My Big Fat Greek Islands

It also offered the best opportunity in the Cyclades for shopping. I found boutiques with candlesticks and other household items made of silver, as well as ancient icons, Greek music CDs and other paraphernalia, all for half of what they'd cost back home.

The locals were just as engaging. Seaman Antonis Barbounis, who had sailed the world's ports, settled for a while in New Jersey and then returned six years ago, was typical. After serving dinners of rabbit broiled in tomato sauce and other local specialties at O' Bacchus, the restaurant he owned, he circulated from table to table chatting with customers. "It's a place that could rival Athens in style," he said. "But the people are also unpretentious and open-minded, eager to sit over a glass of wine with anyone from anywhere."

Intrigued at how the city's nightlife compared with the up-all-night party on nearby Mykonos, I dropped into Clearchos, a centrally located bar. The mood was mellow, the music a mix of contemporary American and Greek pop and classics. The clientele, a nicely dressed crowd of men and women in their thirties and forties, would have been comfortable in Rome or London.

Miryam and I were tempted to see whether the beaches or other towns of Siros matched the stature of the capital, and debated staying on longer. But the weather had grown too windy and cold for swimming. The next morning, we carried on with our mission to find the finest island in Greece.

Warming Up to Tinos

From the top deck of the ferry, Tinos seemed cold: a sprawl of barren rock covered with simple white buildings with blue trim. Once we stepped ashore, however, and into the cluster of shops and hotels in Tinos City, it couldn't have been been warmer. Famished after our journey, we asked a boutique clerk for a lunch recommendation. She smiled and waved us to Taverna Kipos around the corner. No sooner did we step in than a table of four couples, all silver-haired Athenians of my parents' generation, beckoned us to join. Plates of baked fish, calamari and beans appeared before us, and soon we were raising toasts of ouzo and snapping photos of one another. What made the display of hospitality even more touching was the fact that none of us spoke the other's language.

An even warmer embrace came later that afternoon. During a hike from Tinos City to the village of Stavros, we spotted the Afrodite hotel. I asked to see a room and was shown a cozy double two floors up, with a commanding view of Anglais beach.

Ten minutes later we were ensconced in owner Zelfi Machlan's parlor, hunched over cake and tea, as the exuberant woman regaled us with tales of her family vacation last summer in Madrid and her years as a champion high school long jumper. "Life is so short," she said. "I can't think of anything nicer than to spend a morning with you."

After swapping cards and numbers and promises that we would meet again, we were out and about once more, hiking to the next village. There was a small beach where a few hardy sunbathers were stretched out. A toe in the water told me it was too cool for my taste, so I settled for a barefoot walk on the sand.

The hike revealed two of the island's other special features: the majestic topography and pretty architecture. In every direction we looked were small white churches. In all, there are 800, including Catholic and Greek Orthodox varieties, spread across the island of only 10,000 residents. And everywhere were dovecotes, roosts for pigeons built of stone, ornately decorated and painted white. In the distance, cliffs shaped by centuries of wind and waves looked out to sea.

For all its natural beauty, Tinos is best known for the 180-year-old church of Panayia Evangelistria. It was built on the site where, according to legend, a nun from a nearby cloister had found a wooden icon showing a picture of the Holy Virgin kneeling near a stand that holds a book with the words of the Annuciation. The Holy Virgin had appeared in a dream and told the nun where the icon, painted by the evangelist Luke, could be found. Ever since, the depiction of the Annunciation has brought thousands of Greek pilgrims to Tinos.

"When we're really in dire need of a blessing, that's where we go," an Athenian friend had told me.

And so on the second morning of my stay in Tinos, I rose early and walked the short, uphill road that the faithful take from the harbor to the church. The path is lined with shops selling incense, candles and religious artifacts.

The church, perched on a hilltop, built of white marble and adorned with a baroque staircase, was impressive. But nothing prepared me for the interior, intimate and dark, with a special pedestal holding the precious icon. Jewels covering the icon made it impossible to see it clearly, but no matter. The surrounding walls were also covered with icons, silver and gold lamps hanging from the ceiling, more jewels and elaborate candleholders. These were offerings left by the sick or pilgrims who had been helped by the Virgin and returned to leave alms of gratitude. I walked out into the sun, past sweet-scented fields of jasmine and lavender, contemplating the tangible demonstration of faith that I had just witnessed.

Uncovering Andros

That afternoon, we hopped the ferry for the final leg of our journey, arriving on Andros after a three-hour trip north. The scene at the dock distinguished the island from the others we'd visited: No hoteliers to greet arriving passengers, no rows of taxis, no seaside hotels, not even fishermen hawking their catch. In fact, only a handful of passengers disembarked and quickly disappeared into the town. Andros, an outpost of 10,000, was clearly not on the tourist circuit.