On an island. In Greece

K. said we were enjoying the Mediterranean dream, and I had to agree. 

She couldn’t get over the olive trees pouring from the hill tops all the way down into the sea shore.

I couldn’t get over the backdrop – unspoilt views from our motorcycle pretty much in any direction, but especially along the coastline toward a plethora of uninhabited, seemingly unexplored islands. 

This makes me think of mountains, I admitted. Being on top of one introduces you to others, and then your mind is set on getting to know them better. 

For both, it was the all pervasive smell of pine trees, the sight of the pine trees shining. Really, it was intoxicating. 

Pristine, transparent water from a plethora of beaches and coves. Jellyfish that don’t really sting – basically because they’re not jellyfish, as we found out. And a quaint, not tacky-touristy Chora (old town), great for a drink with views, dinner and people watching. 

Oh and, the relaxation. No races to secure parking or a sunbed; not even in peak season. So we just let ourselves drift with the slow current. You wish: we had the sunbed, but still managed to pack in two extra coves zipping away on our bikes. 

But wait. We had been told that the island was unusually crowded. No reservation? There are no rental bikes available on the island, they had said, when K called. 

We’ll see about that, said her eyes, as she stood first in line to disembark the ferry. 

So yes, we got a bike – a pretty good one, at at that – and crowds were…well…thinner than thin?

The catch? It had to be the sand, we decided – or rather, lack thereof. I read that there was really only one sandy beach, you know, great for kids, complete with a resort.

But of course we headed anywhere and everywhere else.

Stoney, beautiful pools ideal for snorkeling, swimming, and dreaming of endless island hopping. Top it with a large bottle of Mythos and Greek taverna food for our Med dream.