THE SIMPSON TRAVELLER 2024

GREECE
GREECE
Images (both): Mochlos
Five of the best
GREECE
“I am rewarded with my first dazzling glimpse of a smooth, pale jade bay,
so clear you can see each cluster of rock, backed by blonde sands.”
green-gold countryside and ochre cliffs stretch out on either side.
Behind are unspoilt hills and mountains, where thick shrubs
and, yes, olive trees hide the odd mountain goat.
An eight-minute walk leads to Mochlos, curving like a
beckoning finger into Mirabello Bay. With its huddle of tavernas
and one mini-mart, the village has everything you need.
“This is the gateway to hidden Crete,” says Simpson’s founder,
Graham Simpson. “People will tell you that Mochlos is like
Greece 30 or 40 years ago, but there have always been offthe-beaten-track
places like this.” Simpson set up the holiday
company Simply Crete here in 1978 before selling it and
founding Simpson Travel. His wife is Cretan and they live here
much of the year.
Mochlos Blue’s simplicity quickly puts me into retreat mode.
After a breakfast of yoghurt, fruit and hot, flaky spanokopita
(spinach filo pie), there is little to do but lounge by the pool, with
its shimmering view of the bay. At times, amiable chatter breaks
out over the sunloungers, but mainly we – nine guests in total –
read and snooze, all here for the pin-drop peace and quiet.
Over morning coffee, my fellow guests Alison and John tell
me about the 3,250-year-old olive tree close to nearby Kavousi,
urging me to stop by on my way out of Mochlos. Two other
holidaymakers, Linda and Alan, recommend a snoop around
Agios Nikolaos, a stylish town a 45-minute drive away with
great seafront dining, stopping at Gournia’s Minoan ruins
en route. The closest ruins to Mochlos, the hotel’s concierge,
Nikos, points out, are on Pseira, the tiny island opposite the
village’s harbour. “You pay the owner of Kochilia taverna, he
will ferry you across,” he explains. “Is that the one with the
octopuses hanging outside?” I ask. It is.
More glamorous sounding is Crete’s northeastern tip,
around Vai Beach, a scoop of sand backed by protected palm
groves and famous as the location for the 1980s Bounty bar
ads. There are other, sleepier beaches nearby, Nikos promises.
And with just two minuscule scoops of shingle on Mochlos’s
waterfront, I am craving a proper beach.
The next morning, I set off by car following mountain
roads to a more arid, ochre and sage landscape. An hour or so
away is Toplou monastery, where some walls date back to the
14th century. It’s charmingly set above a gorge, with a dinky
belltower and peaceful courtyards, and its incense-scented
passages hold priceless Orthodox icons, books and priest’s
robes. The monks here also make wine and host
tastings. It’s a little early for me, so I settle for an iced
coffee in a shaded café instead.
Nearby Vai Beach is indeed lovely: golden sands,
thatched parasols, swaying palms. But I had smaller
fish to fry – a local source had tipped me off that
Erimoupolis Beach, a five-minute drive north, is
often near-empty. Parking up and scrambling over
the small headland, as instructed, I am rewarded with
my first dazzling glimpse of a smooth, pale jade bay,
so clear you can see each cluster of rock, backed by
blonde sands. Just a handful of nudists lounge at its
north end. After a dip in beautifully clear waters, I
linger in the sole sliver of natural shade under the
lip of the cliff and ponder lunch. “Hiona Beach is
lovely,” Nikos had told me. “There are two tavernas.
The seafood one on the left is very nice.”
Nice? It is perhaps the most divinely situated
taverna I’ve ever eaten in. Simple white tables are
perched on a covered patio right on the rocks,
surrounded on all sides by rippling water, set off
by soaring russet cliffs on one side and an empty
crescent of pale-gold sand on the other.
The food is equally memorable – lightly fried,
whole red mullet, zingy salads of Cretan tomatoes,
avocado and red onion, fresh taramasalata and tiny
fried shrimp I crunch whole, like whitebait.
It’s no hardship to return to my mellow Mochlos
bubble. At sunset the village is doused in a halo of
coral pink. I sip a “rakito” (a mojito fired by raki,
Cretan brandy) at the sea-view bar Barraki before
settling in at Mesostrati for a wedge of moussaka.
On my last day I remember the ancient olive tree.
Trundling up a country path, scanning the rows of
regular-sized trees for the headliner, I finally spy its
chunky, gnarled trunk, roots spiralling down in a
waterfall of bark – a 3,000-year-old presence on this
very special island.
LUCY
THACKRAY
Lucy is a
freelance travel
writer. A version
of this article also
appeared in The
Sunday Times.
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This spacious property is
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VILLA ALBA,
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This Greek island escape
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