Mykonos

The light in late May is sharp enough to make the island look as though it had been whitewashed that morning. The windmills of Kato Mili came into view as the ferry rounded the headland — seven white towers on a ridge above the sea, their wooden blades still against a sky so blue it hurt. That image, that particular shade of Cycladic white meeting Aegean blue, is the one that stays. Mykonos Town is a labyrinth in the best sense — narrow marble streets that twist and fork without warning, designed this way centuries ago to confuse pirates. Today they lead you past boutiques, tiny churches, and courtyards spilling over with bougainvillea. Every turn is a photograph. Every corner reveals a new shade of blue — on a dome, a door, a shutter. The island has a way of making you slow down, look up, and stay longer than you planned.

The island takes its name from Mykons, a figure in Greek mythology said to be the son of Apollo and a local nymph. In antiquity, Mykonos was part of the Delian League — the maritime alliance led by Athens — and its proximity to sacred Delos (just twenty minutes by boat) gave it strategic importance. During the Byzantine era, it served as a naval outpost. The Venetians took control in the 13th century and left an architectural imprint that defines the island today. The iconic windmills, built from the 16th century onward (the oldest surviving mill, Geronymos, dates to 1700), were used to grind wheat into flour and remained in operation until the mid-20th century. Sixteen windmills still stand on the island; seven sit on the hill above Chora, and two — Geronymos and Bonis Mill — have been restored and are open to the public. Mykonos entered its modern chapter in the 1960s, when international travellers discovered its beaches and whitewashed charm, transforming it into the cosmopolitan Cycladic destination it remains today.

Mykonos has a beach for every mood, and the coast splits neatly by character. The southern shore is sheltered from the meltemi wind, which means calm water, organised clubs, and the famous beach scene. Paradise Beach is the island's legendary party stretch — golden sand, water sports by day, DJ sets from mid-afternoon. Next door, Super Paradise sits in a sheltered cove framed by granite outcrops, with the same high-energy atmosphere. For something more polished, Psarou curls into a graceful horseshoe bay with fine sand and the upscale Nammos beach club. If you want a proper swim without the soundtrack, head to Ornos — a sheltered bay just south of town with calm, shallow water and family-friendly tavernas, or Platis Gialos, a long stretch of fine golden sand lined with seaside restaurants. The north coast is windier, wilder, and quieter. Agios Sostis has no sunbeds and just one rustic taverna — bring a towel and water. Panormos offers soft pale sand in a protected northern bay, popular with locals who want to escape the crowds. For late afternoon, any beach on the west side catches a stunning sunset.

Mykonian food is Cycladic cooking at its most confident. Start with kopanisti — a spicy, creamy aged cheese unique to the island, spread on fresh bread and drizzled with olive oil. It is pungent, salty, and utterly addictive. Follow it with louza — cured pork fillet seasoned with herbs and spices, sliced thin like prosciutto. The sea gives generously here: grilled octopus, fried calamari, and lobster spaghetti (you will pay for it, but it is worth it) appear on every taverna menu. For dessert, look for amygdalota — almond cookies scented with rose water — or melopita, a honey pie that is simpler than it sounds and better than it has any right to be. Wash it all down with ouzo, or better yet, ask for a local tsipouro — the islanders drink it chilled, alongside everything.

Late spring (May to June) is Mykonos at its most beautiful. The bougainvillea is in full bloom, the sea is warm enough for swimming, and the crowds have not yet arrived. Summer (July to August) is high season: the island is buzzing, every beach club is open, and the energy is infectious — but so are the prices. Early autumn (September to October) is a fine second window: the water is still warm (often warmer than in June), the light is golden, and you can walk the streets of Chora without dodging selfie sticks. From November to April, most hotels and restaurants close, and the island returns to its quiet, wind-scoured self — beautiful in a raw, untouristed way, but best suited for solitude seekers.

Mykonos is reached by sea from Athens, with ferries sailing from Piraeus or Rafina. The crossing takes between two and five hours depending on whether you choose a high-speed or a conventional boat, and sailings in July and August are booked well ahead.

Getting lost in Chora is the point. Put the map away. The marble streets all look the same anyway, and every wrong turn leads to something worth seeing. The best way to explore the island beyond town is by ATV or scooter — it gives you access to the remote northern beaches and the hilltop views that cars cannot reach. For sunset, skip the crowded windmill hill and head to Armenistis Lighthouse instead — arrive an hour early, bring a bottle of something cold, and watch the sky turn. Most places accept cards now, but keep cash for the small tavernas in Ano Mera and the beach canteens on the north coast.