Cruising from Athens to Istanbul is the perfect pick-me-up
A seven-day journey aboard Seabourn Encore is the perfect pick-me-up.
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Ostracism was a common practice in ancient Athens – a way to control political firebrands – and it was almost comical to be on the receiving end of its modern-day echo. My crime? I dared to request a poolside table for lunch at a fashionable Mykonos hotel. Addressing a colleague in rapid-fire Greek, blithely unaware that I understood the exchange, a draconian staffer asked, “Shall I banish them?” Yet not even the threat of exile could dent my elation at being in Greece. I was on a week-long Seabourn cruise flitting around the Mediterranean, with a captivating port of call to discover each day. Eventually, my friend and I were ushered in for a stellar repast of octopus fritters, horiatiki salad and a bottle of crisp assyrtiko. After the initial hauteur, the service turned from disagreeable to affable. That’s Mykonos for you.
Converts point to the convenience of cruising, and the opportunity to visit multiple destinations without zipping up your suitcase, and my trip in early April was a distinctly breezy affair. It began on a luminous day in Athens, a city I’ve visited numerous times. This occasion felt different. As I toured landmarks such as Benaki Museum, sipped coffee in buzzy Kolonaki and dined at exceptional restaurants such as neo-taverna Linou Soumpasis & Sia in Psyrri, I detected a palpable sense of optimism that defied our vexing age. Face masks, Covid tests and vaccination certificates were all still prevalent, but the springtime capital appeared to have been immunised against dreariness.
On embarkation, I was already in high spirits. As I unpacked in my cushy stateroom, complete with walk-in closet, marble-lined bathroom and the plushest slippers of all time, anticipation began to build.
Unfastening the curtains each morning was akin to opening a portal to another dimension. On arrival at Patmos, the “holy island” where Saint John is said to have penned the Book of Revelation, the town of Skala beckoned. From a table at The Patmians, I watched as caffeinated locals engaged in febrile debates, berobed priests ambled by and insouciant cats trotted through the square. In summer, Patmos is a magnet for the Brunello Cucinelli crowd, but on this day its whitewashed villas remained silent and shuttered. Fellow passengers made their way to a fortified monastery dedicated to Saint John, and to a candlelit grotto where he recorded his apocalyptic visions. You can buy a red wine made by monks here – perhaps it’s a balm for all the fire and brimstone. Later, I asked a taxi driver about it. “Be careful,” he told me. “You drink it easily. Two glasses and you laugh without reason.”
Each daily stop unfolded with optional tours on history, culture, food or adventure pursuits, as well as customised excursions with private drivers and erudite guides. Or, if you preferred, you could explore at your own pace as I did the following day. In Crete, I scooted by rental car to Voulisma Beach on the island’s picture-postcard east coast. At oceanfront Ostria Taverna, further north in Plaka, a waiter deboned my grilled snapper with the dexterity of Edward Scissorhands. Crete’s answer to the Acropolis is Knossos Palace, the Bronze Age archaeological sensation that was restored by British scholar and Hellenophile Sir Arthur Evans in the early 20th century. The one-time centre of Minoan civilisation is a mere 20 minutes from Heraklion in the north, but in Greece antiquity and propinquity are often intertwined.
The next day we navigated east of Crete to the Turkish resort town of Kuşadasi. After a brief transfer along a road festooned with pine, peach and pomegranate trees, we arrived at the ancient city of Ephesus. As at Knossos, many of its structures have been earnestly pasted back together. Our insightful cicerone, Oz Cakir, pointed out well-preserved shopfronts, a former brothel, Roman baths and the Corinthian-style Hadrian’s Temple. Ephesus, once a thriving marketplace for textiles, perfume and gold, has been equated to the Beverly Hills of Asia Minor. We marvelled at the Library of Celsus, whose pale marble facade was illuminated by a cobalt sky, and an amphitheatre reputed to hold 25,000 merrymakers. Looking like an extra from Asterix, a chap dressed as a Roman centurion mugged for the cameras.
Ephesus was one of Mark Antony and Cleopatra’s playgrounds, and it was also where Arsinoe IV, the Egyptian queen’s half-sister, was dispatched on the couple’s orders. At the nearby Ephesus Archaeological Museum, I was riveted by two life-size statues of Artemis. To Ephesians, Artemis was a goddess of childbirth, midwife to humans and animals alike – which might explain why her midsection was studded with orbs that some historians believe symbolise bulls’ testicles. “They represent fertility and vitality,” Cakir said. As the official cruise partner of UNESCO, Seabourn has singular access to historic sites around the globe. On this jaunt, guests were treated to a concert from a chamber orchestra playing adjacent to the ruins. Not even Tony and Cleo got to enjoy that.
As edifying as the whirligig of shore excursions was, a cohort of guests seldom left the cosy confines of the boat. Happy to curl up with a John Grisham book in the cafe, socialise by the pool or soak up curative spa services, they glowed with enviable serenity. Guest services manager Kyla Shirlaw told me that Seabourn has a faithful flock of loyalty members who have clocked hundreds of sailing days. These are the so-called “cult cruisers” whose enthusiasm for the open ocean remains undimmed. I met one devotee at the sushi restaurant on board. As soon as we sat down to dinner, a waiter recognised him, remembered his order and brought him the vegan sushi and French chardonnay he regularly enjoyed.
