Bidding Adieu to Summer at Kea, the Greek Nantucket
The westernmost of the Cycladic islands and the one closest to Athens, Kea was called Tetrapolis in antiquity and has a long and rich history, obscured though it is by more famous islands.

Three hours into my self-guided tour around Kea, the teardrop-shaped Greek island that few people outside of Greece seem to have heard of, things were not going well at all. I figured that shunting my own vehicle onto the ferry for the 16-mile ride from the mainland port Lavrio would help steer me to the best spots on the island in a necessarily short period of time. That cars are forbidden in the hilltop village of Ioulis, where I was to stay, was the first indication of a miscalculation. Even small suitcases can begin to feel like anvils when you have to cart them across cobblestone lanes under a searing, late summer sun.
The second sign of a misfire came at the hamlet of Koundouros, where from the window I spotted what looked like an inviting cove with a small and virtually empty beach. I stopped the car and sauntered over to the shore, ready to dive into the sparkling blue water, when I was halted by the sight of a squadron of purple jellyfish. I had read that these smallish but rather terrifying-looking sea creatures had been plaguing beaches around the Mediterranean, and there they were, welcoming me to Kea with their poisonous aquatic dance and sending me in a despondent dash back to the car.

The New York Sun/Anthony Grant
I drove a bit farther along the southern coastal route, thinking that a wider beach more open to the sea might be less prone to harboring a jellyfish colony. Things were looking good, or at least not entirely unpromising, when I found myself behind a large truck onto which locals were loading hay — more bales of hay than you might think a small Greek island could produce. The problem was that the lane was so narrow there was no getting around the truck, my sole obstacle to the beach beyond. There was no option but to turn back, driving in reverse on a clifftop dirt road with fetching views. The lack of guardrail just added to the fun/misery.
Kea, the westernmost of the Cycladic islands and the one closest to Athens, was called Tetrapolis in antiquity and has a long and rich history, obscured though it is by more famous islands like Delos, the mythological birthplace of Apollo that sits opposite Mykonos. Apollo’s son Aristaios made a home here, as did a number of ancient luminaries. One such was Baccylides, who came from the town where I couldn’t park and who penned noteworthy epigrams such as, “At Marathon the Athenians, the bastion of the Greeks, laid low the might of the gold-bearing Persians.”
What intrigued me, following my ignominious beach retreats, were not ruminations on battles past but on archaeological sites present. One in particular: an ancient theater and temple at Karthaia, on the island’s southeast coast facing the Aegean Sea. Cloaked in mystery, the site is said to date to about 1130 B.C., when Ionian Greeks settled on Kea. Yet neither paper map nor GPS could guide me there. I finally found the trailhead that led to it, but it was very long. With no other sign of life around, only bees buzzed, and a hot wind blew. Did I have enough water for such an undertaking? Probably not.

This island, a bit parched around this time of year, is full of well-marked hiking trails. It is not at all touristy, and hotels are few and far between — something doubtless appreciated by the clutch of well-heeled Athenians and moneyed Israelis who have discreet summer homes here. It is an easy hop from the mainland despite its far-flung flavor. It is not particularly user-friendly — no Capri or Coney Island, this — but often broodingly beautiful. It is, I would venture, about the closest Grecian equivalent to that austere queen of the New England seas, Nantucket.
After my various failures to get close to her, I thought it best to get myself back to the port, find a suitable cafe with good internet access, and read the ferry schedules. The place was a bit too impenetrable for my liking, so I figured I would take a few more photos, maybe fend off a few more jellyfish, and ferry back to more familiar shores. It was a nice, sturdy ship, and the ferry company, called Goutos Lines, makes it incredibly easy to generate paperless tickets. You can buy an ice cream on board and eat it while the salt air refreshes your face.
Then something peculiar happened. As I was poking about an outdoor exhibit about Kea’s seafaring past, I read about the exploits of Lambros Katsonis, the 18th century Greek revolutionary hero. One of his feats involved dragging his ships across a narrow strip of land, thereby deceiving the Turkish fleet that had expected him to come out from the harbor. This happened not far from where I was standing.

I realized I had been doing it all wrong: The proper way to see an island is not by land, after all, but by sea. Exeunt dysfunctional notions and enter the skipper. I found Captain Petros down by the harbor’s edge, walking with the self-assurance of a maritime man who deigns to be on the ground when strictly necessary. Could he take me to the Temple of Karthaia by sea? It was not the typical request, he informed me, but conditions were calm and the response was affirmative.
How a little water changes everything: I clambered onto his small but sleek motorboat — his wife was already aboard — and before I knew it we were plying past the yachts and then straight out of the port, all manner of marvelous white villas coming into view from their sunburnt mountainside perches. The heat of the roads evaporated and the sea breeze simply slayed. What could be better than this?
Jumping in the water, of course. “I have a surprise for you,” the captain said over the engine’s roar after a few minutes in motion. “Look to your left.” He motioned to a barren hill with several almost-finished modern-style bungalows that when completed will comprise the luxurious One&Only Kea Island resort. I could already see the main attraction: dazzling blue water in a secluded cove, and today, at least, nary a jellyfish in sight. He turned off the motor and signaled that it was okay to jump in for a quick swim.
After that we pushed on in sometimes choppy waters past Schinos Bay and up to the waters opposite the site of ancient Karthaia. From the sea we could see the ruins of the temple, like the off-white columns from one corner of the Parthenon, rising from atop a bluff, the remarkably intact ancient theater down below. There was nowhere to dock, though. “You’ll have to swim,” Captain Petros said. “But don’t worry, we’ll wait.”
He handed me a marine dry bag in which to slip a bottle of water — it would be hot onshore — and my phone, and into the blue I dove. What few people were on the beach, having arrived there after what had to be a long and dusty hike, looked startled as I swam ashore and made the ascent to the temple in my bathing suit.
Despite that magnificent juxtaposition of pillars and peak, I did not linger up there. The call of the Kea sea was simply too strong, and it is not polite to keep your newfound Greek sea captain waiting for long.