The Greek island of your dreams - and why now is the best time to visit it

On the European backpacker circuit in the early 1990s, everyone was looking for a place to park for the summer and earn some money.

The word got around about the Greek island of Paros, so I took a ferry from the port of Piraeus in Athens, ready for bars, beaches, cheap digs, jobs and sunshine.

The ferry deck was full of bedraggled young Gen X-ers, like myself, getting an irresponsible tan and smoking cheap Greek cigarettes. Someone, somewhere was always playing an R.E.M. song on a guitar.

We spilled out at the main port of Parikia straight into the waiting groups of yiayias holding painted cardboard signs saying "Rooms".

The system was beautifully simple - choose a yiayia and follow her back to a humble but clean-swept bedroom, with a toilet of dubious plumbing. I paid a modest sum in drachma, and set up camp for the summer.

I soon discovered that Paros was the Goldilocks Greek Island. It was neither too big (like neighbouring Naxos), too glitzy (like Mykonos) nor too touristy (like Santorini).

Being part of the Cyclades group, it had white lime-washed houses and winding cobbled streets, along with enough stray cats, bougainvillaea and charming tavernas to complete the postcard image. It even looked aesthetically pleasing on a map, the shape of a pear-cut diamond.

There were fascinating archaeological ruins and an ancient marble quarry that was used to sculpt the Venus de Milo, but back then it was all about hitting the beaches and the nightlife with my backpacker buddy Signe, a Danish girl I met on the island.

Signe and I became inseparable while we lived and worked on Paros for that summer of 1992. Unlike the Scandinavian stereotype, she was petite and dark-haired, and always stylish with her huge Italian sunglasses and chic bob.

She was 25 and well travelled, spoke four languages and had a confident opinion on everything. I was 20, on my first overseas trip, and totally in awe of my new friend.

We sipped heart-starting frappes (Greek iced coffee made with copious amounts of Nescafe and sugar), smoked too much and tried shots of the potent local spirit "souma". We lay in the sun all afternoon and danced till dawn.

We celebrated her birthday by hiring a motor scooter and riding to the town of Naousa for lunch. Naturally, we didn't wear helmets, and we had a lot of laughs stalling multiple times on the road.

In the evenings, we joined the crowd watching the sun set behind the Portes (doors), two landmark rocky outcrops that formed jagged silhouettes, and broke out into spontaneous applause when it slipped into the sea.

We fell into an island rhythm with an insouciance you can only have in your early 20s, when you have a total lack of responsibility. Children, mortgages, heartbreak, work stress, financial worries, sickness, ageing parents - all of that was yet to come.

More than 30 years later, I was on a ferry headed back to Paros to meet up with Signe, this time with our grown-up children in tow.

No doubt we had changed since those carefree days, but would Paros have changed too?

I had misgivings about the impact of low-cost direct flights from European cities and the Instagrammable appeal of such a classically pretty Greek island.

Santorini, which we'd just visited, was still stunning but the streets were also clogged with influencers and the main town restaurants were serving sushi and burritos.

Arriving at the port at Parikia, and taking in the sweeping arc of white cube houses along the port, everything looked reassuringly the same.

The beachfront tavernas were still serving grilled octopus, the cats were skulking about and was it my imagination or did everything look cleaner? Despite it being high season, in the middle of July, the streets weren't overly crowded.

I'd found a place to stay called Eleni's on the internet with the same homespun Greek vibe I was craving. I wished I could have winged it with a yiayia-style "rooms" of my backpacker days, but alas times have changed and I booked well ahead.

I wasn't disappointed, with Eleni herself greeting us and taking us to a modest whitewashed room opening to a small terrace draped with grapevines and bougainvillaea. No frills, no television or boutique toiletries, and that's the way I wanted it.

Meeting Signe and her children for a "break the ice" dinner at one of the local tavernas was nerve-racking. Would our children get on?

We nervously ordered far too many plates of all the Greek dishes we had loved, from yemista (stuffed vegetables) to saganaki (fried cheese), horta (wild greens) and marides (fried whitebait).

Our children quickly found common ground - poking mild fun at us, their middle-aged mothers, and our embarrassing side-trips into nostalgia.

I was thrilled my old workplace, the Hotel Pandrossos, perched on a hill overlooking the port, was still in business. Sometimes I would go straight from the nightclub closing at 6am to an early-morning hotel shift, serving up continental breakfast to large tour groups through bleary eyes and a wicked hangover.

Signe and I reminisced about sleeping in till 2pm if we weren't working and meeting at Livadia beach, a 10-minute walk from the main port, stopping to buy an ice-cream for "breakfast". When we got hungry our other staple snack was a yeeros, the delicious pita bread wrap filled with Greek lamb and tzatziki.

We couldn't help but be overwhelmed with sentimentality as we retrod the familiar maze of streets, with their shops selling evil eye amulet jewellery and piles of leather sandals.

The tavernas still had their traditional menus, checkered tablecloths and red metallic wine pitchers. They served Greek salad the way I remembered it - not reinterpreted or deconstructed, thank god, just ripe red tomatoes and cucumber with a slab of feta and a slick of olive oil.

