Most people dreaming of Greece imagine the blue-domed churches of Santorini or the carefree, champagne-sprayed days of Mykonos. I understand that. They’re beautiful in their way. But my Greece, the one I carry in my bones and offer to those who trust me with their travels, is quieter. It’s found in places where time slows down and the sea sings softly to the shore, not in clubs or Instagram feeds.

Over the years, I’ve watched guests come back from these lesser-known islands of the Cyclades with salt in their hair and wonder in their eyes. And every time, I smile because this is the Greece I long to share. Not the one on every postcard, but the one that feels like coming home, if home were a wind-swept, olive-scented dream.