Symi

Symi greets you the way a gift is presented. The ferry turns the headland, and suddenly the whole town rises before you — Gialos, the harbour, a horseshoe of neoclassical houses painted in ochre, terracotta, turquoise, and pink, climbing the green hillside in tiers, with the blue domes of churches scattered among them. It is one of the most beautiful arrivals in all of Greece. The quay is best walked under the noon heat, past the sponge shops and the tavernas, before climbing the 500 steps of Kali Strata, the great stairway that links the harbour to the upper town of Ano Symi. From the top, the view over the roofs and the sea beyond is the one every postcard of Symi has tried and failed to capture. An afternoon boat crosses to the monastery of Panormitis in the south, a serene white complex on a green bay, and on the way back a cove of such clear water leaves the boat seeming to hang in the air. The town of Symi is small enough to cross in an hour, though the island itself is steep and anything but small, and it holds more history than its size suggests.

Symi's history is written in its architecture. The island was known in antiquity for its harbours and its sponge diving, but its great age came in the 19th century, when Symi was one of the most prosperous islands of the Aegean — its shipyards built the wooden vessels that dominated the eastern Mediterranean, its sponge divers worked the seas as far as North Africa, and its merchants grew rich. The wealth poured into the town: grand neoclassical houses with painted façades rose along the harbour and up the hillside, and the Kali Strata stairway was built to link the port to the upper town. The island declined sharply in the early 20th century, when motor ships replaced the wooden fleet and the sponge trade collapsed, and many Symiots emigrated. But the empty mansions survived, and from the 1980s the island was gradually restored — the pastel façades repainted, the courtyards replanted — until today Symi is a living museum of its own prosperity. The Monastery of Panormitis, dedicated to the Archangel Michael, has stood in the south of the island since the 18th century (on a site of much older veneration) and remains the island's spiritual heart. Symi was united with Greece in 1947, and today it thrives on the quiet beauty it was given and the hard work of its people.

The name is recorded by Stephanus of Byzantium in the sixth century AD. His Ethnica is not a book of stories but a dictionary of Greek place-names, and for this one it says: "It is named from Symē, daughter of Ialysus". (Ethnica, s.v. Σύμη).

That is the whole of what an ancient source has to say about how the place got its name. It is a shorter answer than the guidebooks give, and it is the only one with a source behind it.

Symi is a steep island, and its beaches are small coves rather than long sands — but they are among the clearest in the Aegean. The best swimming is on the east coast: Nimborio, a pretty cove with a church and a taverna; Pedi, a calm bay favoured by yachts; and Agios Nikolaos, a pebble beach with a small chapel. The remote cove of Marathounda on the west coast is reached by boat or a rough path and is gloriously quiet. And the tiny islet of Sesklia, off the southern tip, hides coves of white pebbles and turquoise water that feel entirely untouched. Many visitors simply take a boat trip around the island, stopping to swim in the coves where the water is so clear you can see the anchor chain to the bottom. Pack water shoes and a mask — the underwater world around Symi is rich and bright.

Symi's kitchen is defined by the sea, and its signature is the tiny Symi shrimp — the garydes of Symi, fried whole and crisp, served by the dozen with lemon, the most famous small plate in the Dodecanese. The island's tavernas also serve the daily catch — grilled fish, octopus, and calamari — with the local white wine. Symi is not a big culinary island, but its harbour tavernas make the most of what the sea gives, and a plate of shrimps with a cold glass of wine at a table by the water is one of the great simple pleasures of Greece. The island also produces a fine thyme honey and the inevitable sponge for sale in the shops; ask for the local dessert wines and the pastries of the island to end the meal.

May, June, and September are the ideal months on Symi: warm, sunny, and calm, with the harbour at its most photogenic and the coves quiet. July and August are busier — Symi is a favourite of the yachting crowd — but the island is small and always keeps its beauty; the evenings, when the day-trippers have left, are magical. Spring brings green hills and flowers to the terraces, and autumn lingers warm into October. Whatever the season, plan to stay at least one night: Symi at dusk, when the lights come on along the harbour and the day-trippers are gone, is the island at its best.

Symi has no airport and is reached entirely by sea. The ferry from Rhodes takes about an hour, small boats link the surrounding islands, and the seasonal ferries come from Piraeus.

The town is steep — wear comfortable shoes and expect to climb the Kali Strata at least once (the views repay the effort). Take a boat to the Monastery of Panormitis (the services are special), and another around the coast to swim in the remote coves. The shops sell genuine sponges and the local honey; the shrimps at the harbour tavernas are not to be missed. And if you can, be at the harbour for the first light of morning, when Symi is all yours — the moment the postcards can never quite capture.