*Yes, this trip was in 2018 and yes, I’m just publishing it now. Found an old draft while cleaning up my blog and decided it’s never too late to share the beauty of a place, in case you’re considering a trip to Greece.

Paros felt like the Sleeping Beauty of Greece. It was everything that Santorini wasn't in the best way. We fell head over heels for Lefkes, a quiet mountain town that at times felt more Tuscan than the Greek that we got used to in Santorini. It was unassuming, quiet, serene, and sprawling.

I love travel for a lot of reasons, but the indescribable part I love most is the, in some moments, purely serendipitous magic of it. The right place, right time, right mood, right state of mind kind of thing that can happen when you’re visiting some place new. When it happens, it leaves me never wanting to return for fear of altering or sullying the perfect memory.

This happened in Paros our first night there. After some hours of exploring and napping to catch up with ourselves, we set out just before sunset with no real destination in mind—just dinner somewhere. We’d already done some imbibing in our Airbnb, and we paid no mind turning different directions at each “fork” (if a fork’s tines curved and bent in every which way) in the tightly wound stone pathways. The entire time, we barely passed anyone else, and when we did, most were Greek, and none were Americans like us. We tried to spy in the windows of homes with For Sale signs. We soon found ourselves in a picturesque, sleepy town square that held a beautiful church with its doors open and bells sounding the time. Across from the church was a cafe with old wooden tables scattered about. The air was filled with a literal buzzing—it sounded like cicadas, although we were never sure what it was, and wherever you looked, you could convince yourself the sound was coming from there. There were charming little street lamps casting romantic shadows, gutters lined with magenta bougainvillea, and of course, a cat laying and soaking up the last few minutes of daylight. After wandering around the beautiful old church (which always does something to me—even as a non-religious person) and having some Greek beers and mezze at the cafe, we set off again.

We soon found ourselves wandering up the steps of one stone house with a sign for a restaurant. It was eerily quiet though, and almost pitch black, so we weren’t sure if we were supposed to be there. But then a tiny, hunched over woman with a really raspy voice welcomed us. She sat us at a table on the balcony with just a couple candles for light and views of the hills for miles, dotted with little lights across it. The woman, moving sort of slowly but intentionally, brought us silverware and plates from inside the house, and began reading us the menu for the night. We all were looking at each other with the same hunch—this place was sort of magical and the food was going to be good. We weren’t sure what all of the items were, but we just ordered one of each thing. Just as we’d suspected, each dish was unbelievable. Unfussy, rustic, and so delicious. Drinking and buzzing in almost deafening silence under a Greek starry sky with the moonlight dancing around on the hillside had me falling hard for a kind of Mediterranean equivalent of je ne sais quoi. It was called Sweet Smelling Kitchen, and it was truly the experience of a lifetime.

Suffice it to say, the remainder of our time in Paros kept up the good work. We were blown away by its beautiful turquoise water (take the boat ride to Kolymbithres Beach!), its sweetest waterfront villages, and its quiet, old world streets of homes, shops, and restaurants. PS: We stayed here (pictured a bunch below), and I highly recommend it.

If I ever go back to Paros, I think I’ll hold my breath for fear of losing all the magic in my heart.