Patmos by Hamish Bowles first appeared in the July 2011 issue of Vogue.

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The volcanic island of Patmos, where Saint John received his apocalyptic vision, struck writer Lawrence Durrell as “more an idea than a place, more a symbol than an island.” Yet its striking beauty is undeniable the moment it comes into view from a boat (there’s no airport)—tiny white houses dotting the hills like snowdrops, with the hilltop village of Chora crowned by an ancient fortress. The island’s true grandeur lies beneath the deep blue waters of the Dodecanese, hinted at by the massive cruise ships that dock at Skala’s port, unloading sunburnt tourists who scatter among the shops and pebbled beaches.

Locals, however, are made of tougher stuff. They think nothing of hiking for an hour over rocky terrain, dodging snakes, to reach secluded sandy coves shaded by tamarind trees. Fishermen’s brightly painted boats venture even farther, taking visitors to hidden inlets framed by volcanic cliffs—a reminder that this island was once so harsh it served as a place of exile. Saint John himself was banished here in the first century A.D., converting the islanders before retreating to a hillside cave to dictate the Book of Revelation to his disciple Prochoros. By the 11th century, a monastery rose on the hilltop, flourishing over the centuries.

“The monastery has always been the heart of the island,” says jeweler Charlotte di Carcaci, whose home is in Chora. The village grew around the monastery, housing its craftsmen in cleverly designed homes that catch every breeze. “It’s a simple way of living, but you never feel unhappy here,” she adds. The houses are packed so closely that family quarrels and village gossip drift through the walls. In true Moorish style, their entrances are deliberately plain—whether leading to a humble dwelling or a grand courtyard—to confuse would-be thieves.

When designer John Stefanidis and artist Teddy Millington-Drake arrived in the 1960s, they found Patmos “like a Surrealist painting—empty, with houses in ruins,” their facades faded, their woodwork peeling. Stefanidis was enchanted. The pair transformed a crumbling, donkey-worn house into one of the island’s most magical homes, later expanding it with lush gardens cascading down the hillside. Travel writer Freya Stark called it “a work of art set in the bright, unexpected frame of the islands.”

Life on Patmos wasn’t for the timid. Locals were deeply traditional—when Stefanidis brought his lapdog, “people chased it through the streets; they’d never seen a dog before.” For years, the island had no phones, only telegrams. “A gust of wind could blow it all away,” Stefanidis recalled. “Jacqueline Onassis once visited and got stranded—there was just one phone in Chora, and she had to hunt it down!”

(Accompanying images: Chiara and Miranda di Carcaci on their terrace; a guest bedroom in Peter Speliopoulos and Robert Turner’s home; a living room detail at the di Carcacis’.)The terraces at Giuseppe and Grazia Gazzoni Frascara’s home.

The island had so few trees that people relied on charcoal braziers for warmth. Rainwater was stored in cisterns, and gardening was out of the question. “There was nothing to eat!” Stefanidis recalls. “Vegetables, fruit, and other supplies had to be shipped from Athens. It was wonderfully inconvenient.” Yet over the decades, the expat community grew, and Stefanidis—a renowned decorator—worked on about a dozen homes, many for friends who endured the challenging journey to get there. “You’re bringing the rot with you,” Cy Twombly once told him bluntly.

Even now, time moves slowly in Chora. There’s just one grocer (perishables must be bought as fresh as possible) and one Armenian baker, whose delicious feta-filled bread loops are the perfect way to start a leisurely day.

Katell le Bourhis’s 17th-century volcanic-stone stable, transformed by architect Lilia Melissa.

Donkeys were the only transport until the first taxi arrived in the 1970s. But Chora’s winding lanes—lined with whitewashed walls draped in plumbago and bougainvillea, their woodwork painted a vivid Adonis blue—are too narrow for cars. Navigating its steep paths, sloping squares, and dizzying stairways requires stamina. “You become a goat here!” says Katell le Bourhis, whose own home on the village outskirts was once a 17th-century stable for monks’ sure-footed horses. “We climb and climb—flat shoes are essential in Patmos!”

