I’m Nanuka, and I get bored very easily. I’ve never been particularly good at staying still in one place for too long, so travel has always felt like the hobby that makes the most sense for me: long lunches, stranger conversations, morning coffees, saved Google Maps, walks that turn into detours, and restaurants I will bring up in unrelated conversations for months afterward.
Travel, for me, has always been about noticing the details that make a place stay with you: the table you remember, the view you almost want to keep secret, the person who tells you where to go next, the dish you start planning your return around.
That is how I first discovered Sifnos. I couldn’t stop hearing about its food scene. Friends with excellent taste kept mentioning it, every recommendation seemed to lead to another, and suddenly Sifnos became one of those islands that existed in my mind almost entirely through long lunches, seaside tables, handwritten menus, and dishes people described with suspicious levels of emotion. Before long, I was on a ferry heading toward an island I knew almost entirely through its gastronomy.
The food lived up to the hype, of course, but it wasn’t the only thing that stayed with me. Sifnos kept calling me back, and I’ve learned not to resist. It has a way of making ordinary moments feel like the point of the whole trip: the quiet rhythm of the villages, church windows catching the light, goats appearing exactly when you least expect them, conversations spilling into narrow streets after dark, and the strange calm the island leaves behind. Long after the meals are over, that feeling lingers and holds you over until the next time you find yourself on the ferry back.
The Sifnos Thirteen is the first in a monthly series built around my favorite number: thirteen. Each guide is a personal list of thirteen places, details, meals, views, walks, drinks, objects, and tiny obsessions from somewhere I can’t stop thinking about. It covers everything from food to feeling, from where to eat and what to order to what to notice and what to bring home. If you gave me enough space, I would probably make it thirteen thousand, but for everyone’s sake, we are starting here.
This is my Sifnos Thirteen. And if this guide convinces you to book a trip, let me know — I will very likely invite myself along.
1 / The book I’d pack for the trip: Bluets by Maggie Nelson
For the ferry, the beach, and the existential crisis in between. Part memoir, part meditation, part love letter to the color blue, it feels perfectly suited to an island surrounded by endless shades of it. Read a few pages on the ferry, another few by the sea, then spend the rest of the afternoon staring at the horizon as the book quietly changes the way you see every shade of blue.
2 / The coffee I’d start the morning with: La Marina
The perfect first stop of the day. Order a coffee and their Greek yogurt with granola, sit on the beach, and watch the island slowly wake up around you. Also, a quick shout-out to Greece for what might be the strongest straw game in the world— impressively thin and engineered to survive a small natural disaster.
3 / The neighborhood I’d get lost in: Artemonas, after dark
Sifnos has beautiful villages, but Artemonas is the one I keep returning to. Once the sun goes down, the narrow streets fill with conversations spilling out of front doors and terraces. I wish I spoke enough Greek to eavesdrop on the local gossip, because judging by the energy alone, it’s probably excellent.
4 / The walk I’d take: From Apokofto Beach to Vlichó
A short walk with an unfairly high reward-to-effort ratio. Stop at Agios Charalampos along the way for one of the island’s best views, then sneak into the canteen nearby. Between the whitewashed walls, simple materials, and perfectly imperfect details, it’s enough to make you reconsider your entire kitchen back home.
5 / The thing I’d pack in my suitcase if I could: Cycladic Modernism in church windows
Sifnos has a remarkable talent for elevating small details. The circular stained-glass windows found in many churches across the island manage to feel both deeply traditional and surprisingly modern. The fun fact is that Cycladic architecture didn’t really become modern; modernism caught up with it. The clean geometry, white surfaces, deep-set openings, and play of shadow were already there, shaped by climate and island life long before they became a mood board. If I could pack one piece of Sifnos in my suitcase, it might just be the way these windows scatter colored light across white walls.
6 / The afternoon pick-me-up: Ouzo shots with Stamatis Lempesis
Some of the best experiences on Sifnos happen around a family table. At Lempesis Restaurant, Stamatis and his family serve a daily changing menu based on whatever Stamatis has cooked that day. We spent a long lunch there, with his teenage son helping serve the tables, and left feeling less like customers and more like family friends. It’s the kind of warm, local experience that reminds you why traveling is about people as much as places.
7 / The spot for people-watching: The Athens–Sifnos ferry
Long before you arrive on the island, the people-watching begins. Every crossing feels like a gathering of aspiring DJs, Love Island contestants, honeymooners, insomniac toddlers, and men named Thanasis reading newspapers. Everyone is headed to the same destination, but somehow each person appears to be starring in a completely different movie.
8 / The view I’d keep secret: Panagia tou Vounou
Every island needs an “I know a spot” spot. This is mine. To be completely honest, I really want to gatekeep it. The climb helps keep it that way, rewarding anyone willing to put in a little effort with one of the most spectacular panoramas on Sifnos. Please enjoy responsibly.
9 / The souvenir I’d actually buy: A ceramic piece from Keramika Kostas Depastas
Most holiday souvenirs have a surprisingly short life expectancy. A handmade ceramic piece from Kostas Depastas is different. Thoughtful, timeless, and genuinely useful, it’s far more likely to survive the annual decluttering session than any fridge magnet ever could.
10 / The table I’d reserve for dinner: Cantina
The food alone or the view would justify a reservation, but it’s the attention to detail that makes the place memorable. Case in point: the bathroom playlist. Any restaurant confident enough to have “Hello Darkness, My Old Friend” playing on repeat in the restroom deserves recognition for commitment to the bit.
11 / The sweet treat I’d save room for: Soft serve from Glyko Perasma
Simple pleasures are often the best ones. Order the soft serve, then ask for a Caprice wafer on the side and use it as a spoon.
12 / The bar I’d end the night in: Loggia Wine Bar
A glass of Assyrtiko, a front-row seat to the Church of the Seven Martyrs, or the full moon reflecting on the water. Both work perfectly as an acceptable reason to zone out for a minute. As the light softens and the crowd gets louder, it’s one of the best spots on the island for people-watching, and it becomes very difficult to justify leaving. And the wine list makes it impossible.
13 / The reason I’d come back: Pelicanos tarama
I’d like to tell you it’s the island, the scenery, or the atmosphere. The truth is less noble. The reason this guide exists—and the reason I’ll be back—is the tarama at Pelicanos. Everything else is a bonus.
That’s Sifnos, at least for now. I’m sure I’ve missed things, which is exactly the excuse I needed to go back. There are still paths I haven’t walked, tables I haven’t booked, beaches I haven’t sat on long enough, and probably several goats I haven’t formally met.
More guides, more detours, and more unnecessary emotional attachments to places coming soon.
See you next 13th.
