Small islands: Santorini and Mykonos

I’ve visited Greece a few times; Corfu – beloved of package holidayers and anyone who doesn’t like their foreign excursions to be too foreign – and the Pelion, where the only tourists other than us were Greek, the road to our hotel petered out into a track just wide enough for a donkey, and the beaches were vast and empty. But I’d never done smart Greece, the Greece of superyachts, international playboys and shiny boutiques: Santorini and Mykonos, in other words.

Each island is home to a Grace hotel, well-named for their elegant style and the low-key charm of their staff. The Santorini outpost boasts one of the most spectacularly positioned infinity pools in the world – float by its cascading edge and you have an uninterrupted view over the spectacular caldera, and the (currently resting) volcano at its centre. It is a view at once harsh and mesmerising; vast cruise ships floating by the volcano are dwarfed by the caldera’s towering cliffs, at the tops of which cling whitewashed villages, so that from a distance the island resembles a carelessly iced cake.

Up close, these villages, particularly Oia at the island’s northmost tip, can be absurdly picturesque, all winding stone alleyways and narrow steps, with pathways running over rooftops, tiny, domed shops selling every kind of tourist tat and questionable Greek fashion, and vivid bougainvillea, all beneath a flawless blue sheet of sky. Every so often, as I wandered around, I had to leap into the nearest doorway to avoid being mown down by a caravan of donkeys, all done up in bright tassels and blankets, being led down the hill at a brisk trot in order to haul red-faced tourists back up from the seafront far below.

Back at the Grace, down its own maze of steep pathways and steps (I’ve never felt so sorry for hotel porters), I watched the sun set behind Oia, now a distant blur of white, from the comfort of the plunge pool on my private terrace. By the time the sun dropped, the wind had picked up and when I set out for a taverna in the village for dinner of tender lamb kleftiko, such a strong gale was blowing I feared I might not make it to the top of the cliff path.

Mercifully, the wind had died down by the next morning when I travelled to Mykonos by boat. The high-speed catamaran jetted across the choppy Aegean in no time and I was soon sitting by the pool at Grace mark two, enjoying a late lunch and admiring the view of the coast and the island’s main port. The hotel is positioned above a beach, so you have the choice of pool or sea for your afternoon dip (if you have a car there are lots of pretty beaches to explore further afield). The Grace is also sited just below a taverna that serves the most delicious dolmades (stuffed vine leaves) and keftedes (meatballs) you’ll find anywhere.

It was so good that on my second night at the hotel it was hard to resist visiting once again, and venture into Mykonos Town instead. After hitching a ride on the hotel’s shuttle service into town, I wandered in mute amazement through the labyrinth of tiny streets, which are crowded with brightly lit boutiques selling be-blinged goods of every description: jewelled sandals and sunglasses, embellished clothing, designer handbags, and more mounds of jewellery. No sign of economic strife here. And there are dozens of smart restaurants and swanky watering holes, even a Veuve Clicquot champagne bar. If Santorini is a haven of tranquillity for those in search of peace and romance, Mykonos is the island for party-goers. But the town isn’t without charm and, sitting in a waterfront restaurant watching the well-heeled tourists go by and the stars sparkling overhead, the world’s troubles seemed very far away. Which is exactly how a holiday should feel, whatever your economic situation. ES