Going to Greece? Don’t Skip Sifnos

To go or not to go?

Do you lean into the vaccine and trust you’ll be okay? Or, stay put and wait for others to test the waters first?

How many masks do I pack? If they shut the borders, can we get back out?

How much of my anxiety is due to Covid PTSD? And is traveling the only way to get over anxiety about traveling?

If the vaccine is a parachute … do we have to pull the ripcord in order to trust it?

And … Am I an absolute dick if I post pictures on Instagram of my travels?

I was going to write the very first blog post on the subject of simply traveling internationally again for the first time since October of 2019.

And I fielded (and am happy to continue to field) many personal messages about what traveling internationally is like right now.

However, I can’t really answer your questions. Was the airport crowded? No, not really. Doesn’t meant it won’t be when you’re there, though. Was everyone on the plane wearing a mask? I don’t know. I was in my seat, trying to sleep with a blanket over my face. The flight attendants were in full PPE, with face shields, ER smocks and gloves, and one of the bathrooms was reserved only for staff, which meant waiting in decent lines to pee the whole flight.

Did I need documents? Yep. Sure did. They were easy to download and fill out online, however, and I had to fill out health declarations for the ferries here. But I don’t know where you are going or when or how things will be then.

I can say, I’ve been happily shocked at how many people here in Greece are wearing masks, even outside. There’s no moaning, no political implication, and no lack of available paper ones, should you forget yours.

Covid-19 has messed us all up. I have anxiety about germs now in a way I didn’t before. I don’t like strangers leaning over my phone to show me something. I don’t want to shake the hotel manager’s hand. Massages do not sound relaxing.

But it’s just reality, and while I pushed myself out the door (very quickly due to that fact that we found a last-minute, extremely affordable business class fare), I am personally okay with the adventure overall being the risk. I’m still avoiding human contact with anyone but Chris. I’m still masking in public restrooms and in taxis. My hand sanitizer is always handy.

So, knowing I couldn’t properly give you any sort of real-life advice, other than saying I feel safe with the knowledge that I’m vaccinated and all the restaurants in Greece are outside seating only, I simply say this.

Go to Sifnos if you’re going to Greece.

Sifnos is what you need. Few people. Lots of soul. Wide open spaces. Deep, blue waters. Affordable. Affable. Chill. Serene. Authentically Cycladic.

Sifnos has a small-island sense of adventure — in its tiny villages, like the Kastro, with it’s sky-high, white-and-blue church domes and cheerful cafe tables and dizzying heights. Move your chair and you could tumble to your death.

Your ears will pop on the winding, cliffside roads leading down to Platis Gialos. Those switchbacks are best navigated by motorcycle. Pull off and stare down at the enormous Chrisopigi Monastary, rising from a stark rock island. Or, stay at Paradise Palace, like we did, where those epic views come right off the ledge of an infinity pool for less than $100 a night.

I loved Apollonia––the capital town of Sifnos––with bohemian shops, postcards fluttering in the breeze and laneways full of tavernas, which were full of tables, full of bowls of their famous chickpea soup.

This high season in Greece, most of our hotels have been mid-range, running right at 100 Euros a night. In Sifnos, it’s 50 Euros instead.

I spent my 41st birthday on this island, and Chris surprised me with a 5-hour, private motorboat rental. You don’t need a captain’s license, and you can spend all day exploring hidden, abandoned coves all on your own for $160. Before departing, they teach you how to drop an anchor. You get a cooler and instructions on linking your phone to the Bluetooth. Then cruise off, anchor out, dive in and just float.

I found I needed to float.

I needed to just fly somewhere and simply be there. I haven’t longed to pack each day with activities or tours, with meeting people or creating connections. In Athens, I didn’t even climb up to the Acropolis. I looked at it happily from afar.

I don’t care what the best restaurant is. Anywhere. In Sifnos––an island long lauded for food––it’s Omega 360 that gets the most press. We skipped that one, opting instead for their hipster sister outpost, Cantina.

Cantina is down a long, winding gravel path with crumbling old walls, stray cats and goats. Down the tracks leading away from the imposing Kastro fortess, tucked in a hillside of dirt and dried bushes, it’s a shabby, white concrete building. You sit on rocks as they grill that day’s catch right in front of you. Reservations are a must, because it’s a Zero Waste operation and all the food is sourced from the sea.

Speaking of the sea … everyone on the outdoor, no-frills, rocky terrace is dripping. Because you can swim in the cove just before or after eating at Cantina. That’s the biggest highlight, honestly. That simple swim. The time to just float.

As I was floating, something came from the deep and bit me on the thigh. Chris swears I disturbed an octopus with my foot. I keep telling him it felt more like a pair of claws than sucker cups. We will never know what it was, but I shrieked, leapt on top of him and then set out at a brisk breaststroke for the shore.

I’ve lived to tell the tale. To have had the meal. I’ve lived these last two weeks absolutely willing to count it as a win just to be in another country.

I have made so few plans. I have restored my love of being far from home. I have done the Trust Fall with my vaccine. I feel differently than I did just two weeks ago. Restored. Grateful. Sad. Happy. Homesick. Sluggish. Revitalized. All those mixed emotions of travel.

I have also sported my mask, because others may not be so blessed and lucky to have had that luxury yet. I have been abundantly patient, and I think that’s key. You cannot travel like you did before. Let it go. Sit at the restaurant another hour. When the cab you waited 45 minutes for at the port does not arrive, rent a motorcycle. We did.

As for Instagram, I decided to post. And, to post a lot.

It’s my 41st year. I want to be able to look back when I’m 61 and have those memories recorded. I wanted to do my job again. God, how I’ve missed it. The world is still out there. It’s beautiful. It’s safe. It’s also dangerous and the potential to get sick is all around you. But, really, that was true in 2018, too.

I can’t say what you should do, where you should go, what precautions you need to take, or how you should feel.

I’ve got strong, personal beliefs, but let’s leave that to an in-person discussion. If you go to Greece, go to Sifnos.

To get here, fly into Athens, and hop on FerryHopper.com. The speed boat costs 37 Euros and takes 2 hours and 10 minutes. Simple as that.