In 2006, after breaking up with my boyfriend of six years, I desperately wanted to get out of Chicago. One night, I drunkenly scoured Craigslist for jobs anywhere but there. I eventually made my way to Craigslist Greece and found an ad that said, “Come bartend on a Greek island and listen to Willie Nelson till the sun comes up and the smell of warm bread fills the bakeries.” Without hesitation, I instantly replied, “I saw your ad. Please hire me.”
In the morning, after spending the evening imagining my life on a Greek island, I was now desperate to go and realized I might need a better application. So I wrote them again with more details: “Hello, I wrote you last night. I’m Greek, and I’m a bartender in Chicago, and I need to get out of town. Here is a link to my Myspace, and I’m happy to hop on a Skype call. I can leave as soon as you need me to.”
Two weeks later, I was on a plane to Athens and then a boat to Sifnos Island, where I landed at Old Captain Bar and lived in the room above it for three months.
I worked 8–10 hours a day, seven days a week, and didn’t have a day off for three months. I washed dishes, took orders, made drinks, and broke every glass the bar had. One of my bosses, Lefteris, hated me. “I’ll grow on you,” I said, and sure enough, I did.
Seventeen years later, we joke about how terrible I was, and he tells every person he introduces me to that I was the worst bartender they ever had. “We called her the Terminator. We had to go to Athens to get new glasses,” he says, with a loving hug.
I talked to strangers every day. The boats would come in and I would meet a new group of tourists and stay up till 4 a.m., serving them drinks and talking to them afterward. I had spiritual, eye-opening, awakening conversations with everyone from an old Dutch woman to an 8-year-old boy I played chess with every day for two weeks.
I returned the second summer and worked at an internet café across from Old Captain. It was so slow that I was able to read and write all day long. Sometimes I would even meditate during shifts and occasionally get up to make a frappe and turn on a computer for a guest. The café had a great view of my favorite monastery on top of the mountain, and I would just sit, stare at it, and exist. It was perhaps the most content I’ve ever been.
I ate all my dinners at a restaurant called Cameron’s, run by two of the sweetest people I’ve ever met. Panos and Rania live on Sifnos year-round and make the most incredible dishes. They are comforting, loving, and wise. When I was sad, I’d cry to them and they would pour me a drink and listen in between customers.
If I worked the day shift, as soon as it ended, I’d strip down to my bathing suit and walk straight into the sea. I would eye the yellow buoy far in the distance and promise myself I’d swim to it. Some days I did, and some days I got halfway and stopped. But each day, I would lay on my back in the buoyant saltwater, put my ears underwater, stare at the island, and float. Just float. I would be quiet and still. When I need to go to my happy place in my mind, that is where I go.
I knew all the shop owners and all the island regulars who come back year after year. I have never felt more free—with my air-dried salty sea hair, no shoes, living in a bathing suit, not wearing makeup, dark brown tan, and the comfort of having everything I need in one place with people I love, and not a worry in the world except how hard the wind would blow and how many glasses I would break that day. I was content and exhausted.
Though I did have some dark days on that island while nursing a heartbreak, they were all met with magical experiences that followed, restoring my faith in everything. I was truly happy when I was there, and so fully myself. If you have not met me on Sifnos, do you even know me at all?
Since working there, I have been back a handful of times, and each time, I am reassured that so much is still the same. The same shop owners are all there and have seemingly not aged. The same music plays at the same times at the bar, driving most crazy, but it is the playlist to my comfort zone. Panos is still there with his wise words and draft beer, and Rania is still there with her warm smile and big hugs. Lefteris still parks the exact same motorbike in the exact same spot in front of the bar. The boats still come and go, the wind still blows, and the sunsets are still perfect. Most importantly, the view of my mountains and monasteries still brings me the peace and calm that I crave.
This island has a special energy. It’s a hidden gem. It’s not Mykonos or Santorini. The people that go here come back often and understand its unique power. If you ask someone how they discovered it, there’s usually a quirky story behind it: “All the boats to Paros were full, and this was the only other option,” or “I meant to get off at Serifos and I ended up on Sifnos,” or “I found an ad on Craigslist.”
