Our bullet-shaped hydrofoil eased out of Piraeus harbor, then leapt forward and lifted itself above the waves like a frolicking porpoise. Half bird, half fish, the Flying Dolphin raced south along the Peloponnesian coast until the isle of Hydra, our destination, loomed into view.

No landing appeared possible on Hydra's jagged coast--a shipwreck seemed more likely--but as the island grew closer I could see a breakwater, a tiny harbor, and a village of white homes rising in cubist ranks up the steep hillside. Like thread through a needle's eye, the captain deftly slid his vessel through the narrow harbor entrance. The crew lashed the ship to the stone quay, and Lisa and I disembarked on a bright February afternoon.

We found the cozy Hotel Angelica on a steep cobbled lane, and discovered that we could not only get a room, we could get any room, or all the rooms. Lisa and I were the only guests! We settled on a double with bath for 9500 drachmas ($35), and the proprietor mentioned that during the high season reservations booked the room solid for 13,500 drachmas a night ($50). This hardly surprised us; in our opinion the winter low season--roughly November to March--remains the best time to visit Hydra, for prices plummet, crowds vanish, and the unique beauty of the island shines with a special winter clarity.

A long rocky island with a spine of sharp grey ridges, Hydra rises from the sea beneath the southeast coast of the Peloponnesian Peninsula. The island has no natural resources to speak of, and its inhabitants have always looked to the sea for their livelihood.

Hydra has a long history of producing successful merchants, shipbuilders, pirates, and naval generals. This tradition continues today with a small fishing fleet and a merchant marine academy, but by far the island's largest industry is tourism. This too carries on Hydra's maritime history, since all tourists arrive on the ferries and hydrofoils that dock in Hydra's tiny harbor. Hydra has no airstrip and probably never will, given its mountainous nature. In fact, I found that Hydra is not defined so much by what it has than by what it doesn't have.

Aside from not having an airstrip, I discovered, to my joy, that it doesn't have a single McDonald's or Holiday Inn. More uniquely, I didn't see any motorized vehicles--excepting the little town garbage truck--because the islanders have banned them completely. As a result there are few thoroughfares wide enough to be called a road, and no asphalt paving scars the island. The narrow streets and alleys are made of inlaid stone and cobbles worn smooth by shoes and hooves. On the edge of town the roads revert to footpaths that wind along the rocky coast and over the rugged spine running down the island's center.

Hydrans use boats to reach the more distant parts of the island; they undertake shorter journeys on foot, or on donkeys, mules, and horses. Life moves at a more relaxed pace than in the motorized parts of Greece, and provides for some interesting juxtapositions. On our way to the Hotel Angelica, for example, Lisa and I saw a man riding sidesaddle as he led a string of donkeys laden with such modern-day items as canned dog food, laundry detergent, and Amstel beer.

That first evening Lisa and I dined at the Taverna To Estaki, one of the few restaurants open year-round. The atmosphere felt welcoming and laid-back, and we congratulated ourselves on being the only foreigners.

Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom played on the TV for the local clientele, weather-beaten men who wore Greek fisherman's hats and absently clicked their worry beads. Nautical scenes of stormy seas and mermaids adorned the high walls; recessed glass cabinets brimmed with ouzo and retsina bottles.

Lisa and I gorged on Greek salad, tstatsiki, spinach rice with lemon, stuffed eggplant and bell pepper, freshly baked bread, grilled catch-of-the-day fish, and house white wine in a battered tin carafe. The total price for this feast: about 3000 drachmas ($12). When it came time to pay, the impressively mustachioed proprietor couldn't break our 5000-drachma note. "No problem," he shrugged with a casual smile. "Come back and pay me when you have change."

Outside the restaurant, Lisa and I found the streets and harbor eerily deserted and overlaid with an odd silence. There wasn't an absence of sound; rather there was an absence of urban sounds, primarily the snarl of cars and motorcycles. We heard the high tide slapping against the quay and the wind rattling the rigging of the fishing boats, but we heard no traffic noise.

Lisa and I wandered the narrow village streets late into the night. This maze became our own personal playground, shared only with the night-prowling cats of the island. We moved in a dream world, an endless series of stairways and sudden turns, twisting passages and narrow alleyways, dead ends and unexpected junctions, all whitewashed and glowing in the moonlight. Eventually we emerged high above the harbor, the Aegean spread out below in the moonlight and the Peloponnese a distant shadow on the horizon.

Lisa and I had this beauty completely to ourselves, and we knew that we had truly discovered our own Aegean winter paradise.

If You Go:

Ferries and Flying Dolphin hydrofoils run frequently from Piraeus (the port for Athens) to Hydra. Ferries take approximately four hours; hydrofoils roughly half that. Schedules and fares vary.

Steven Bailey is a freelance travel writer whose work has appeared in various periodicals worldwide. He travels frequently to Southeast Asia and has lived in Osaka, Japan; Opole, Poland; and Fairbanks, Alaska.