A man leads his donkey along the steep, twisting streets of one of Santorini's cliffside villages. (The Philadelphia Inquirer / Rebecca Barger)

SKALINI, Crete, Greece -- Xerxes had led us astray.

Xerxes, the nom de Net of a wired wayfarer on the Internet, had advised my wife and me by e-mail to bypass the resorts on Crete's northern coast and head straight for the island's hilly heartland.

``To capture the real soul of Greece, avoid the tourist traps, and hit the smaller villages,'' he (or she) wrote. ``You'll love Skalini. I'm sure there are rooms to rent there.''

Well, no, there aren't, as we discovered to our dismay.

That false lead, however, turned into one of the memorable encounters on our trip. In our phrase-book Greek, we asked directions from a 70-year-old villager in a simple black dress as she watered the fragrant bougainvillea in her garden. She shepherded us into her clean, spare living room and served us a bowl of figs and two slices of lemon pound cake, all the while ignoring our protests. Then she brought out a photo album and began slicing a cucumber for her two guests, in between thumbing through pictures of her family.

Soon, her teenage granddaughter, Elinor, arrived, not sure what to make of the strangers in her house. Elinor shyly quizzed us, ``Are you English?'' She and Agathi, her grandmother, had never before met an American. That touched off a long, animated round of questions -- and an invitation to return.

We didn't find a room for rent in Skalini that night, but no matter. We were on our honeymoon, and we had opted for serendipity over certainty.

Click image for area of detail.

Our 12 days on the Greek islands of Crete, Santorini and Naxos last fall were filled with such chance encounters. My wife, Mary, and I both dabble in the Internet, so we thought it would be fun to forgo the usual guidebooks and rely instead on virtual advice from mailing lists, Usenet groups, Web sites, and, chiefly, e-mail messages from kindred souls who had made small, enchanting discoveries off the beaten path.

Getting advice from the Internet isn't just for Net-heads anymore. Of Americans who traveled abroad last year, an estimated 17 percent tapped into the Internet, according to a study by Wirthlin Worldwide, a market-research firm in Mclean, Va.

To be sure, the quality of that advice is uneven, as our experience in Skalini showed. But our online surfing also turned up a wealth of vacation tips that were more timely, offbeat and original than the usual guidebooks and travel magazines.

-- Natasha

-- Pete W.

Tourists lunch al fresco in a small taverna on Santorini overlooking the Mediterranean.

We fell in love with the place the moment we set eyes on the dozens of pure white sugar-cube houses perched dramatically atop sheer, gaunt cliffs that plunge a thousand feet to the sea. The harbor of Fira sits in an ocean-filled volcanic ring left behind by a titanic eruption 3,500 years ago.

As dusk fell, we followed the dirt footpath to Oia, six miles to the north. From our perch on the lip of the caldera, we took in the haunting, spectacular view: black, jagged lava islands shrouded in a veil of mist, cruise liners in the blue harbor, whitewashed houses and blue-domed churches spilling off the red cliffs. We passed a cliff face sculpted with rich, thick layers of sienna red, charcoal and gray pumice, betraying the island's tumultuous geological past. As a perfect sunset faded, the purple sky twitched with stars, and Fira -- the main town on this island of 7,000 residents and five million annual tourists -- began to light up like a fairy town in a Tolkien novel.

We reached Oia at nightfall, just as a young boy was scaling a catch of mackerel on the wharf outside Tokyma, one of the dozen idyllic dockside tavernas of Ammoudi, below. We ate a satisfying local dish of monkfish and shrimp the size of sea serpents on the cozy terrace of Koukoumavlos, then strolled along narrow, maze-like cobblestone streets to the town square.

On Santorini, try to find the small fish taverna run by two elderly sisters, at the end of the road in ``Perrivolos'' (you won't find it on the tourist maps). Great food.

-- Demos

We weren't certain of that at first. Perivolos is tucked away on the island's remote southern side, and the taverna was deserted when we arrived at 1:30 p.m. But Danezi Paravalu led us into her kitchen to let us pick from among the morning's catch in the refrigerator, while Roula Anthi stoked the grill and spread out a checkered tablecloth on the table.

It was, quite simply, the best lunch of our lives: a white bream and red mullet drizzled with olive oil, laced with oregano and grilled over white coals; a Greek salad with cherry tomatoes plucked from the backyard; mashed fava beans; a spinachlike dish of horta and lemon; and the best calamari we've ever tasted, all washed down with a sweet homemade white wine. The bill came to $24.

The setting, too, charmed us: an open-air terrace lined with plants, chunks of volcanic rock that served as decorative objets d'art, six finches twittering in cages, and, a dozen yards away, the black sands of Perivolos beach.

We invited Danezi and Roula to join us during dessert, and we practiced a few words in Greek -- efcharisto (thank you) and kalispera (good afternoon) -- while Danezi added ``Web home page'' to her modest collection of English phrases.

At meal's end, we left for the secluded beach. Only two other families lolled along the 200-yard stretch of pebbly black sand. Most visitors heeded the guide books' advice and jammed into Perissa Beach or Kamari Beach, with their endless rows of concrete villas.

