Avant Mar

Paros: the promise of white heat, bright blue sky and the siren call of the Aegean Sea.

After two years held hostage to our toddler in a one-bed flat off Tower Bridge Road, Mrs Smith and I were clawing towards a bacchanalia of Olympian proportions. It was exquisitely planned. There would be tender mornings of intimate reacquaintance, long languid lunches en plein air, and blissful evenings unburdened of violent tantrums and bedside diplomacy. But this is Greece, where the Gods can be fickle, the Fates cruel and the drama sometimes tragic. 

On the eve of entering Elysium, AKA Avant Mar, our son was struck with virulent lurgy: suddenly all dreams of romantic reconnection were drowned beneath waves of unrelenting nausea. Forlorn but undeterred, off we went the next day — Mr Smith, Mrs Smith and Mr Smith Jnr — to lament in luxury all that might have been.

Avant Mar is in the glossy and ’grammable port of Naoussa, squeezed in below a cascade of sugarcube houses. From above, it reveals itself enticingly through lush greenery: a watery oasis of pools and undulating buildings. Before we’ve even arrived, the team has been amazing. A sheepish enquiry about unexpectedly bringing along our son is met with wide-open arms and all the warmth of long-lost friends. 

When we get there, we’re greeted by an athletically handsome chap who beams us a smile as wide and pearlescent as a crescent moon. Taking our bags with muscular grace, he leads us across a discreet threshold and into the sanctuary within. 

There is an Apollonian tranquillity about Avant Mar. A faint zephyr blows idly through the open reception, teasing long billowing drapes that instantly calm and soothe. Fans whir gently above. And everywhere you turn you’re embraced by lustrous, limpid Parian marble, the very stone from which the Venus de Milo is carved. 

It is our great fortune to meet Anna, the general manager, as we check in. She radiates philoxenia, the Greek notion of hospitality. The word derives from philos, love, and xenos, stranger or guest. There are places on the island where you don’t sense a feeling towards visitors like this, but here, under Anna’s delightful watch, everyone is completely charming. We cannot remember the last time we were so thoughtfully and genuinely looked after.

Once inside the hotel, you find yourself wandering through the backdrop of a Slim Aarons photograph. It’s strikingly grown-up, very sexy and begs to be explored. There are enchanting touches everywhere: a reading hideaway beneath the dreamy shade of a pergola, a bijou amphitheatre (perfect for Mr Smith Jnr’s avant-garde dance improvs), and a near-secret pathway to the beach below. 

When we’ve settled into our celestial room — all luscious textures of white and wood — and the little patient is napping, we toss a penny to decide who goes for a sundowner. Praise Zeus, it’s me! Nota bene: every husband should travel with a loaded coin. I saunter out and make yet another joyful discovery: an ad-hoc evening bar, complete with a bartender who fixes me a margarita fit for any discerning Mexican, while I gaze out over the Aegean and briefly forget the trauma of the past 24 hours. 

Before dinner, we walk into Naoussa, which is a gentle five-minute stroll away, and amble curiously through its maze of narrow and winding streets. It is very pretty indeed, but perhaps just a little knowingly. Still, if you’ve got it, flaunt it. While the rest of Paros wears its beauty lightly, this is the place to see and be seen. Alas, the paps will miss out tonight because we have other plans.

We’re dining at Thymes, Avant Mar’s all-day restaurant. The hotel also hosts Matsuhisa Paros, which really needs no introduction at all: the world’s most famous sushi chef, Nobu, has set up shop on this little piece of paradise. Do you really need another reason to come here?  

We enjoy a simply delicious meal of local food — traditionally prepared fish and meat and, no exaggeration, the greatest taramasalata in the Mediterranean. It delivers a piquant, smoky slap that’s so precise and piercing that I’m momentarily stunned. It’s worthy of an Epicurean treatise. Our waiter, Constantinos, is also an utter delight and expertly attends to our every need. Finally, overcome by the exhaustion of almost no sleep the night before, we retire to our titanic and sublimely comfortable bed, and let Hypnos get to work. 

The following morning, Jnr and I are banished to the pool so that Mrs Smith can use the spa and be kneaded restoratively by an excellent masseuse. When we’re all pampered, preened and purified, it’s time to say goodbye to this wonderful place — but Mrs Smith and I have unfinished business here and one day we’ll be back.