It’s an island of delicious food, where the “Godfather of Greek cooking” was born and raised. It’s an island of churches and monasteries—over 360 of them.
In 2022, I went back with my family of four. My oldest son, Rowan, had been there when he was 11 months old for 10 days. He never kicked the jet lag and was up at all hours of the night while my husband had to stroll him up and down the empty streets of Kamares. He doesn’t remember a thing, obviously, so bringing him back as an almost 6-year-old was so fun.
My other son, Theo, was almost three, and I was a bit worried about him adjusting, but they both instantly fell into the routine of daily beach trips, afternoon siestas, late dinners, and late bedtimes. The Sifnos playgrounds are hopping at 10:30 p.m. We didn’t have childcare, so it was a lot of time with the kids and not enough time alone. I loved seeing them walk around the bar and hug my friends, but it was hard to enjoy a peaceful monastery view while my kids were overtired and over-sunned.
Dinners weren’t as easy or calm as they have been in the past. Conversations with Panos and Rania were often interrupted or not had at all. But the food was still eaten, and they will always remember the pizza from there because Rowan claims it was the best he’s ever had in his life.
I love the way all the shop owners look at me when I arrive, unannounced, after however many years I’ve been away. I love watching them see my kids and knowing that they knew me as that one bartender girl they probably thought would never come back, but now, as a mother of two. I love seeing my husband navigate the twists and turns of the island that he knows so well by now. If 22-year-old heartbroken me could see the man I married, she would be so proud, and she would laugh at all the times she cried in the sea.
After two years in a pandemic and a move across the country, a month in Greece was exactly what the doctor ordered. I meticulously packed our family, starting months before we left. I brought five outfits for each kid and myself, and even that was too much because we lived in our bathing suits. The saltwater came back into my hair. The makeup was never worn, and we all turned five shades darker. I walked around like I had never left. I felt like myself again—it was like seeing an old friend.
Rules and routines flew out the window. We’d wake up in the morning and make yogurt and frappes, slowly waking up while the boys watched a show. Then we’d gather our towels and beach toys, lather everyone in sunscreen, hop in the car, drive past the donkey, and make our way to a beach where the boys would play in the sand and the sea for hours while Ryan and I played paddles or watched the kids.
I mentioned to Rowan about swimming to my buoy when I was younger, and he wanted me to take him to it. This became a daily routine at whatever beach we went to. We’d put on their floaties, pick a buoy, and swim to it. Theo would ride on my back, and I would get a decent workout pulling him along. Once we got there, we’d all kiss it and shout, “We bagged a buoy!” and it was pure joy.
At night, we’d have dinner at Cameron’s or I’d occasionally cook. When I did, we’d eat outside in the prettiest orange light, overlooking Apollonia. One night, our Airbnb host Tatiana came over and insisted we come to her church for dinner. She had apparently been cooking all day for us.
Her husband, Costas, made Revithia, a traditional Sifnos dish made of slow-cooked chickpeas in a clay pot. Costas has a brick oven and makes the best on the island, according to Tatiana—and I believe her. He also prepared goat with wine sauce and a delicious Horiatiki (Greek salad) with fresh garden vegetables. We watched the sunset, drank wine, and enjoyed conversation translated by our neighbor, Marilisa.
On our last day there, I was on the beach with my oldest son and he was playing in the water with another child. As I got closer, I realized the child’s mother was an old roommate of mine whom I had a falling out with and hadn’t spoken to or seen in 18 years. It was completely random. Once we made the connection, we talked, caught up, and reconciled differences right there in the sea in front of the bar I used to work at. I got an apology I never thought I would receive while standing knee-deep in saltwater on my very last day in town.
That night, I got my very first tattoo of the outline of the mountain range looking out from Old Captain with the two monasteries on top. The tattoo artist drew the sketch while sitting on lawn chairs with me, looking at the view and tracing it while smoking cigarettes. She came to our house on our last night, and we invited a few of our friends over to hang out while it happened. Then we all sat around a table and talked while the kids slept. It was the perfect way to end the trip.
To my Sifnos family and friends that I’ve met and spent time with over the last 17 years: I love you. Thank you for sharing your island with me and my family. We will see you soon.
