Clambering off the boat in the
whitewashed harbour of this diminutive
Aegean jewel you can hardly believe your
eyes. Everything you see is Greeker than
Greek: old fishermen with crinkly faces
and Charles Bronson eyes, cats stretching
in the shadows, fruit spilling from
colourful crates, plus an azure sky pure
enough to melt the heart of a Mississippi
lifer. Welcome to Antiparos, possibly
Greece’s best-kept secret.
It would be breaking a promise to
Theo Kalygros, son of the owner of
Camping Antiparos, to disclose who’s
been quietly buying up land here to hide
away from the paps. But let’s just say
that Antiparos has attracted its own
pantheon of A-list deities.
The central, pedestrian-only street is a
curious mix of tavernas, stylish cafés,
home-made ice-cream parlours and
boutiques offering anything from jewellery
made just for you to – curiously – fairies.
There’s no explaining it, but these nowyou-
see-them-now-you-don’t little
winged people pop up on every
bougainvillea-clad corner.
Wandering around the ruins of the old
castle, which intimately hug the town’s
backstreets, you get a chance to soak up
the history of this proud idyll. Back in the
15th century the island fell prey to pirates,
who used it as a base, so the locals built
a near-impregnable squat castle to keep
them out – yes, even Cap’n Jack Sparrow
is banned. Defending themselves against a
more contemporary nemesis during World
War II, Antiparians were amongst the first
Greeks to pledge themselves to the cause
of the Resistance, and there’s still a sense
of proud independence today.
No less enchanting is Camping Antiparos.
Pitch up under a tangled canopy of
cedars or find a secret spot in the site’s
bamboo field. OK, so the facilities are a
touch basic but, to be honest, that’s all
part of the place’s charm.
Theo can show you grainy footage of music
festivals and football matches at the site
back in the seventies; an endless summer
of music and flares, afros and super-8
glare. Maybe the stoned ghosts of those
hippies are still lurking somewhere in
the ether or gazing up at the enormous
400-year-old giant cedar twisting its
stairway to heaven, but music and freespiritedness
is still a feature, with Theo
organising festivals and impromptu jam
sessions for visiting troubadours.
There are three main beaches on Antiparos:
the nearest is to be found through a weaveworld
of paths running through the dunes
and vanilla-scented scrub. And if you
like to don your nothing in particular
for beachwear, then you’re in luck – this
first beach is of the naturist variety. But
if people decked out in their birthday
suits give you the willies, then head for
the beach beyond the windmill, just past
the edge of town.
Camping Antiparos’ restaurant is a
honey-pot of home-made indulgence (try
the wonderful squid stuffed with rice
and raisins), so a stay without a night or
two sampling their fare would be remiss.
Kindly Mrs Kalygros, when she’s not
alchemising delicacies to melt your taste
buds, is usually found benignly knitting.
However, she’s well known for secretly
pressing home-made biscuits into your
hot, sticky palm, too; it would be rude
to refuse, wouldn’t it? It’s also a tranquil
place to sit and chat with the eclectic mix
of visitors, or simply to sit and listen, like
the Greeks do, to the melancholic chords
of the bouzouki.
