Greek island hopping is a rite of passage. But the high-speed catamarans that cruise the Aegean are for Flash Harries. Far better to brave one of the rust-buckets that zigzag between remote islands in seemingly random directions.
The ferry schedules are erratic at best, as I discovered when I was stranded on Folegandros for a week until the boat finally showed up. There are far worse places to be marooned than this Cycladic stunner, where locals loll about in a merry fug, fuelled by shots of rakomelo, warm grappa and honey.
High winds also granted me a few stolen days on Koufonissi, one of the Small Cyclades. There’s no bank. When the only cash machine ran out of money, we just ran up a tab at the local taverna. On Kato Koufonissi, an even smaller offshoot, goats outnumber humans; although the four-legged inhabitants often end up in the wood-fired oven at Venetsanos, the island’s exceptional — and exceptionally ramshackle — taverna.