The island of sunshine and glamour
GILL MARTIN takes a break on the Greek island of Mykonos, home of the gods
THE ancient Greeks had a name for their most cherished places: Avaton. They waxed even more lyrical, describing these gems as ‘so perfect, sanctified and immaculate that no common foot may be set upon them.’
Setting my two common feet upon the threshold of our Myconian Avaton resort on the Aegean island of Mykonos, I expected the best. I wasn’t disappointed. Bemused, perhaps. The resort is part of the Myconian Collection of nine properties dotted across the island, each with its own signature animal.
Visit them all and you’ll encounter a menagerie of model animals from penguins and rhinoceros to guard dogs and monkeys balanced on gilt pineapples.
At times, I felt I’d wandered into a zoo morphed into a modern art gallery, or sampled one too many cocktails mixed by bar-top ceramic monkeys.
It was early October, still wonderfully warm, the sea welcoming after a scorching summer enjoyed by an island known for its hedonism and made famous since the Sixties by celebrities such as Christian Dior, Jackie Onassis, Grace Kelly, Liz Taylor and Princess Soraya.
After the Swinging Sixties, the boho chic of the Seventies elevated Mykonos from a bartering economy to a top tourist destination with a well-founded reputation for wild yet glamorous parties and cosmopolitan laid-back luxury.
We hit the dance floor only once in our long weekend break but certainly immersed ourselves in the luxury.
Treat one was wallowing in my personal Jacuzzi on my bedroom balcony, buffeted by bubbles, bathed in lights of ruby, amber, sapphire, amethyst and emerald as the sun sank behind the horizon of Elia Beach.
Treat two was a visit to the Avaton Spa, where a plethora of pools offer fragrant waters scented with essential oils of lavender and aloe vera alongside an energising hydro massage with therapeutic salts. In this sanctuary of the senses I met the heavenly Ourania.
Heavenly by name – she had the name of the goddess of astronomy and astrology, one of the nine Muses – and heavenly by nature of her touch.
From a choice of massage oils I turned down coconut and vanilla (too much like being smothered in pina colada and ice-cream) for avocado and lily for 50 minutes of harmonising bliss.
Good news: I floated out of Ourania’s candle-lit haven on a fragrant cloud with my spine feeling inches longer.
Bad news: her advice that my knotted neck and shoulder muscles will need twice-a-week kneading to loosen.
Treat three was the fabulous food. “You’ll gain two kilos during your stay,” pledged Avaton’s smiling manager as he greeted us Thursday lunchtime. Post-breakfast Sunday proved him right.
Not one Greek salad of olives and feta cheese passed our lips as we sampled exotic menus.
Avaton’s buffet breakfast tables groaned under everything from Bucks Fizz with smoked salmon and scrambled eggs to granola, cheeses, waffles, chocolate croissants and cakes dripping honey. There were lavish lunches with every fish and seafood you could wish in soups, pasta, risotto or swimming in their own ink or rich sauces, from squid, shrimp and sea bass to king crab and cod. Carnivores and vegetarians were equally well served: calf fillet, ribeye steaks, baked pork and lamb chops; eggplant tart, baked fennel, ravioli and truffle cream.
With such stress on the achingly trendy style of these hotels, the slightest flaw sticks out like a sore thumb. My only moan – apart from the fact that disabled access was low on their list of priorities – was untidy rubble beneath my balcony and the sight of the ugly air-con of my neighbour’s accommodation.
But, lounging in swinging chairs suspended from the ceilings or on crazy cushions decorated with crimson lips and Dali-style moustaches, with rugs woven in a rainbow of colours and textiles,