Kea is a study in contrasts: near enough to Athens that the ferry ride feels like a long exhale, yet quiet enough that night skies still bristle with stars. For years this proximity went largely unnoticed; the island’s terraced hills, oak forests, and sandy coves slipped beneath the holiday radar while flashier Cycladic neighbours soaked up the limelight. Word is finally out – sailboats now share anchorages with fishing caiques, and weekenders from the capital race to stake a spot on Friday’s first crossing – but the atmosphere remains refreshingly low-key.

The island resists hurry by design. Stone farmhouses in muted earth tones blend into slopes dotted with almond and olive trees, while a lattice of hiking paths links ancient towers, hidden ravines, and Ioulida’s red-tiled roofs. Beaches stay largely unorganised, forsaking rows of loungers for tamarisk shade and the hush of clear water meeting sand. Even peak season rarely overwhelms; Kea’s varied coastline simply folds visitors into its many inlets and bays.

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