Of Worldly Ways: One Night In Mykonos

The island of Mykonos is one of the most famous party destinations in the world.

There’s a certain prestige around it, even within the ferry on the way over. Gone are the local Greeks enjoying domestic travel or returning home. They’re replaced with fashionable European couples, women in floral dresses and men in half-unbuttoned linen shirts. They almost exude an air of superiority; even in your nicest clothes, you may feel underdressed.

And yet geographically, this island shouldn’t offer anything different than the other quiet landmasses lying within the Aegean Sea. So what led to this change in affluence? Some of it results not from Mykonos itself, but what happened just to the west. At the end of the 19th century, archaeologists began to visit the adjacent island of Delos in order to excavate the ancient city there. As word traveled of the historical significance close by, Mykonos received its first big break in regards to tourism. Wealthy travelers flocked to the island thanks to the ruins of Delos, and there’s no doubt this would contribute to its continued prosperity today.

An archaeological museum just outside the main center of town still pays homage to the effects of Delos on its economy, showcasing artifacts and photographs of the original researchers. But this building is dwarfed by the current climate of the Old Port, where travelers now tend to celebrate more materialistic things.

Our host explains that anything you might expect from a coastal resort is available right when you dock; restaurants, stores, and a beach at the port. But he chuckles at that last one.

“There are other beaches.”

It’s easy to understand his hints of cynicism; close to the port, the tiny strip is packed to the brim with tourists allured by the convenience, their bodies nearly enveloping the beach itself. It’s almost hard to spot any sand underneath the vast array of bodies making up the crowd. The mass of flesh tans and reddens in the Greek summer sun.

Many beaches on Mykonos give way to images like these. Here, those partaking in the culture are almost more akin to characters than people; a Speedo-clad older man shows off his hairy chest in the heat. A woman in a string bikini dislocates her torso to find the perfect angle for her followers.

One might believe that seeking refuge deeper within the city will lead to dispersed crowds, but that is not so, at least in some respects. Away from the port, the crowds do begin to thin near the presence of a museum and a historic ruin. The ancient brickwork and slick footing becomes one of many methods to find yourself in the narrow channels between some of the buildings. The unassuming passage at first seems to offer a brief respite, but in fact, the excitement is just getting started.

It’s common to hear legends on the labyrinth within; supposedly the townspeople created the twisting passageways to confuse pirates and raiders who would dare try and turn the village into their next big score. The result is a certifiable dungeon; streets are scarcely wide enough to let two people pass each other, and intersections of four or five branching alleyways appear nearly every block. The uniform white paint which the Greek islands are famous for means there are no landmarks anywhere within; one must resort to a map or simply tread on until the town shows mercy enough to let its confinements unfurl into the ocean.

These streets are not empty, however; besides the obvious draw of the spectacle itself, tourists flock to the inner channels of Mykonos for high-dollar shopping. Storefronts along the streets are packed to the brim with jewelry, clothing, and souvenirs that seem to glisten and reflect the sun just as the very walls do, their eye-catching nature succeeding in drawing in a pedestrian every now and then. When someone stops to take a look, the line of people packed within the street stops moving, at the mercy of the one in front deciding whether they will continue on or duck into the shop for a closer look.

In this way we are like pigs on a chopping block, funneled through for processing. In the present day, we are the only pirates trapped in these channels.

As mentioned before, the streets eventually lead to the water’s edge. On the other side of the town, a few restaurants and bar fronts face the ocean, their customers no doubt paying a premium for the view. Here the sea opens up again. The water seems to go on forever, the distance occasionally dotted with the sloping crests of other islands, their subtle shades like silhouettes on the landscape. With more space available, visitors flock to the promise of capturing the moment. This is especially true at golden hour.

Across the horizon, vestiges of far-off lands among the ocean waves descend into deeper shades of blue. Meanwhile, the setting in front of you actually grows brighter; the entire island seems to shimmer, and the nearby buildings with their signature white paint glow with excitement. Modern surfaces, too, like boats docked in the harbor, take on the sun’s golden hue. Little Venice is perhaps the best place to witness this effect, a collection of waterfront homes with stilted balconies perched over the water. Those lucky enough to find themselves on one of these balconies recline and take in the fading light. Below, throngs of people attempt to gain a highly coveted spot on the edge of the landing. Cell phones and cameras dominate the landscape, and those in the fray attempt to secure what space they can for their perfect shot.

There is a less crowded space just up the hill, near the famous windmills of Mykonos. Here, a gravel landing spreads out around a line of short cylindrical buildings with pointed roofs hewn of straw. From each one protrudes a wheel of hefty wooden poles, arranged into a circle and secured with ropes. One might wonder if they were built with aesthetics in mind, the little line of buildings seemingly made for the camera phones that now dominate the island streets. But right now, visitors have their eyes on something else.

