Abaton Island, Crete.
You can tell the dominant nationality of the nudist beach at Hersonissos, a rambunctious patch on Crete’s north coast, pretty easily: no Italian preening, no Russian grand-standing, this is your authentic Brit nervously shielding their pinker parts. And like any stretch of Mediterranean coastline you’ll find strip bars (Lollipops pole-dancing was so open it was almost al fresco), a Shenanigans Irish bar or two and a ludicrous number of car rental outlets. Also, is that a foam party or a children’s playground...?
We’re largeing it at the Abaton Island Resort & Spa – skillfully tucked away from the hullabaloo but close enough should you get the urge – a beautiful, recently-completed 5-star resort with 150 or so apartments and villas, more than half with their own pools, and only twenty minutes from Heraklion airport. My two-storey villa – because you’ve got to have your own stairs! – gazed directly across the sea (no sharks, no jellyfish, water like liquid glass), exuding serenity and it’s own delicate perfume, as if you’ve just wandered into a mildlyerotic dream.
They’re very good at Greek-with-twists, here. Pastiche-classic interiors segue into the cleanest of clean lines and bluer-than-blue infinity pools and the white-on-white thing (very Greek) across the massive suites gives Oral-B a run for its money. And of the six restaurants, F-Zin Ivy League (for real) is worth its weight in name alone.
The Cretans, it turns out are relaxed, friendly and hospitable, and by the end of my short stay I was looser than a Canada Plus Plus trade agreement. It was tempting to sink into an idyll of indulgent relaxation – which the Abaton is deft at providing (shout out to the Elemis Biotec Technology facials!) – but there’s more to life than sunbeds and all the right cocktails, apparently.
The Cretan countryside has a ru¢ed and appealing roughness – think Daniel Craig after a fist-fight rather than Jose Mourinho after three days in a hedge. On the map it’s a bit bi¢er than your thumb but Crete is actually 230 km long so those car rental outlets come in handy. You can booze-cruise to Santorini, whose devastating volcanic eruption and subsequent earthquakes in 1620 BC brought down Knossos and threw parts of Greece into their own dark ages. And if you’re just looking for local outings, the Beachcomber at Stalida and Scorpio in Hersonissos are each a short cab-drive away – both water-side bar/restaurants with good music, excellent food, and Lindsay Lohan-esques.
The must-visit site in Crete is Knossos, where Minos – owner of that legendary monster the Minotaur – had a spectacular 1,500-room palace dating back 4,000 years to the time when the top God was a woman and peace reigned for centuries. The true story of the Minotaur is a surprise and it’s more fun if you find that out for yourself.
Crete’s sun in the height of summer sun flays my delicate skin like an over-eager lover, and some resorts out of season can be as cold and dead as Melania’s heart, but late Autumn I found the temperatures perfect – early 20s, with a warm yet cooling breeze (how do they do that?) – and towns still lively but without countless angry babies or hordes of gellified OAPs.
And while you’re taking notes, if you’re flying with TUI their ba¢age allowance on some flights is 5Kg (slightly less than the weight of a child’s burp); be aware that pedestrian crossings round here are principally decorative; when you go to Knossos – and you must – hire one of their excellent guides, otherwise you’re mostly looking at collapsing old things.