TINOS: For pilgrims, walkers and antisocial types
Mykonos these days is all hen-dos, hashtags and extortionate cocktails (à15, about R2447) but a 20-minute ferry ride will take you to a world of empty landscapes and time-warped villages untouched by mass tourism. Tinos offers everything that makes Greece such a perennial favourite — laid-back lifestyle, fresh, simple cuisine, glorious beaches and rugged scenery — but without the crowds. For the region’s Christians it is famous. The church of Panagia Evangelistria (pictured below), has been dubbed “The Lourdes of Greece” and on August 15 — the feast day for the Assumption of Mary — it’s standing room only. For the remaining 364 days the tide is reduced to a faithful trickle.
I hired a car to explore the island’s mountainous interior. Xinara, a few miles from the coast, is perched at the foot of a prominent limestone peak and at the head of a gloriously picturesque valley. It’s car-free and tourist-free, with just a single narrow street, a couple of chapels, a tiny outdoor theatre and a clutch of whitewashed houses. The whistle of the shepherd can still be heard on the hillside and stray cats outnumber people.
Tinos rewards walkers. Some 160km of old donkey tracks lined with drystone walls and wild flowers have been turned into a dozen signposted trails. First up was a steep hike past chapels and a monastery to the mountain of Xomburgo. The remains of a Venetian fortress cling to the slopes and the view from the top is remarkable: row after row of terraced hillsides. And I had it to myself. Head downhill and you’ll soon reach Loutra, once a bustling settlement with 500 inhabitants, now all but deserted.
It was the same story at Tarampados, home to many of the 700 pigeon houses scattered across Tinos. Built in the 18th and 19th centuries to provide farmers with meat and fertiliser, they also served as status symbols and are elaborately decorated. Travellers were also absent in Volax, gateway to the most staggering landscape on the island. Littered with thousands of granite boulders, it looks more like the badlands of Arizona than a Greek isle — only the occasional bleating goat gave the game away.
The northern town of Pyrgos, renowned for its marble, has a bustling main square with a knot of restaurants, each with outdoor seating in the shadow of a colossal plane tree. But after strolling down a side street I had only cats for company.
Green shoots of tourism can also be seen on the coast. The pretty beach of Kolibithra had a score of sunseekers and loungers for hire. On my final night I returned to the capital, with its tangle of atmospheric streets. Home to half of its 10,000-strong population, it gets busy — you might even see traffic. But it’s a lived-in port, not one lost to tourism. A mile along the coast I found Marathia, a restaurant that will have a one-month waiting list if the masses ever discover Tinos. I feasted on artichokes, samphire, feta and fish, with a view to die for: the darkening Aegean, six different islands — but not a selfie or cruise ship in sight.