From the sounds of the chatter on the streets, the majority of the tourists seemed to be Greek families on summer holiday. There were fewer backpackers, less all-night bars and - I have to admit - the island was all the better for it.

Paros also seemed cleaner than before, the beaches less littered with trash, and we were delighted to see new filtered water stations where tourists can fill up their bottles for a few euro cents instead of buying endless plastic bottles. (The tap water is drinkable as well.) I later found out the island has signed up to an initiative called Clean Blue Paros with the aim of eliminating single-use plastics. There is a waste-recycling facility on the island, and active community discussions about sustainability.

I was simply relieved to find Paros was still thoroughly "Greek" (apart from my old hotel workplace which now incongruously housed a Thai restaurant). Parts of Santorini had felt like a generic backdrop for the content feeds of a globalised crowd. And I'd heard horror stories about it being hard to find Greek food in some heavily touristed towns in Crete.

One reason for Paros preserving its authentic character could be that its airport only services Athens, which presents a hurdle to northern European and UK travellers wanting a direct budget flight. The slow ferries plying the Aegean are also a lot less attractive to time-short tourists.

However, this is set to change as a new Paros airport is being built. Slated for completion in 2025, it will service international cities. Many of the local sustainability advocates are understandably concerned about its impact.

Read more on Explore:

While Paros has so far fared well with the onslaught of global tourism, and was recognisably the same beautiful island we visited in 1992 - Signe and I had changed.

We were no longer the carefree and footloose travellers who could eat ice-cream for breakfast and dance on bar counters till 6am.

It turns out Signe is now an early-rising runner. When it came time to explore the island's other towns such as Naousa, on the northern coast, she simply decided to walk the 10-kilometre distance instead of taking the bus.

During our week-long stay she proceeded to walk all around the island, often setting off in her runners with a backpack at 6am, which I noted with wry amusement was the time she used to come home from the nightclub.

I opted to take the bus, which was itself a novel experience. Although sorely tempted to reprise our motor-scooter memories, we're far too risk-averse now. She also noted my ever-present hat, suncream and long-sleeved shirts, as I atone for my previous sun-loving ways.

We took our children to the nightclub we used to frequent but, to their disgust, retired for an early night, still sober.

That's not to say the trip was more boring. In many ways, it was a lot more interesting; because we are older, and more intellectually curious.

There was a lot of the island we hadn't explored the first time round, including the historic village of Lefkes in the mountainous centre, and the neighbouring island of Antiparos, where actor Tom Hanks has a holiday home.

Instead of flopping at the closest beach to the main port, Livadia, as we used to do, we took the ferry across from the port to Krios and Martselo beaches and were rewarded with crystalline water and golden sand.

Being an ancient-history buff, I was thrilled to visit the renowned fourth-century Monastery of Panagia Ekatontapiliani, or "church of 100 doors", set back from the main port, and the ancient cemetery with dates from the seventh century BCE.

I chuckle at how I would have walked both of these sites daily as a backpacker, without really registering their significance.

The highlight of the holiday came from a tip-off from Eleni, my accommodation host. She said there was going to be a traditional island summer gathering of Parians with live music in a nearby village.

For about 10 euros each, we got our entry to a square with long makeshift tables, strung with lights. Beer was served in plastic cups and we got a plate of a traditional chickpea dish and a local cheese with bread. It was the best meal I'd eaten.

Clearly, there were many families with deep roots in Paros, who may now be living in Athens, New York or Melbourne, but were home for the summer.

We listened to the strains of the tsambouna, a local bagpipe instrument, and joined in the timeless chain dance that curved and twisted around the village square.

Late at night we bought loukoumades, Greek doughnuts soaked in honey, and ate them on the port, getting lost in yet more reminiscing as our kids eye-rolled heavily.

They will understand, one day, how 30 years can pass so quickly but seem like forever. They'll understand that the passage of time can be heavy - but the trick is to wear it lightly.

Paros was a chance for old friends to reflect on life, and to see a familiar place with new eyes.

It is still the quintessential Greek island, with a "just right" feeling.

Would we do it again? Yes, but in late spring or early autumn, when it's quieter. And perhaps one day with our grandchildren.

Getting there: Qatar Airways and Emirates fly from Sydney to Athens. From Athens, Olympic Air and Sky Express fly to Paros National Airport. Alternatively, take the ferry from the Athenian port of Piraeus to Paros (three to five hours depending on the ferry speed).

Staying there: Eleni Rooms (where the writer stayed) is a clean and simple two-star inn close to the port, with a charming hostess. Rates from $100 a night for a double room with breakfast. For a more upmarket experience close by, Kokoon is a boutique hotel decorated in Cycladic style, from $209 a night for a garden room. If budget is unlimited, neighbouring Antiparos has luxurious villas such as Artemis Sky Villa (from $2415 a night). See eleni-rooms.com; kokoonparos.com; artemisantiparos.com

Explore more: visitgreece.gr; paros.gr

The writer travelled at her own expense.