By DONAL CONLON
In the Greek world of brochure-style islands, Fourni remains aloof and unvarnished. Hidden away in the eastern Aegean, this rocky outcrop offers no international cuisine, no beach clubs and no curated experiences. But it does offer authenticity – simplicity, tradition, and the kind of calm that refreshes. I first arrived in Greece 50 years ago, exhausted from a three-day train ride. It changed the shape of my life several times. I’ve returned often and Fourni has become a touchstone – a place where time and change move slowly, and the Greece I once knew resurfaces.
Village life, unhurried
The narrow main street of Fourni is a shaded corridor of dwarf mulberry trees, their trunks painted white. Granite slabs from neighbouring Ikaria pave the way past coffee houses, small shops and blue-and-white homes. Elders sit outside, greeting passersby with “kalymera” and “kalyspera.” A man each morning comes down the street calling out “psaria fresca” – fresh fish.
At the top of the street, the village square is shaded by a 300-year-old plane tree. The local kafenion spills into the open air, its granite-topped tables scattered around the small square. Inside, faded family photos line the walls. Aspasia, the fifth-generation owner, serves coffee with a smile. Her grandmother, dressed in black, who served me my coffee long ago, now sits outside.
On one side of the square, a Roman sarcophagus – unearthed nearby – has carved flowers and inscriptions. Flowers and the inscription, Ἐπαμείνων Τήλωνος καὶ Φίλτης, ἥρως χρηστὲ χαῖρε, ἐτῶν κεʹ, “Epameinon, son of Telon and Philte, noble hero, farewell, aged 25“, are carved on its side. Nearby, a marble monument crowned by the Greek eagle honours those who died for Greece. It’s a square that breathes history – the rooms above the kafenion once housed the Turkish Police Station and then, after independence, a primary school.
The island’s beauty
Fourni is a huge rock. Shaped like a lobster claw, its rocky terrain is softened by the brilliant blue of the Aegean. Once accessible only by a single gravel path, the island now has paved roads with some small cars and scooters for rent. These winding routes lead to secluded beaches, translucent waters and views that stretch across the archipelago.
Terraced hillsides, once cultivated with hard work, now lie abandoned. Thorny phrygana shrubs reclaim the land. Fruit and vegetables arrive from Samos or sometimes further afield, but honey endures. White and blue beehives dot the hills, producing nectar prized across the region.
Of the 13 islands in the Fourni complex, only three are inhabited. Altogether, fewer than 1,500 people live here.
Shipwrecks and seafaring
Historically, Fourni was a pirate haven and a vital trade crossroads. Treacherous waters and hidden rocks led to shipwrecks – nearly 60 have been found around the island, dating from 500 BC to the Middle Ages. Some cargo and ship parts have been recovered for a future maritime museum.
Small blue-and-white fishing boats still come and go at odd hours. Once it had one of the largest fishing fleets in Greece, but larger vessels were destroyed under EU directives to curb overfishing. I watch them glide through the water, functional, beautiful, and familiar. I once worked on one in Paros; I know what hard work fishing is.
Goats and grief
Goats outnumber people here – two to three thousand roam freely. I only saw a shepherd once, crook in hand, striding across a hill like a biblical figure. Their meat and milk help sustain the island, and they seem content and well looked after clambering among the rocks.
Women in black are a common sight. They mourn lost husbands, fathers, brothers – sometimes for life. Most islanders live long lives; the cemetery overlooking the sea tells stories of those who reached 80, 90, even 100.
Farewell: octopus dinner and battles with angels versus devils
On my final night, dinner is grilled octopus, tomato and olive salad and white wine from Samos. I sit with my feet in the water. Thanos, the cook in the small taverna, scolds me for using too much lemon – it ruins the flavour, he says.
At midnight, I sit on my balcony overlooking the port and watch the ferry from Piraeus arriving. I admire its doing an about-turn as it seems to dance in its own length and with lights flashing churns the water in the small bay. Tomorrow, I’ll be aboard.
During the month, I visited three small neighbouring islands by scooter with a local ferry. Tickets are bought the day before; roll on, roll off. I offered tips to the crew for looking after my scooter – they refused. Traditional Greece never did tipping.
Fourni has also kept the tradition of siesta time. Almost everything closes from 2 to 5pm, so children play late around the port and adults go late into the night. I hear young adults arguing violently over a backgammon game, which ends in laughter. It’s the Greek way.
Yanni, who owns the coffee shop and my studio, sweeps the terrace each morning at 6am. I usually shout my breakfast order from the balcony; he replies, “αμέσως (at once), Donal.” He shows me photos of clouds where he sees epic battles between angels and devils. I tease him, telling him he needs his head examined. He laughs, telling me I need my eyes examined.
On my last morning, he offers me coffee and a cheese pie and wishes me kalo taxidi (good travels). I feel the sadness of saying goodbye – stronger each time.
For more stories by Donal Conlon, go to wanderingcelt.org.