Just over a separate landmass, the sun has nearly set. A nearby sailboat drifting through the water even seems to slow and take in the scene as the deep red orb descends below the horizon. In the last rays of light, tourists sit on the edges of the landing and admire the view. While there’s still an array of cameras and phones, it’s noticeably less so; here, people seem more at ease. Gazing off across the water, many who watch the sunset from this angle are present in the moment, taking in the view with their own eyes rather than trying to capture the fleeting moment on a screen.

As the edge of the sun finally disappears behind the island, someone begins to clap. First one, then another, and soon many have broken into applause, no rhyme or reason to the celebration. It’s humorous at first, but soon, I can’t help joining in. Here, in the shadows of the looming windmills and the final tinges of red across the horizon, we commemorate not some special occasion, but the simple act of being. And in the clamor and joy and downright absurdity of the celebration, we are one.

The day is over. But for many, the fun is just beginning.

Bathing suits turn to club attire as the patrons of Mykonos prepare for the evening ahead. Known for its nightlife, there are many places in which to engage in this indulgent behavior. The southern end of the island hosts bars along Paradise Beach, the spot in which celebrities would come to enjoy their night out. For the rest of us, the old port might be plenty, providing several waterfront bars directly beside Little Venice.

The white buildings maintain their daylight glisten by way of twinkling streetlights, which guide travelers through the now dreamlike maze. Returning to the labyrinth presents a different feeling now; earlier there was a level of prestige and reputation to the miasma, those present desperately wishing to appear as nonchalant as possible while being anything but. Now, as the skies darken and the distant, pounding drums grow louder, the streets seem a bit more free; the strict social codes are replaced with a raw, palpable, electric excitement.

There is one man within the maze who does not adhere to the rules of this land, neither during the day or night. Closer to the bars and tourist areas near the beach, a mime performs a mysterious act. From behind a guise of gray makeup and anachronistic clothing, the mime stands tall in the corridor. Although he seems to command attention, he is unbothered by the numerous passersby who pay him no mind. Stoic and resolute, he sometimes drops his arms in various formations or, even more rarely, will break character in order to reapply his makeup. A bucket lies in front of him; some throw coins in as they pass, or do so in exchange for a photo with the performer.

It’s an odd sight, even for the off-kilter Mykonian landscape. But within this surreal moment lies a bit of authenticity; for the first time, the hustle-and-bustle culture of the Greek mainland, such as that found in the Messini market, shines more through this man than perhaps any other local you’ve seen thus far. It’s enough to make one marvel that you’re still in the same country as before, that the graffiti-strewn streets of Athens and the calm, pastoral nature of the Peloponnese could in any way be related to the flashy, materialistic complexion of this new land. And it’s enough to make you want to drop a few coins in the bucket on your way through.

Inside the main strip during the early evening, the nightlife is already set up to lure in patrons. Several barfronts side by side each have vestiges of their own personality and aesthetic, but one common factor reigns supreme: they want your money, and they want it now. Flashing lights, upbeat music, and beautiful women all beckon for your attention, the outside a show in itself.

Needless to say, it’s a bit overwhelming; designed for spectacle, the mirage of a carefree beachfront town had seemed to fall away. I felt particularly out of my element here; as a sober foreigner with little more than the legends of Mykonos to go on, I wasn’t particularly secure in a place that sought to make you spend first and ask questions later. Nevertheless, I had a job to do. On my third loop around the side street, I picked a door and stepped through.

This is likely the most laid-back of the bars on the strip, with soft lighting and a more relaxed atmosphere than the high-energy dance parties just through the walls. There is still booming music, however; a DJ booth up against the wall houses an energetic man turning tables and bobbing his head to the beat, despite being far from a packed house. The back wall of the bar features large windows, which no doubt let in glorious rays of sunlight during the day. For now, they provide a view of the calm waters just outside.

A man approaches and asks for a photo of him and his friends. It’s a large group, ten or fifteen men in total, who cram into a booth just beneath one of the oceanside windows. He says they have travelled from Lithuania. They seem quite at home here, which makes sense; located directly north of Athens, and nearly at the border of Russia, Lithuanians would be well-accustomed to the Eastern-European club culture here that many Westerners, including myself, are unfamiliar with.

He also mentions that they are all coworkers. Before I can find out more, we’re interrupted by a celebration of sorts; the music grows louder as bottle service arrives. Several beautiful women, bottles of liquor and sparklers in hands, descend upon the table, much to the men’s delight. While the girls dance and sway to the music, the men grin, cheer, and no doubt ogle at their own personal party happening in front of them.

