardo Larriera, who stumbled upon Folegandros in 2018.
Harriet likes to swim in the bright turquoise waters. Above, Agail beach
Chora, the island’s main town, is where “locals eat plates of rice-stuffed peppers in taverns.”
‘Why do it?’ I ask, as I follow him around the hotel. “Because I’m crazy,” she says with a wide smile. But Gundari is a triumph and has been respectfully and painstakingly designed using local limestone so that it blends into the spectacular landscape and is invisible from the coast.
One afternoon, we drive along the only main road that runs along the spine of the island to Chora, its main town, where locals eat plates of rice-stuffed peppers in tavernas and hop between boutiques selling linen jumpsuits and silver jewelry.
We meet Poly, a guide, in one of the city’s many whitewashed squares. She recently returned to the island from Athens with her husband, Nicos, who barely speaks English, but accompanies her on the tour anyway.
“I’m a donkey,” he says, eyes shining as Poly hands him his backpack and we begin walking along a zigzag path to the 17th-century church of Panagia. We will stop along the way to look at the graves where Poly’s mother and brother are buried and admire the view.
Harriet is staying at Gundari, pictured, the island’s first five-star hotel, which opened last month.
Above, local farmers use donkeys to travel around Folegandros Island.
We found the priest sitting under the shade of a tree. He dresses in black from head to toe, with a long gray beard that must reach down to his belly when he is standing. Poly says that he is famous on the island for drinking and smoking, and that he is the only person allowed to ride his moped to the church.
The next morning, we board a boat to explore quiet bays that seem to be torn from the cliff. I dive off the boat and swim to an outcrop of crystallized marble rocks that turns the sea a bright turquoise. It’s so clear I can see the color of the varnish on my toes as I stand in chest-deep water.
We will spend our last night in Santorini. We’re based at Andronis Luxury Suites, a glamorous hotel with private pools and cavernous terraces in Oia, the much-photographed whitewashed town clinging to volcanic cliffs.
The streets are packed with tourists with selfie sticks and flying drones, while women struggle up the cobblestone stairs in high heels and tight dresses.
My advice? Spend a night in chi-chi Santorini and continue to Folegandros where you will discover the real Greece.
