I visited the tiny Greek islands that want MORE Brits to visit

DOH! Homer – no, not the Simpsons character, I mean the ancient Greek poet – must have got it wrong when he penned his classic Odyssey saga some 3,000 years ago.

For legend has it that the tiny Dodecanese island of Lipsi is his fabled Ogygia, where a saucy siren called Kalypso kept Trojan war hero Odysseus a prisoner for seven years.

Now, according to Homer, Odysseus was desperate to escape from Ogygia and flee home to his wife Penelope in Ithaca, on the other side of Greece.

But after my week-long stay in Lipsi I can’t imagine anyone wanting to leave this lovely, laid-back island, lapped by the clear blue water of the Aegean Sea.

Especially with the cooling Meltemi breeze ensuring that, although the temperature can hover in the 30s in summer, it never feels oppressively hot.

Certainly Sally Vavoulas, from Tenterden, Kent, has not wished to leave.

HEAVEN IS HELLENIC

I went to Greek island holiday resort where cast of Mamma Mia! stayed

SAND NICE

I visit Greece 10 times a year – my five favourite beaches which are still 24C

She arrived in Lipsi in 2001, fell under its spell ­— and is still there.

These days she helps run the island’s excellent winery with husband Manolis. But more of that later.

Lipsi is not one island but an archipelago.

Only three of its 24 isles are occupied — and one has just two residents — while most of the 800-strong population are clustered in a sprawling village on the main isle.

Ferries chug into the little harbour every day from Kos and Samos, a two-hour cruise away — and twice a week from Athens, a longer nine-hour voyage.

Berthed alongside them are millionaires’ luxury superyachts, which have sailed from faraway spots such as the Caribbean and the United States.

And tied up farther down the jetty are the locals’ tiny but colourful fishing smacks.

Fortunately, though, those huge skyscraper-like cruise ships are banned from Lipsi.

Lining the quay are a cluster of excellent tavernas — such as Pefko, where owner Nikos looks annoyed when I ask which is the best dish on that night’s menu.

“None is best,” he replies sternly, before breaking into a beaming smile and adding: “Everything’s superb.” Hmm, as I soon discover, Nikos isn’t wrong!

Just down the road there’s Kalypso, a restaurant owned by the brother of village mayor Fotis Mangos and named after the aforementioned siren.

Well, if she dished up a delicious sea bass like the one I tucked into, then no wonder Odysseus stayed for seven years.

Fotis, I have been warned, has a habit of suddenly breaking into song.

He doesn’t after joining me for dinner, but plays a YouTube video of him duetting with a Greek rapper on a little ditty called “Come With Me To Lipsi”.

Former PE teacher Fotis is justly proud of his “hidden gem” of an island, and would love to see more British holidaymakers venturing there.
September, he says, is ideal as the kids are back at school yet the sun is still hot and the sea remains comfortably warm.

Not too many tourists, though, because Fotis doesn’t want to turn the place into another overcrowded Santorini or Kos.

Probably unlikely, because there are no discos or nightclubs blaring out raucous music.

Nor will you find any sunbeds, parasols or pedalos on the tiny beaches scattered around its coves.

A couple do boast tavernas where you can sip a cold beer or the local aniseed-based ouzo over lunch. But most are virtually deserted and often you have them to yourself.

Two other restaurants in the village worth visiting are Manolis Tastes, whose chef was once voted Best in the Mediterranean, and Plateia, where Despina makes ice cream that is to die for.

One morning I take a 50-minute ramble along winding dirt tracks, following colourful hand-painted signs through the hills to Monodendri — which means “One tree”. It’s supposed to be a nudist beach, although none of the three sun-worshippers stretched out on towels are baring all when I arrive. And I don’t, either.

But it’s an idyllic, peaceful spot where you hear just the gentle waves.
Grand feast

I’ve hired a little runabout car from George’s Rentals but rarely use it. Lipsi is only some 16 square kilometres and you can walk to most places.

One day, hiking past lemon and fig trees, grapevines and donkeys, I bump into Dimitri, the island’s cheesemaker.

He doesn’t speak much English and only makes goat cheese — not surprising as there are twice as many goats as people on the island — but he offers me some. It’s delicious, at 13 euros a kilo.

The island is dotted with white, blue-domed churches, most just tiny family chapels with barely room to swing a cat (of which there are many on Lipsi).

One local tells me there are 400 churches, another reckons about 150.

So I ask the island’s priest as he sits sipping coffee outside a taverna. He reckons 57. And as from time to time Fr Georgios is called out to preach in all of them, he should know.

The biggest is Panagia Charou, or the Virgin Mary of Death Church, where a revered but rather strange icon shows her clutching a crucified Christ on the cross.

Every year on August 23, it seems that a bunch of withered lilies left there by a schoolgirl in 1943 miraculously bloom back to life.

The occasion is marked by a grand feast “filled with dancing and singing, eating and drinking, drawing believers from all corners”.

Out on another walk, I meet Nikiforos, who makes the island’s honey. He doesn’t speak English but happily shows me round his apiary.

Much of the honey is infused with the taste of thyme, which grows all over Lipsi. But, sadly, time isn’t on my side, and the holiday is almost over.

I manage to squeeze in a visit to Sally’s Lipsi Winery, where I taste four of their locally produced tipples.

One, a sweet red wine called Aposperitis, was served by the Greek President to Charles and Camilla during a state banquet in Athens a few years ago.

Sally wants to know which I prefer. So I umm and aah, before suggesting perhaps I should try a second glass of each.

Which is why, on my last night, I’m afraid I ended up rather tipsy in Lipsi.