It’s quite the work trip.

With the Lithuanians now occupied, it seemed like a good time to visit elsewhere. A back door just past the windows leads out to the calming sea behind. Exiting the building, you find yourself on a thin strip barely extended out from the walls. There are no guardrails; only a few feet of cobblestone separate you from waves caressing the base of the dock. Here others sit quietly, mostly older patrons, but perhaps a few that simply needed a break from the music. They chat and sip on drinks comfortably, the lapping of the waves surely a needed respite from the booming sounds coming from inside.

And while the pull of the ocean and a quiet spot to sit seems appealing, so do the thrills inside. Like a siren song, the alluring lights and promises of unrestrained enjoyment beckon from within. Those already beguiled seem to build this anticipation, their presence serving as yet another beacon. Any nervousness is far outweighed by excitement.

So in you go.

The first thing to catch your attention is how disruptive the strobing lights are; I felt sick for a few moments upon entering, and only after a change in the lighting were my eyes able to adjust well enough for me to feel like I could stay upright. The bar is packed shoulder to shoulder with travelers just like you, the allure of the moment too good for them to pass up. It’s a celebration of youth in many ways; flocks of twenty-somethings move and shout with reckless abandon in a variety of formations. Groups of two or three are common, friends enjoying their night out, as are singles with drinks raised to the sky. Couples dominate the landscape as well; through windows between the bobbing heads it’s not uncommon to see pairs dancing against each other or locking lips.

The music, now at full blast once more inside the building, may not be what you’d expect. While a variety of eurobeats and party anthems certainly take the stage, there’s a decidedly Western flair to some selections as well. A remix of Don’t Stop Me Now features rhythmic drums that end up getting a few of the bartenders up on the bartop to dance. The music even slows down at one point for I Don’t Want to Miss a Thing by Aerosmith. This song was the theme to the film Armageddon, in which Bruce Willis plays an oil driller sent to space to blow up an asteroid; it doesn’t get any more American than that.

And while it may seem unusual for such a song to play here, on a Greek island known for its foreign charm, it’s anything but. From the Messini citizens’ affinity for brand names and high fashion, it’s already apparent that those here are looking outside of their own tradition for inspiration. Many countries export their physical goods, but the United States exports their culture.

All of the bars here operate roughly the same way; flashing lights, pounding bass, and seductive women dot every corner of the strip. Bouncing back and forth between the venues, it can be easy to lose track of time, but it’s not surprising if that’s by design. As the hours pass, more and more people come to see what Mykonos is all about. The bars become more crowded, and so does the little oceanside strip behind them. Once a source of just slight unease, it’s downright precarious now; your feet are just inches from the edge, and as you pass the dense crowds to your next destination, one tiny slip or bump would send you into the waters below. It’s a wonder this doesn’t happen more often, considering many will have their fine motor skills impaired by the end of the night.

The added crowds create a livelier atmosphere, too, drawing even more into the fray. The first bar is now packed to the brim, but there’s also a new addition: a bouncer stands at the door. On approach, he explains that there is now a minimum spend to be able to enter; those allured by the lights would no doubt pay the premium without a second thought. Having no desire for any drinks, however, I was forced to turn away. My night would end here.

The walk back through the alleyways is much quieter now. The kitschy shops are now closed, and there’s not much else to do but reflect on the night behind you. Most visitors likely don’t consider the differences this place holds between the rest of Greece, if they even spent any time there at all. But these nuances were all too apparent after the tranquility of the Peloponnese and Tinos that came before.

One landmark is rather symbolic of this change. In the middle of the alleyway, a desecrated tree stands tall. In their rushed attempts to perfect and sanitize the scene, a massive chunk has been cut away, and the trunk of the tree is covered in white paint to match the surrounding buildings. Rather than letting nature breathe, it seems it was more important that no blemishes be seen. It’s a sobering thought, only made possible by a detail that many likely wouldn’t have noticed among the numerous distractions.

Back at the main port, the scene is nothing like that of the bars before. The quiet nature of the islands returns again; the once-bustling restaurants are now closed, and the beach crawling with sunbathers in the daytime is empty. Ships rest dutifully in the harbor, their jobs done until the morning light returns to this place. Despite the ever-present drums echoing distantly across the island, it’s still quiet. A few visitors stroll past intermittently, but overall the port is mostly devoid of any activity at all. The soothing sounds of the ocean finally overtake anything of manmade construction.

And while all of this is unusual for the infamous party spot of Mykonos, it’s a return to form in many respects. Leaving the raucous energy of the clubs behind me, I decide to sit by the water alone for a while.

It’s the closest I’ve felt to Greece all night.

Additional information courtesy of Mykonos.gr.