The ancient Greeks called Folegandros “iron hard,” but this Cycladic island has a mellow soul beneath its edges. The northern part is the wildest, where locals still scrabble a living making cheese from their goats, threshing grain with mules, and fishing off translucent bays. At homestead tavernas (like Eirini’s grocery-cum-eatery in Ano Meria), the owners rear or grow everything they serve. The main village, Chora, is huddled on a cliff 650 feet above the sea, but the emerald water below is so clear you can count the fish swimming by. The tangle of lanes all lead to three interlocked squares lined with tavernas and bite-size bars, where evenings drift by as you drink shots of rakomelo (warm grappa with honey).
