Folegandros

Listen first. Wind moves across dry stone, and somewhere below you the Aegean breaks against a cliff you cannot quite see. The air smells of thyme, salt and warm earth. This is Folegandros, one of the smaller islands of the Cyclades, the scattered group of islands in the southern Aegean Sea. It is a place shaped far more by rock and wind than by crowds. Take a moment to feel the ground underfoot before we begin.

The first thing most visitors notice is the shape of the land. Folegandros is long, narrow and steep. Its eastern and northern coasts drop sharply into the sea, and in many places the cliffs fall straight into deep blue water. There are few trees. Instead you see terraces, low stone walls and pale hillsides covered in tough, scented shrubs. The island looks spare at first. Look longer, and every wall and terrace shows generations of human work.

The main village is called Chora, which simply means "the town" in Greek. Many Cycladic islands use the same word for their capital. What makes this Chora unusual is its position. It sits right on the edge of a high cliff, with the sea a long way below. From some corners of the village you can lean on a wall and look down a drop that makes your stomach tighten. The houses are white, the doors and shutters are often blue, green or red, and bougainvillea spills over the walls.

At the heart of Chora is the Kastro, which means "castle". It is not a castle in the way you might imagine — there is no single keep or tower. Instead, the outer houses are joined together so that their back walls form a continuous defensive wall. The Kastro dates from the medieval period, when Venetian lords ruled many of these islands after the Fourth Crusade. Its narrow lanes and outside staircases give it a feeling of a small, closed world.

Walk slowly through the Kastro if you can. The houses have narrow wooden balconies and steep external stairs that lead to upper floors. The design was practical. Inside the wall, families lived close together, and the plain outer face gave raiders very little to climb. Today the lanes are quiet, and you may hear only a cat, a radio through an open window, or a neighbour sweeping a doorstep. This is still a lived-in place, so keep your voice low.

Outside the Kastro, Chora opens into a chain of small squares. Locals and visitors fill them in the evening with tables and chairs under shady trees. Here is something many visitors miss: there are almost no cars in the centre of Chora. The village grew for people on foot and for donkeys, not for traffic. So the main sounds after dark are conversation, clinking glasses and the scrape of chairs on stone.

Now look up, above the village. On the hill to the north, a white church stands alone on the slope. This is the Church of the Panagia, a name Greeks use for the Virgin Mary. A zigzag path climbs to it from Chora. The walk is steep but short, and the reward is the view: the whole of Chora below you, balanced on its cliff, with the open sea beyond. Locals tell stories about the church and its icon, and like many island tales, these mix faith and legend.

Here is a second surprise. Folegandros has a cave with a long human story. It is called Chrysospilia, which means "golden cave". It lies in the cliffs below Chora and is usually reached only by boat. Archaeologists found inscriptions on its walls, including names carved in ancient times. Scholars think young men may have gathered there for rituals connected to coming of age. Access to the cave is limited, so most visitors see it from the sea.

In the twentieth century, Folegandros had a darker role. Because it was remote and difficult to reach, the Greek state used it as a place of exile for political prisoners. This happened during more than one authoritarian period. People who opposed the government were sent here and lived far from their families. It is a quiet reminder that the same isolation that charms visitors today once felt like a prison to others.

To understand island life beyond Chora, travel north to Ano Meria. The name means "upper part". It is not a compact village but a long string of farmhouses spread along the ridge. Families once lived in Chora in winter and moved here to work the land in summer. You will see threshing floors, which are flat stone circles once used to separate grain, along with small chapels and fields enclosed by walls. Life here moves at the pace of goats and weather.

Food on Folegandros reflects this farming past. Look for matsata, a handmade pasta, often served with a slow-cooked meat sauce. Local cheeses and simple pies made with island ingredients also appear on many menus. Ask the person serving you what is local today. Small island kitchens often depend on what the season, the fishing boats and the ferry bring in. The answer may guide you to the best dish of the day.

The coast offers its own rhythm. Ferries arrive at the small port of Karavostasis, which has a beach close to the harbour. Other beaches lie in coves along the southern shore. Some are reached by road and a walk down a path. Others are easiest to reach by small boat. Expect pebbles more often than fine sand, and very clear water. On windy days, which are common in the Cyclades in summer, choose a sheltered bay.

As evening comes, people in Chora gather near the cliff edge to watch the light change. The white walls turn gold, then pink, then a soft grey-blue. The church on the hill catches the last of the sun. This is a good moment simply to stop. Notice how close the houses stand to one another, how small the windows are, and how the whole village turns its back to the wind.

Before you move on, look once more at what is around you. The stone walls that run across the hills. The narrow lanes, worn smooth by centuries of feet. The sea, which brought raiders, rulers, exiles and now travellers like you. Folegandros does not try to impress anyone. It simply continues, quietly, on the edge of its cliff. Listen to the wind one more time as you walk on.