Stefanidis’s elegant revivals of traditional island craftsmanship—trellis cupboard doors, bamboo-slatted ceilings, handmade bricks with hand-troweled designs—have become part of the island’s style. His own home and projects are filled with treasures reflecting the island’s seafaring past: Turkish kilims, Damascene metalwork, English china, and Indian textiles.

The interior of James and Alexandra Brown’s 18th-century farmhouse.

In the 1970s, Stefanidis designed a charming village house for his Oxford friend William Bernard. “Twenty-five years later, I refreshed it—turned it into a doll’s house,” he says. Now, it belongs to antiques dealer Alexander di Carcaci (nephew of Millington-Drake) and his family. In true Patmos fashion, much of the house’s furnishings came with the property. “Those wobbly brass beds always stay with the house,” Charlotte notes.

Chora’s community is wonderfully intergenerational. “It’s like a dream community,” says le Bourhis. “It attracts quite unusual and eccentric people,” adds di Carcaci.

Le Bourhis’s living room, furnished with pieces from the local school and 19th-century beds.

Behind the village’s unassuming doors lie unexpected interiors. Architect Ahmad Sardar Afkhami designed a hidden terrace garden for Greek friends whose daughter introduced him to the island when they were both students at Brown. The wooden platform over their large cistern was inspired by the Persian takht—a raised platform over water for cooling. “It’s the perfect spot to sit and eavesdrop on unsuspecting passersby!” he says.

The village of Chora.

The sweeping white terraces of Italian socialite Grazia Gazzoni overlook the island’s highest hill and the poetic Chapel of Prophet Elijah, built on the ruins of an ancient Greek temple to Apollo. Inside, away from the heat, the rooms are layered with Ottoman velvets, antique paisleys, giltwood, and silver—fit for a Turgenev heroine.

For artist James Brown and his wife, Alexandra, “Skoupidia is our favorite word in Greek…”Here’s a more natural and fluent version of your text:

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In their simple 18th-century farmhouse, furnished with basic 19th-century pieces that came with it, they’ve added their own touch—paving the terraces with marble ovals cut from sink surrounds by a local stonemason. “The trash on Patmos is a great source of inspiration,” James says with a laugh.

Nearby, architect Ahmad Sardar Afkhami designed a cooling Persian platform built over a house’s cistern, offering views of the whitewashed village of Chora and the chapel of the prophet Elijah.

Meanwhile, their friends—decorator Robert Turner and Donna Karan’s creative director Peter Speliopoulos—went to great lengths to restore their own pair of houses. The first was a charming 19th-century village home, still with its original paint and details, which Turner says “really gives these houses their soul.” They later discovered that an adjoining ruin—a 1638 building with a Venetian window they’d always admired—was also for sale. “If you can be your own neighbor, that’s pretty ideal,” Turner jokes.

They hired architect Katerina Tsigarida, inspired by her careful restoration of her own Chora house, to preserve the simplicity of the materials and the beauty of the original structure. The restoration took ten years, thanks to the skilled work of Patmos’ stonemasons and carpenters.

Though their furnishings look as if they’ve always been there, some had quite the journey. For example, when Turner and Speliopoulos couldn’t find a Greek bed they liked, they restored an 18th-century Italian bed from New York and shipped it to Patmos.

As Prince Umberto di Savoia Aosta relaxes in a Chora terrace garden, James Brown reflects on island life: “The key to living on Patmos is having really close Greek friends. Otherwise, you’ll never fit in—you won’t understand the local ways, let alone the Greek mindset you need to know if you want to stay.”

Speliopoulos agrees: “There’s a strong sense of community here, and a kind of effortless elegance—beauty in simplicity. It’s like stepping back in time.”

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This version keeps the original meaning while making the language smoother and more conversational. Let me know if you’d like any further refinements!