We arrived at Ios by accident in our hasty escape from tourist ridden and over-commercialised Santorini where a thin facade of friendliness only serves to get you to feel slightly better about the exorbitant prices. We had planned to spend 2 weeks on this mythical island, but 20 hours were quite enough!

We boarded the soonest ferry and headed for Paros - a 2 hour journey. We had heard it was a pretty and friendly island, and since high season had not really hit, cheap rooms were still to be found. About 40 minutes from Santorini the ferry docked at the port of Ios. It looked so quiet and peaceful with good beaches, no hawkers waiting to attack those who landed, and no hoards of people. A quick scan of our travel guide showed that accommodation was reasonably priced too, so just before the ferry closed the tailgate and set sail again, we grabbed our bags and raced ashore.

Close to Mylopotas beach we found a cheap self-contained apartment with some small shops and cafes nearby. This is where we spent our 2 weeks - reading, writing, swimming, walking, windsurfing and exploring the island. It was a much needed break since had been on the road teaching since January. We were meant to be leading a permaculture design course in Slovenia during this period but we found out en-route that it had been cancelled. There are definitely worse places to be stranded than the Greek Islands!

On Ios, there are more churches than locals. These beautifully organic formed structures are scattered through the island - almost always at least one in sight. They are in the fields, perched on rocky outcrops and nestled amongst the clustered village near the port where most people live.

The winding narrow lanes of the village prevent car access to most parts and provide shade from the harsh midday sun, aided by the trellised grape vines laden with forming bunches. Whether it is the summer heat or the winter winds (or previously invading armies or even pirates), these stacked pedestrianised villages provide a protective haven.

There are a lot of old houses in the surrounding hills, but most are now little more than piles of stones. These ruins and the number of agricultural terraces, indicate that once this island would have been heavily populated and largely self-sufficient.

Signs of a former agricultural economy and culture are everywhere. Along the seaward facing ridge above the village is a long row of ancient windmills for grinding grain. All but one are in ruins and none work productively - just tourist attractions now. Next to the town hall is what must have been the village olive oil press and nearby is the old community bakery.

The large safe port would have once provided a good base for the fishermen, but with fish stocks diminished through heavy harvesting and dynamite fishing, only a few boats remain. Mostly now the port is used for tourist ferries, importing supplies for these tourists and seasonal mooring for Mediterranean cruisers and yachts. The port beach is second main beach after Mylopotas and far more casual.

Flocks of goats and sheep are tended by the older islanders. You can hear the bleats and the varying tones of the animal's bells on the mountain sides as they graze. In the evening, the hills surrounding the valley come alive with these sounds. When a whole flock moves their bells chime like a rustic symphony reminiscent of a Buddhist festival.

Like in other parts of the Balkans, there are still many shepherds but they are a dying breed. In the heat of mid-afternoon these old men come down from the hills riding their donkeys sidewards, waggling their legs to keep them moving along. They park the donkeys in the car park and enjoy a pint or few with their cafe-owner friends on the beach.

The shepherds have a few dogs following along on the ride to town. They sit and keep watch over the donkey - jumping out and barking from their shady corner, frightening anyone who attempts to pat the donkey. Each day you could tell who the newcomers were - jumping away from the wall with a scream followed by embarrassed giggling amongst their friends.

Mostly though there are cats - cats everywhere. I had been missing the company of animals so it was a wonderful treat when two kittens adopted me at our guesthouse. I even attempted to make friends with the guard dog which was kept on a short chain 24 hours a day with only a little shade, no food and a hot bowl of dirty water. I fed her my scraps and gave her fresh water each day.

There was very little wildlife - a few small fish in the shallows, 2 species of uncaged birds, lizards, insects and mosquitoes (especially when the wind dropped at dusk). In terms of plants, beside the olives and figs, there were lots of Eucalypts and acacias, which seemed somewhat out of place. Other common plants included prickly pear, iridescent pink bougainvillea, bright red-flowering geranium, white oleander, and yellow flowering spanish broom. I'm not sure what the sheep and goats fed on - high roughage foliage was all that was on offer.

Much of the island is barren now, but certain valleys remain green and the olive trees, which must be over 400 years old, grow strong. The fig trees in the protected areas will soon be weighed down by their abundance of new fruit and a few of the locals still have vegetable gardens. It was pleasant surprise was to see one of the new guesthouses was surrounded by vegetable gardens, grape vines and other fruits. The local honey has a strong flavour (but not quite as strong as their sting!).

The green valleys are where the springs still flow. This water is distributed to other areas by a maze of plastic pipes and hoses draped across the landscape - and the pathways.

Along the lanes there are a few elaborately surrounded taps where you can access the fresh spring water - usually near a church. The further you walk up the valley closer to the source, the cooler and fresher the it is.

The spring water is a far better option than the imported bottled water. But this water is so cheap (2 euro for 9 litres) that most cannot be bothered refilling. Consequently the accumulation of bottles on the island rapidly increases over the summer - as do the plethora of soft drink cans. Only the local beer bottles and a few other glass containers are collected and recycled.

At the entrance to the village is a large rubbish skip with a built-in compressor munching constantly. The rubbish is carried down from the houses, shops and bars, is crushed and taken away to some vacant area of the island to be dumped. I didn't discover where on Ios, but on Naxos it was over the side of a cliff -a sea-facing cliff. The gulls circled over the top of the stenching mess, and the bay below was filled with rubbish that had tumbled down.

Ios was not the quiet idyllic place of our first impressions, but actually the biggest party island in the Cyclades. The sleepy whitewashed village perched on the hillside is deserted during the day, but after midnight through until dawn it transforms into one giant club. The whole village pulses with big beat sound, retro disco music and a muffled roar of thousands of 18-25s from around the world.

I wonder how the local population feel about this annual invasion. Most of them are grandparents or great-grandparents. Some do run the guesthouses - perhaps they own the clubs too, putting up with it all for the easy money and use the quiet winter months to recover.

It must have been too much for one old man. After an early afternoon ceremony at the Orthodox Church in the middle of town, he was carried through the village in an open casket, hands folded across his chest and followed by a small gathering of elderly black-clad family and friends. As they wound their way through the narrow lanes, the priest and pall-bearers had to dodge the bikini-clad and hungover cafe-goers coming for breakfast who seemed oblivious to the solemn nature of the procession.

I have never come across so many Australians in one place outside of Australia. Irish, English, German, Spanish, and Danish too.... they were all here to spend the summer. Many work in the pubs, clubs, cafes and restaurants for as little as 20 euros a day - half of which they spend on accommodation leaving them just enough for a couple of drinks a night. Lots of free drinks and T-shirts are given out to lure you to the plethora of bars. The petrol station even gives out free drink cards with every purchase - a dangerous combination I would have thought on the dark winding roads down the mountain.

Most people who come to Ios spend their days baking in the intense sun in search of the perfect tan. Once the mountains cradling the beach cast their shade, the crowds leave for their night of drinking, debauchery and daggy 80's music. The valley of Mylopotas falls silent again. Even the cicadas stop and the night sky fills with stars.

Now Ios is still relatively clean and unspoilt (at least on the surface), but in 10 years time it could be quite a different place. New reinforced concrete guesthouses are filling the agricultural flats and being built into the cliffs. However Greece's entry into the EU and the transition to Euro is sending prices higher and higher. Perhaps the young crowd will find a new cheaper stage on which their summer plays can be performed.