skopelos

The next morning, we returned to the harbour and boarded a boat for the Skopelos tour.

There was a gentle bustle along the waterfront, people gathering, tickets checked, bags tucked away, before the boat eased out into open water. Once clear of the harbour, Skiathos began to feel different again. The coastline stretched out, the air sharpened, and the island slowly unfolded from the sea.

As we travelled along the western side of the island, cliffs rose sharply from the water, pale rock meeting deep blues and flashes of turquoise. From the deck, everything felt more spacious — the views wider, the pace gentler, the noise of town left behind.

Agios Ioannis — The Climb

Agios Ioannis

One of the highlights was a stop near the small chapel of Agios Ioannis, perched dramatically on its rocky outcrop. From below, the climb looked steep, and it was. Most people paused first, some heading towards the small bar for cooling drinks, while others began the slow ascent.

We headed straight up.

For us seniors, the climb wasn’t easy in the warmth of the sun. Steps felt higher than expected, the path narrower, progress slower. But reaching the top brought its own quiet reward.

The view from Agios Ioannis

We wandered around the small plateau, taking in the view, before our attention was drawn elsewhere. A group of teenagers were filming TikTok videos, dancing enthusiastically to ABBA music, entirely without embarrassment. It made us smile — different generations sharing the same small space, each absorbed in their own version of the moment.

We rang the bell beside the church without really knowing what it was for, then began the careful descent back down the steps.

Later, as the boat continued along the coast, there was time simply to sit on deck and let the island drift past. The movement of the boat, the warmth of the afternoon and the rhythm of the sea created a different kind of stillness — active, but unhurried.

Skopelos Town — Wandering Without a Destination

Our next stop brought us to Skopelos Town, on the island of the same name.

Skopelos Town Harbour

Approaching by boat, the town rose gently from the harbour, white buildings stacked along the hillside, terracotta roofs catching the light. From the water, it looked composed and settled, shaped gradually rather than planned.

We went ashore for lunch, choosing a simple place near the waterfront. Nothing elaborate — just food, shade and the sense of having nowhere in particular to be afterwards. Boats came and went while people drifted past at their own pace, some arriving, others lingering as if the afternoon had no fixed shape.

After eating, we wandered inland through narrow streets climbing away from the harbour. Houses sat close together, shutters half drawn, doors open to the heat. It felt like the kind of town that encourages exploration without offering a clear route.

Somewhere along the way, we found ourselves looking for a particular church — one mentioned casually, marked loosely on a map, but never quite where we expected it to be. We followed signs that seemed promising, took turns that felt logical, climbed a little higher, only to arrive somewhere else again.

Eventually, it became clear the search wasn’t going to be successful.

Rather than push on, we let it go. We paused instead to take in the view back towards the harbour, the boats now small below us, the afternoon stretching quietly ahead. Skopelos offered enough without needing to be solved.

When it was time to return to the boat, we made our way back down, untroubled by what we hadn’t found. Some places, it turns out, are better experienced through wandering than arrival.

Milia Beach — A Brief Pause

Leaving Skopelos behind, the mood shifted unexpectedly.

Out on open water, a small squall blew up from nowhere. Moments earlier it had been clear sunshine; suddenly the sky darkened, the wind picked up and the boat began to move sharply from side to side. Conversation quietened and a few people looked uneasy.

Just as quickly as it arrived, it passed.

By the time we reached Milia Beach, sunshine had returned and the water was once again a deep, inviting blue — as if nothing had happened at all.

We came ashore for a short stop. Some of the group headed straight for the sea, others settled onto sun loungers. We chose shade instead, finding space on the bar’s decking, ordering a drink and sitting quietly for the half hour or so we were there.

After the movement of the boat and the brief uncertainty on the water, it felt good simply to sit still again, watching the beach ease back into its afternoon rhythm.

The Journey Home

On the return to Skiathos, the atmosphere shifted once more. The crew encouraged Greek singing and dancing on deck, drawing in the willing and entertaining the rest of us who watched from our seats.

Then, quite suddenly, someone shouted from the side of the boat.

Dolphins.

They appeared without warning, breaking the surface beside us, leaping and turning as they followed the boat. For several minutes they stayed close, moving effortlessly through the water, keeping pace as cameras came out and voices dropped instinctively.

And then, just as quietly, they peeled away.

The music faded, conversation returned, and the outline of Skiathos slowly reappeared ahead.

Reflection

By the time we reached the harbour, the day felt complete — not because it had been full, but because it had unfolded naturally.

There were moments of effort and moments of rest, brief uncertainty followed by calm, things we searched for and things that simply appeared. Nothing needed chasing. Nothing needed improving.

It was a day shaped less by highlights than by rhythm — moving, pausing, noticing — and in doing so, it reflected exactly what Skiathos had been offering us all along: space to slow down, and time enough to let the day be what it wanted to be.