Mykonos chic (minus the crowds)
It’s gone very quiet on the Greek island famed for its party scene, and it’s all the lovelier for it, says Rachel Howard. Go now to experience the Cyclades as they once were
‘Mykonos is the new Tinos,” my friend Alketas joked. “I’m on Agios Sostis beach, with four or five other people. I just passed by Kiki’s and there isn’t a single person in line. Vassilis said, ‘Come for lunch any time you like.’ ”
Half an hour’s ferry ride from Mykonos, Tinos has in recent years been “discovered” by unassuming aesthetes for its unblemished beaches, quietly sophisticated restaurants and pure Cycladic architecture. Travel writers have taken to calling Tinos “the new Mykonos”, a reference to the time when Mykonos itself was an unblemished sanctuary rather than Greece’s notorious party island, with a reputation for Dionysian hedonism since the discopowered 1970s. Deeply religious and traditional, Tinos was seen as the antidote to the conspicuous consumption and underdressed attention-seeking that had become synonymous with Mykonos.
Until this year, that is. Take Agios Sostis, a glorious arc of golden sand that is one of the few remaining beaches on Mykonos that can still be enjoyed au naturel (in both senses of the term). A couple of decades ago, most of Mykonos’ many stunning bays were as nude as the bathers. Now, it’s rare to find a beach that isn’t rammed with overpriced sunbeds and overly loud beach bars. Some even have cabanas equipped with a hot tub, a minibar full of champagne, a butler and
‘Right now, we have exactly the right amount of people for an island this size’
‘In just 100 square kilometres we have everything you can possibly need or want’
“VIP driver” – if you have €5,000 (£4,500) to splash.
In June, before Greece opened its borders to international travellers, Mykonos told a very different story. All the beaches were empty and bare of sunbeds. “It’s like travelling back in time to when we were young,” Alketas told me wistfully, when we spoke on the phone. A month later, would I find the island restored to its wild and free nature – more like the place I knew and loved back in the 1980s and 1990s? How would a destination that has built a global reputation as the place to see and be seen cope without the crowds? Since a government curfew introduced last week to reduce the risk of coronavirus, all bars, clubs and restaurants must close between midnight and 7am, making this the season to discover the other side of Greece’s “party island”.
Kiki’s seemed like a good place to start. A glorified shack overlooking a turquoise cove tucked away beside Agios Sostis beach, this cult taverna was originally owned by a beautiful Swedish woman (named Kiki, of course) and her Greek boyfriend, Vassilis. In the late 1980s, they set up an outdoor grill, a salad bar and a few little tables under the tree for the beatniks and bohemians who made it to the end of the rattling dirt track. There was no electricity, so everyone drifted off at dusk for a long nap before the late night revelries began.
Now run by another Vassilis – burly, quick-witted, with a floppy grey fringe and Hawaiian shirt – Kiki’s has barely changed: there’s still gravel on the floor, the same simple menu of wonderful salads and perfectly grilled chops, chicken, shrimp or sea bass, and it still closes at 7pm. But the last time I was on Mykonos three summers ago, there was a two-hour wait for a table. I couldn’t be bothered to queue for a taste of authenticity. Better to hold on to the memories of a time before bloggers and influencers turned every precious secret into a selfie opportunity.
This time, I arrived at noon, well before Vassilis flings open Kiki’s crooked blue gate at 12.30 sharp. A dozen tourists were already huddled on the whitewashed ledges outside. John, a soft-spoken Englishman who has lived on Mykonos for decades, was in his usual spot in the shade, threading shells and beads into jewellery to sell to the subdued crowd, who took turns to wander down for a dip in the twinkling cove below. When Vassilis emerged to usher us inside, there was plenty of socially distant space for everyone.
