Chora, the compact capital of Amorgos, resembles a snow drift across the rocky ridge of the island: a higgledy-piggledy labyrinth of whitewashed buildings and alleywaysÂ 1,000 feet above sea level, capped by a 13th century fort. Ornamented with windmills, chapels and floweredÂ cobblestoneÂ lanes, it’s sophisticated on its ownÂ languorousÂ terms and unspoilt by tourism. There’s a small museum which runs on Greek-time (meaning it opens when the caretaker feels likeÂ openingÂ it)Â andÂ the shops seems to run on a similar schedule. Nobody in Chora is in a rush to do much of anything, or so it seems, and thisÂ idlenessÂ quickly rubs off. My afternoon began in a cafe, sipping a Greek frappe – an addictive mix of espresso, milk, and ice, shaken to aÂ deliciouslyÂ frothy, cool consistency – and enjoying the view of a neighboring table engaged in what appeared to be a highly competitive game of backgammon. Onwards I sniffed around a few of the open shops, wandering up then down the prettyÂ maze of streets before settling unobtrusively into a small cafe with a spectacular view of the water and classic jazz on the radio. Contented byÂ a glass of red wine and dish of briny olives,Â Chora’s spell was complete: IÂ didn’t need anything except to be where I was.