The engine started at 6.30 a.m. Short, sharp Cycladic waves shook us while seabirds flew alongside. Mykonos appeared three and a half hours later, with tankers passing as if the sea were a motorway. Dolphins welcomed us by racing Beetfish for a while.
Kalafati did not appeal to us, so we turned towards Ornos. After Ikaria’s warmth, Mykonos felt barren, windy and conspicuously luxurious. With no room in Ornos, we moored stern-to in the neighbouring bay. That evening we took a taxi to Fabrika, walked beneath the windmills and reflected on Manto Mavrogenous, who spent her fortune on Greek independence. After cocktails by the water, we had dinner with live music at Remezzo. Our driver back was Haydar, born in Xanthi, and the journey passed in lively conversation.