-- Ruth Savitz

-- Nifa

An expatriate American from Harrison, N.Y. (not Philadelphia), Alexandros -- a.k.a. Marshall Alexander Monsell -- sang the praises of Naxos, the largest island in the Cyclades.

``It's more authentically Greek here than on the more touristed islands,'' he said of this bucolic land of ancient silver olive trees, fruit orchards and 18,000 residents, who rely on tourism for only 20 percent of the local economy.

``There are villages where the shopkeepers stop you, sit you down, and serve you Greek salads, homemade wine and homemade cheeses made the same way they've done it for hundreds of years,'' Monsell said. ``There's one village so remote that the mayor offers to put up guests for free.''

Monsell took our map and circled a half-dozen suggestions. We rented a car -- unlike in Santorini, where we got around on scooters -- and made it to three destinations, all of them worthwhile:

In the Tragaea valley, we came across a shepherd leading two donkeys down a winding path to a watering hole. He greeted us in Greek, wiped his face with a handkerchief, then entreated us to ride one of his donkeys. For Joseph and Mary, it seemed the thing to do, and we both took short rides. The encounter remains one of our treasured photographs.

In the small hamlet of Danakos, we found Taverna Florakas at the foot of a steep, remote walkway. Yorgos, the proprietor, served us Greek salads, tzatziki (a yogurt dip), and octopus stewed in wine. We ate in the small courtyard under the shade of a pomegranate tree. Afterward, Yorgos let us pick some of the ripe green grapes hanging from his arbor and, for a small charge, filled our water bottles with his homemade red wine, the best we tasted on the island.

The next day, we drove to Plaka Beach, a strip of golden sand 40 feet wide and miles long on the west side of the island. The beach, like many on our stay, was clothing-optional, and an international cast of sun-bathers in every manner of dress and undress frolicked on the uncrowded sands and in the warm, placid and startlingly clear aquamarine waters.

For the remainder of our stay, we settled into an easy routine: After breakfast, we would investigate a beach in the morning, then explore museums, shops and tavernas before returning to the beach for a late-afternoon swim. Then came the jockeying with other travelers for the best view of the sunset at the Temple of Apollo. The huge marble portal, connected to Naxos Town by a narrow causeway, was begun in 522 B.C. on the orders of the tyrant Lygdamis but never completed.

At night we wandered the city's twisting, bewildering back alleys, exploring the fortified stone mansions left from the Venetian occupation, shopping for leather goods, then returned to the waterfront for dinner or a drink of ouzo or retsina while taking in the nightlife scene, which rambled on well past midnight.

-- Disco76

A fisherman repairs one of his nets in a small village on Crete, Greece's largest island.

Fascinating, too, was the Palace of Knossos, an hour's drive to the east, where the Minoan civilization flourished from 2800 to 1100 B.C. Visitors can climb through the extensive excavations, which include the throne of King Minos -- the oldest known throne in Europe -- as well as 3,800-year-old wine storage jars and the ruins of shrines, royal apartments and the remainder of the 1,400-room palace.

But what stayed with us were memories of the Cretan people: Agathi, the kindly homeowner in Skalini; and Nick, a gregarious former race-car driver who helped us hike the rough-hewn six-hour trail through the Gorge of Samaria.

Our most lasting impression, though, came on a midnight walk along the waterfront of Rethimnon when we chanced upon the annual St. John Prodromos festival. A circle of 30 women, men, girls and boys danced traditional Cretan dances -- the syrto, kastrino, sousta and pentozali -- while a trio of men played Cretan songs on lyras and lauto and sang lyrical couplets called mantinathes. Maria-lena Bourbakis, smiling proudly as she grasped the hands of her niece and granddaughter, stepped from the circle after a particularly lively kalamatiano and explained the local tradition to a visitor.

``One month ago, the women of the neighborhood made a wreath of clover blossoms for the festival. Tonight, the wreath is burned to ward off bad influences, and the girls go to the well of the village, throw in their wishes -- an apple blossom, coin, ring, bay leaves -- then draw out a token to foretell who will be their future husbands.''

Bourbakis' niece, who is perhaps 20, rolled her eyes at that, but she, too, took part in the traditional dances and in the well ceremony.

Bourbakis had the last word as she draped an arm around her niece. ``It is our way to pass on the traditions, the dances, so the young people do not forget.''

Getting there. The Greek islands can be reached by ferry from the mainland port of Piraeus (the port for Athens). Ferries run several times a week between the islands. (It's a four-hour ferry ride from Santorini to Crete; fare, $13. It's a three-hour ferry ride from Naxos to Santorini; fare, $8.) Several airlines make the 40-minute hop from Athens to Heraklion, Crete, for under $80.

Accommodations. A room for two typically runs $35 to $90 a night, depending on amenities and season. Call your travel agent, or contact the Greek Hotel and Cruise Reservation Center, 17220 Newhope St., Suite 227, Fountain Valley, Calif. 92708; phone 1-800-736-5717.

Information. Contact the Greek National Tourism Organization, 645 Fifth Ave., New York, N.Y. 10022; phone 212-421-5777.