Lefkes village

Lefkes climbs a bowl in the hills of central Paros, its lanes paved in the island's own marble, its houses stacked so the village reads as tiers of an amphitheatre with the twin marble towers of the Agia Triada church rising from the middle of it. It was the island's capital in the pirate years, and like every Cycladic refuge village it rewards walking: alleys that end in framed views, courtyards of whitewash and bougainvillea, old men on doorsteps who nod you through.

Morning light works down the lanes and onto the church facade, and the village stays close to empty on any weekday outside August — this is the location for couples who tensed up in crowds on the coast. The marble underfoot is worn slick, which matters both for footwear and for pictures: after the municipal water cart passes, the wet lanes mirror the walls.

The Byzantine road — a paved medieval footpath — leaves the lower village for Prodromos across a valley of olives and stone walls, and its first few hundred metres give walking frames with real depth. An hour in the lanes, half an hour on the old road, coffee under the plane trees: that is the session.