A Postcard From Milos: Part 1
The Greek island that taught me to pause and kickstarted my photography career
In the early days of my photography journey, I found myself on the island of Milos, Greece, with my best friend. We didn’t know it then, but we were walking straight into a dream - one woven with sun-kissed cliffs, hidden coves, adventure and fleeting moments of pure joy.
Milos sits quietly in the Aegean, a volcanic island wrapped in turquoise waters, colorful houses, unique beaches and moments of exploration. Unlike the polished romance of Santorini or the all-night pulse of Mykonos, Milos feels like their bohemian cousin; the one who studied abroad, reads poetry, and knows how to live life to the fullest with the simplicities at hand .
We stayed in Plaka, the island’s sleepy capital perched on a hill. It’s where most of the “action” happens, if you consider wandering boutique shops, sipping ouzo, and stumbling into a family-run taverna for grilled octopus and tzatziki "action." Plaka was our home base. A place to return to each night with sand still clinging to our ankles, where we’d slow down and let the island’s rhythm take over.
One morning, we set off in our tiny rental car to Sarakiniko Beach. Bumping along the rocky path, we finally parked the car and stepped out. We had arrived at the moon. White volcanic cliffs stretched out in smooth, surreal shapes, carved by wind and time. I grabbed my camera instinctively, needing to freeze this view before it disappeared into memory.
Standing on a cliff’s edge with my best friend, I looked out over the scene: bright white rock formations spilling into deep, cobalt water; tiny colorful figures sunbathing or slipping into the sea; the kind of view that makes you question if you’ve accidentally walked into a painting.
We laid our towels down on a sun-warmed rock and joined the mosaic of beachgoers. Sarakiniko isn’t your typical beach. People lounge wherever they can find space; tucked into grooves, sprawled across plateaus, wandering like ants over the natural sculpture. We climbed higher, following a winding path between the rocks that led to a popular cliff. People gathered to watch or join their friends dive from cliffs into the dark water, then emerged from underwater caves to do it all over again. Children, lovers, and strangers bonded over the shared thrill of the jump.
Around every bend was a new scene: someone reading, a couple curled up under a towel, youngsters splashing around in the crips waters. At some point, I had to put my camera down. There was nothing left to capture - only something to feel.
Sarakiniko reminded me that the best places, the one that make you feel present, grateful and at ease don’t shout for your attention. They simply exist with what nature has blessed them with. They offer you a moment to pause, to breathe, and to truly see.
To be continued…