It was easy to find a restful perch on the ship. Seabourn Encore is an ultra-luxe, all-suite vessel conceived in partnership with designer Adam D Tihany. Its interiors are a swirl of reflective chrome, chestnut-hued wood and navy-blue flourishes. All its suites have private verandas, and each cabin is assigned a sedulous two-person team who seemed to be constantly sprucing. Guests had the use of an app to schedule outings, pre-order a latte at the cafe and secure reservations at dining outlets, including The Grill by Thomas Keller. This restaurant, my favourite, recalled a clubby diner from the ’50s. The Rat Pack vibe extended to leather chairs, linen shades, and classic cocktails like Old Fashioneds and Manhattans. The Keller-approved menu spanned crab cakes, clam chowder and caesar salad expertly prepared tableside. Meyer lemon meringue tart, its cloudlike crown lightly torched, was irresistible.
With a high ratio of staff members to guests, the Seabourn experience was disarmingly personalised. The crew addressed you by name, recalled your drink order and predilections, and topped up your wine glass as though they were watering a flower bed. The ship’s wine list, also available to view on the app, was so extensive it would make even Dionysus, the god of revelry, envious. The lounge I returned to most often was the Observation Bar on deck 11. As the loftiest viewing point of the ship, it afforded an excellent perspective on arrivals and departures. There were delicious canapes, well-made G & Ts and singer Josie Kenny performed Burt Bacharah tunes in a fetching sequined dress. One afternoon, the skipper executed a seamless 180-degree turn that was magical to behold.
It was evil-eye talismans that captured my attention on another day. The stores of Mykonos heaved with them in countless iterations, from cheap amulets to diamond-studded charms, cocktail clutches to denim jackets. Does layering the mati symbol ensure outsized protection? “Not really – it’s the same,” Irene Bougiouris opined at her family’s jewellery store. She showed me slimline pendants, delicate rings and red rope bracelets purported to ward off “bad words”. I picked up a few gifts and a rope bracelet for myself. Admittedly, I wasn’t wearing it when I tried to rustle up a table at a certain hotspot, but it all worked out.
In summer, Mykonos is a high-stepping town with a reputation for all-night bacchanals. Visiting in the off-season I was able to appreciate its endearing blue-white beauty – its twisting alleys, walled gardens, cubic churches and thatched windmills that brought to mind a gaggle of timeworn backgammon players sporting new toupées. I watched the midday light form lacework patterns on the water. It reminded me of a seascape I chanced upon at the National Gallery in Athens days earlier. Chryssa Verghi’s gestural painting captured the vast, mystical and mythical Mediterranean in a way that stopped me in my tracks. At the harbour, day-trippers boarded the ferry bound for Delos, the birthplace of gods, now filled with Syrian, Egyptian and Greek temples as well as mosaic-filled villas.
A few slate-grey clouds raced across the sky at Skiathos the next day, but they barely dampened our glee. On a boat ride around the island, our Macedonian guide, Martina Georgievska, shared intriguing morsels about her adopted home. The north side of Skiathos is less developed than the south, she told us. Sure enough the landscape looked as untouched as it might have when its inhabitants abided by omniscient deities, with pine forests tumbling down to the shore. The Beatles reportedly expressed interest in acquiring the neighbouring uninhabited island of Tsougria in 1967 – local authorities eighty-sixed the idea of a Fab Four occupation – and you can get married at Agios Floros church here. Heel-wearing brides might be crimped by one detail. “You have to walk up the hill,” she said.
Our cruise was soon coming to an end. At Bozcaada, a minuscule island close to the Turkish coast, history buffs had the chance to see the ruins of ancient Troy at Hisarlik and more evidence of cultural cross-fertilisation. Troy inspired Homer to write The Iliad and The Odyssey about the Trojan War. Captain David Bathgate told me that heroic acts can transpire on Seabourn ships, too. Bathgate recalled the time a passenger lost her wedding ring as she was applying sunscreen and local divers fished it out of the water. After a dozen years with the company, he has forged ties with many guests. “They’re like family,” he said. It was heartening to get the gang back together. “Our wanderlust has been rekindled.”
Mine certainly had been. This cruise, I realised, offered a galvanic reset of my outlook, extinguishing the ennui of recent times. I was, if you will, Seabourn again. When the skyline of Istanbul came into view, a confusion of domes, minarets and modernist towers, I felt not sadness at my disembarkation but the pleasure of discovery. As mist from the Bosphorus eddied around the riverbanks, I was charting an action-packed day ahead. The city’s Ottoman pageantry, bustling bazaars and refreshed districts all awaited me. Landing at this cosmopolis bridging East and West was the ideal dénouement to my storied journey.
The writer travelled as a guest of Seabourn.
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