Sithonia? It’s all Greek to me
Few British holidaymakers have heard of it, but this peninsula on a peninsula captivates Kate Wickers
‘If you want to go ashore, you must be two things: adult and male,” says Nikos, captain of the fishing schooner on which we are exploring the Halkidiki coastline. “The monks won’t even allow female livestock to set foot there.”
From 500 yards away, the designated distance at which women are kept, I look up to what Nikos is referencing – an austere, impenetrable-looking knot of 20 towering Unesco World Heritage-protected monasteries hugging the cliffs of Mount Athos, an autonomous Christian Orthodox foundation since 1054.
Home to some 2,000 monks, the place doesn’t look like a barrel of laughs and certainly isn’t top on my list of fun things to do on holiday. A quick Google search reveals that the female ban is due to the monk’s vow of celibacy, although a more obscure explanation is that the Virgin Mary was blown off course while sailing to Cyprus (for a holiday? It’s not clear) and was swept ashore here. She alone represents the female sex on Mount Athos – apart from female cats because they make the best mousers. I think the monks could be a little more consistent.
“And they’re welcome to it,” I say, pouring more wine. “Now, where’s that blue lagoon you told me about?”
Look at a map of Greece and you’ll find Halkidiki in the north, distinctive due to the three pine-forested capes – Kassandra, Sithonia and Mount Athos – that stretch out into the Aegean Sea like Poseidon’s trident. Ekies All Senses Resort (a member of Design Hotels) is located on Vourvourou Bay on the east coast of Sithonia; the middle and loveliest of the three. Remaining pretty much off radar to foreign visitors, but popular with holidaying Greeks, the peninsula is swathed by olive groves in the north, with a wild black-pine forested National Park interior, etched with fishing villages, a few low-key resorts, small ports and rugged coastline. Midway on the west side you’ll find Greece’s largest organic winery,
Domaine Porto Carras (see panel below); at the southern tip lies Porto Koufo, Greece’s deepest natural harbour.
We arrive at the hotel late evening. “Remember to kick off your shoes,” the receptionist tells us as we check in. “And don’t put them on again until you leave.”
“What, even when we go to dinner?” asks my husband, Neil, sounding very British.
We do as we are told and follow a path lit by hurricane lamps to the beach, where we find a vast tree house decked with fairy lights; the gentle murmur of chattering guests enjoying dinner aloft wafts down to a white-decked terrace, furnished with comfy sofas.
“Let’s play cards,” says my son Freddie. “I’ll have a watermelon margarita,” I tell the waitress. Our holiday has begun.
This isn’t the kind of hotel to book if you don’t want to see your family, as the kids’ club is suited for pre-schoolers up to around 10 years old. For older kids, an independently run water sports centre provides activities such as kayaking and paddleboarding. Beyond that, it’s all about biking, boating, enjoying good food and taking that much over-used term “barefoot luxury” to another level.
Our family suite feels like the outside brought in, with huge glass doors opening on to an evergreen landscape and a natural decor of pebble greys, earthy browns and chalky whites. Around the resort, bright Eames rocking chairs, enormous Mary Poppins-style sunshades at a cloud-shaped pool, and beach huts that act as changing cubicles, add a chic twist of fun. For those looking to keep themselves to themselves, there’s the new herbs villa, for up to six people, with a private entrance on to the beach and an open-air meditation room.
I leave it to Neil to be alert during the self-drive boat tutorial and test, in which he’s required to dock the boat at the pontoon without crashing. Passing with flying colours, we’re handed a map of places to visit around Diaporos, the largest island in an archipelago of nine, but as every inch of this coastline looks like it’s been Photoshopped, we barely give it a glance. We drop anchor at whim, whenever an isolated cove catches our eye, to swim and play bat and ball in warm shallows, alive with rippling reeds and tiny fish.
Back at Ekies, we lounge on beanbags and sunbeds at the end of a floating pontoon, leaving the beach to the toddler set. Stocked up with bread, Freddie spends hours hanging over the platform attempting to lure fish into a net. Gazing over the bay to Diaporos, I understand what inspired the hotel’s name (which I’d first dismissed as a little pretentious). The sea breeze carries a natural aroma of pine; at breakfast I’d smeared local Nikiti honey, made by bees that feed on thyme, on to my toast; the gentle click-click buzz of cicadas provides the background music. “Watermelon margarita?” enquires a passing waiter. Already they know me so well. This isn’t pretension at all.
In kayaks, an hour before sunset, we follow a trail of glittering light beams 300 metres along the coast to reach Karidi beach with its natural swimming pool of water cocooned by boulder-size rocks polished smooth by the sea.
Guests on half-board basis are invited for casual dining at Kuko, with an option to upgrade to Bubo, the modern Greek fine-dining option. We’re more than happy with Kuko’s tasty, locally sourced food – even the chips, skin on and fried in olive oil, feel like they’re doing us some good. For a change of scene, we go by torchlight, along a meandering beach path, into the town of Vourvourou. Here, in Restaurant Paris (don’t be fooled by the name, it is as Greek as it gets), we mop up tzatziki and feast on plump dolmades and salads of hearty fire-red tomatoes, crumbly feta and green Halkidiki olives the size of gobstoppers.
On white bicycles, we pedal to the town of Ormos Panagias (named for its Byzantine chapel), along five kilometres of quiet coastal roads. Our reward is lunch in Aristos, said to be the best fish restaurant on the peninsula. The hotel has made us a reservation and we are given a table at the water’s edge.
“Try the local Olympiada mussels,” our waiter suggests, as we peruse the bonito, tuna and red mullet on ice, just hours off the boat.
“Olympic mussels?” I ask, guessing at a translation.
“From the sea near the town of Olympiada – but if they were Olympians they would be shot-putters,” he says. They arrive steamed, just as big and meaty as their name suggests.
At the blue lagoon we jump from the bow of Nikos’s schooner to scatter shoals of silver fish. Sailing back to shore, Nikos has gossip to share about the owners of the swankiest villas on Diapros.
“That one made his money from oil they say, but compared to the monks they are still paupers,” he tells us. “How so?” I want to know.
“Oh, the monks have enough money to pay off the Greek debt 10 times over,” he tells me. Ah! No wonder they keep themselves to themselves.
ii A ‘modern Greek’ dish served at Bubo