The Sublimity of Ios: The Least-Known Island in Greece

by Julia Hamilton (United States of America)

I didn't expect to find Greece

People say the Greek islands are the place to travel in the summer: the hot spot for couples, the ideal family vacation. I can confirm this truth, but not for the reasons you’d imagine. Most travelers arrive in search of cream-colored beaches with clear, navy blue waters and grilled calamari served with a soothing crisp beer. Fools, I’d think to myself now, though at the time I had no idea what I would find would be so magnetic. It was the relationships I built that first summer in Ios, Greece that enriched my experience with more chaos and child-like joy than any other element of my travels. The backpacker community in Ios is like the picturesque hometown in 70s movies: the “have your back” attitude on the first day of class, the parents’ of your friend who take you in and never ask why.   I had traveled to Santorini intending to go to Mykonos afterwards and then onwards to Italy and Spain. Having just graduated from college, I was in search of a wild summer full of lime-soaked tequila shots and new adventures teetering between dangerous and exhilarating. I never made it beyond Santorini: I met an Aussie gal named Elke who said Mykonos was far too expensive and suggested we take the ferry to Ios instead, and though I had never heard of it, I said why not?   I arrived with Elke and my heavy-duty Osprey backpack, where we took a minivan to the beach. My lodging was slightly above the level of shack but below bungalow: thinly-cut strips of wood sealed together by thick, unwavering humid air and a few drops of glue, a circular thatched roof, and a double bed. The highlight: 4 pillows. No matter how hot nighttime became, 1 pillow always had remnants of a cool-side to press against my face.    Elke and I headed into “town”: 1 supermarket, a proper English pub, 3 Greek restaurants and approximately 30 bars clustered together. Elke and I got separated around midnight, but luckily two bartenders at the pub remembered me from earlier and took me under their wing. They presented me with a drink of their choosing, Sex on the Beach. The fruity flavors reminded me of a delectable Shirley Temple, but the alcohol more than assured this was the adult-version.  By the end of the evening I had met a unique blend of ex-pats and locals, Aussies and Greeks who owned a bar in town. I walked the 20-minute stretch of concrete paved by the ocean to my humble hut around 4 A.M., pausing along the way to coat myself in the warmth of the rising sun, shielding my tired eyes from the glimmer jumping off nearby waves.   The next few days I made friends from all over, every continent except Antartica accounted for. I rose promptly at noon everyday, shared a latte poolside with a few Greeks, and spent the afternoon watching the boys play volleyball and trading the latest hot gossip with the girls. I ate dinner in town around 9:30 P.M., and always ordered the lemon Greek chicken served atop a healthy portion of fluffy, garlicky rice. I spent my evenings bar-hopping, dancing to everything from 90s rock to R&B to hardcore techno. I chatted with the bartenders during each visit and slowly payed less-and-less for each drink as the days went on, transitioning from tourist to local. In layman’s terms: I had finally made it.   I extended my stay two times, and after 10 nights I moved out-but I didn’t leave the island. I moved in with a friend I made on my second day, a girl named Ana who I still chat with quite frequently.    I returned to Ios each summer for 3 years. Every season I met refreshing albeit somewhat unusual folks who reminded me why I began traveling solo, the desire to see the world my own way while not experiencing it alone. What I found in my newfound friendships on this incredible yet discounted island outlasted any feelings of grandeur I could easily have experienced elsewhere. After all, when else is a person happy they never made it to Italy or Spain?