Beyond Paradise Beach: 7 Hidden Mykonos Shores Only Locals Know About

Driving the northern coastal road feels like rounding the bases on a completely different playing field than southern Mykonos. The landscape shifts dramatically – gone are the manicured resort grounds, replaced by rugged hills dotted with scrubby vegetation that somehow thrives despite the constant meltemi winds.

Fokos Beach sits at the end of a dirt road that will test your rental car's suspension (and your navigation skills). The payoff? A wide crescent of coarse golden sand embraced by rocky outcroppings, with water so clear you can count pebbles three meters deep. Unlike its southern cousins, Fokos remains delightfully undeveloped save for one exceptional taverna.

My first visit came after a local web developer I was collaborating with insisted I couldn't leave the island without experiencing 'real Mykonos.' He was right. I spent the afternoon alternating between floating in the crystalline water and napping under my beach umbrella – the only shade for kilometers around. The taverna's grilled octopus, caught that morning just offshore, remains one of my top five meals in Greece.

Some beaches hit a home run not because of their size or sand quality, but because they tell a story. Merchia is that kind of place – a tiny cove where local fishermen have launched their caïques (traditional wooden boats) for generations. Located just beyond Ftelia but requiring a 15-minute scramble down a goat path, this pebbled shore remains off the tourist radar.

I discovered Merchia during my second Mykonos trip while attempting to photograph the northern coastline at sunrise. I'd set up my camera on the cliff above when an elderly fisherman waved me down to his small stone hut. Despite our language barrier, he managed to communicate through gestures that I should follow him down to the shore. There, he showed me how to find sea urchins (wear protective water shoes if you attempt this) and demonstrated the traditional way to open and eat them fresh from the sea.

The beach itself is small and pebbly, with crystalline emerald water that's remarkably calm compared to nearby windswept shores. What makes Merchia special is its authenticity – this is where real island life continues regardless of tourism seasons.

Some beaches make you work for them – Vathia Lagada plays hard to get in the best possible way. Located on the northwestern coast between Armenistis and Panormos, this secluded stretch requires a 25-minute hike through terrain that would make a mountain goat think twice. I'm not being dramatic when I say proper footwear is non-negotiable here; my hiking sandals have been my MVP for accessing beaches like this across the Mediterranean.

The trail begins near a small, unmarked dirt parking area and winds through fragrant wild herbs and prickly pear cacti. Navigation apps won't help much here – I followed cairns (stacked stone markers) left by previous hikers. Just when you start questioning your life choices, the path opens to reveal a perfect horseshoe bay with fine golden sand and water in impossible shades of blue.

What makes Vathia Lagada extraordinary is the underwater topography. The bay has a gradual slope with fascinating rock formations that create natural swimming pools at different depths. I spent hours exploring with my snorkel set, discovering underwater caves and observing Mediterranean fish going about their business undisturbed by the crowds elsewhere on the island.

In baseball, sometimes the most meaningful games happen on neighborhood sandlots, not major league stadiums. Loulos Beach is Mykonos' equivalent of that neighborhood sandlot – where local families have gathered for generations, largely ignored by the tourism machine.

Located on the northeastern coast past Ano Mera, Loulos requires navigating unmarked dirt roads that don't appear on most rental car maps. I found it purely by chance during my third visit to the island, when I was determined to circumnavigate Mykonos by car. After several wrong turns and one minor bottoming-out incident (sorry, rental company), I crested a hill to find a perfect crescent of sand with about a dozen Greek families enjoying a Sunday afternoon.

What struck me immediately was the multi-generational nature of the scene – grandparents chatting in beach chairs while parents played backgammon and children built elaborate sand structures. One family had brought a portable beach tent that provided shade for their epic picnic spread, which they generously shared with this lost American.

The water at Loulos is shallow and calm, protected from winds by a natural rock formation offshore. This makes it ideal for families with small children – and for adults like me who prefer floating peacefully to battling waves. The seabed is a mix of sand and smooth stones that massage your feet as you wade in.

Every island has that one perfect sunset spot that locals guard jealously. On Mykonos, it's Kapari – a small, west-facing beach near Agios Ioannis that somehow remains under the radar despite being relatively accessible. The secret? The final approach requires a 10-minute scramble down a rocky path that discourages the high-heeled Mykonos crowd.

I discovered Kapari through a local maker I met at a craft market in Mykonos Town. She created beautiful jewelry inspired by the colors of this particular beach and offered to show me her source material. We arrived about two hours before sunset, equipped with a insulated wine tumbler filled with local white wine and a small picnic.

What makes Kapari magical is how the white stones and sand reflect the changing light as the sun descends. The beach itself is small but never crowded, nestled between dramatic rock formations that frame sunset photos perfectly. The water remains swimmable well into evening, with fascinating tidal pools forming among the rocks as the tide recedes.

My most memorable Kapari moment came when a local musician brought his bouzouki (Greek string instrument) and played traditional melodies as the sun disappeared. The acoustics created by the surrounding rocks amplified his music into a natural amphitheater effect I'll never forget.

Some beaches tell the economic history of an island better than any museum. Frangia is one such place – a narrow stretch of coarse sand on the northeastern coast that once served as a loading point for quarried Mykonian stone. Today, it offers a fascinating glimpse into the island's pre-tourism economy.

I found Frangia while researching Mykonos' traditional crafts for a maker-space collaboration. My local guide, a stonemason whose family had worked the quarries for generations, brought me here to show how the stone was traditionally loaded onto boats. The remnants of old stone piers and loading equipment remain visible both on shore and underwater.

What makes Frangia special beyond its history is the incredible clarity of the water. Protected from the prevailing winds by its orientation, the beach offers glass-like conditions perfect for snorkeling around the submerged structures. I captured amazing underwater photos with my waterproof phone case – much easier than lugging my usual underwater camera gear.

The beach itself isn't conventionally pretty by Mykonos standards – the sand is darker and coarser than the famous southern shores. But what it lacks in postcard perfection, it makes up for in character and solitude. I've visited three times now and never seen more than a handful of people, usually local fishermen using the old pier.

If I had to recommend just one beach that balances accessibility with authenticity, it would be Agios Sostis. Located on the northern coast past Panormos, this magnificent stretch represents what Mykonos beaches were like before mass tourism – beautiful without being overbuilt, popular with locals without being overrun.

The approach alone is worth the trip – the road winds through hills dotted with white chapels before descending to reveal a perfect arc of golden sand meeting turquoise water. Unlike the southern party beaches, Agios Sostis has no beach clubs, no rental chairs, and mercifully, no thumping music. What it does have is Kiki's Tavern, possibly my favorite restaurant in all of Greece.

This unassuming spot has no electricity, no reservations, and no pretension – just charcoal-grilled perfection and homemade sides served on a shaded terrace overlooking the bay. The catch? Everyone knows about Kiki's now. I bring my portable hammock to string between trees near the taverna's entrance, arriving by 11am to put my name on the list, then relaxing with a book while the delicious grilling smells intensify my hunger.

The beach itself offers something for everyone – the northern end has shade from tamarisk trees, the center is wide open for sun worshippers, and the southern rocks create natural pools perfect for children. The water clarity rivals any beach I've seen worldwide, with visibility often exceeding 20 meters on calm days.