Although Mykonos was busier than any of the other Greek islands I’ve visited this summer, local hoteliers, travel agents and restaurant suppliers all told me that the island was operating at about 20 per cent of its usual capacity. Last summer, Mykonos welcomed about 80,000 visitors a week; in July, that figure was less than 20,000. “Right now, we have exactly the right amount of people for an island this size,” said Christos, the jaunty fixer at Soho Roc House, Soho House’s new Mykonos base, as we swerved along tapering roads framed by dry stone walls. ”You can feel the difference in the atmosphere – the air and sea are so clear. Even the vibe is different. People are on a high, just because they’re here. They don’t need to party so hard. And there’s none of the aggression that comes with not being able to find a parking place or a table.”
Christos also looks after the artists at Scorpios, the island’s most zeitgeisty beach club, which Soho House also snapped up in 2019. Normally, you’d have to reserve a sunbed at Scorpios two weeks in advance, and the minimum spend at the best tables can be up to €10,000. This year, reservations are only required to keep capacity low and the price of a double sunbed has been slashed from €150 to €30. But the beaded trinkets, tasselled leather pouches and hooded kaftans at the on-site Caravana boutique still sell for thousands of euros. (This wizardon-acid look never works when you get home, of course – like drinking ouzo in a semi in suburban London.)
If Greece is a state of mind, as the country’s new tourism campaign asserts, then Mykonos is an attitude: brash, narcissistic, fun-loving and flamboyant. As Fish, the suave brand ambassador at Scorpios, says: “Mykonos is all about beefing things up, pumping up the volume.” Women wear full make-up, hot pants and high heels to the beach, accessorised with a Chanel clutch or Hermès shopper. Menus are peppered with Beluga caviar, wagyu beef, lobster and truffles. The most popular restaurants are uber-luxe franchises familiar to the one percenters, including Coya, Zuma, Nusr-Et and Beefbar. But you’ll have a hard time finding a decent Greek salad. Kiki’s is a notable exception, as are the tavernas in Ano Mera village, which are popular with locals and seasonal workers. One is called Oti Apomeine, which translates as: “Whatever is left” – the last traces of Greekness in a destination that has become a global brand in itself.
“In just 100 square kilometres [38 square miles], we have everything you could possibly need or want,” Christos assured me. “High-quality hotels and restaurants, beach parties, glamour, designer boutiques, but also quiet beaches, wild nature and beautiful architecture.” The calmer, elemental side to the island feels a lot more accessible without the customary crowds. There are no big-spending Arabs or Americans this summer and, so far, no cruise ships – a major blow to the designer boutiques and souvenir shops in Mykonos town, but a relief for everyone else.
“We’re not used to speaking Greek,” the waiter laughs, swapping the English menus for a Greek family at one of the half-empty cafés along the harbour front. Mykonos has become so expensive that only Greece’s wealthiest elite can afford it. It’s hard to believe the island ran a barter economy until the late-1950s, with farmers trading sausages and cheese for sugar, spaghetti and cigarettes with the townspeople. Humble farmhouses embedded between granite boulders, snuggles of sheep camouflaged in the parched hillsides, and peaceful chapels with crimson roofs still pepper the landscape, if you look closely enough. Agios Sostis isn’t the only blissfully empty beach; but old Mykonos hands wouldn’t dream of sharing their favourite castaway bays with anyone but their closest family and friends. They know what happens when a place becomes too popular.
If you don’t want to navigate dirt roads or scrabble down thorny paths to escape the crowds, there’s always The Wild hotel, overlooking Agia Anna and Kalafatis beach. The zen vibe is a relief from the relentless bling, buzz, bump and grind. Older couples read by the infinity pool and families with impeccably behaved kids doze under straw umbrellas on the hotel’s private beach. “People who come to The Wild don’t come to party,” says Kostas, the cheerful waiter, who bounds up and down the zigzagging path leading to the sandy beach bearing smoothies, salads and wine coolers. On the horizon, the meltemi wind whips the sea into frothy peaks, but here all is perfectly still. At twilight, a group of teens scramble over the rocky headland and dive-bomb into the bright green sea, sending ripples of laughter and whoops of joy across the water. You could hide out here even when Mykonos is rammed and feel completely undisturbed.