Verina Astra

The harder somewhere is to reach, the harder it is to leave. Not always true of course, as anyone who’s ever done battle with the Ikea one-way system will testify, but certainly something I felt rattling down the dusty track to Verina Astra, 22 hours after leaving home. 

It’s not a particularly arduous journey; in fact, there’s something quite exciting, adventurous even, about arriving in Athens in the dark, then winding your way through the narrow streets of Piraeas towards the morning ferry, warm pastries and thick, sweet coffee in hand, but Sifnos’ lack of airport does encourage a certain languor from the moment you step on to the quay. 

Happily, you’re (finally) in the right place – because once you behold the vast azure horizon, you’re unlikely to want to do much but stare at it for a while. 

Cleverly set into the hillside, Verina Astra manages to make a relatively small footprint seem spacious by dint of the fact that almost everything, sleeping aside, is done in the open air, and everywhere has the same breathtaking view: big blue sky, big blue sea. 

The boat has deposited us here so early our room isn’t quite ready, but sitting with a punchy cafe freddo (and one of the pleasingly sandy local biscuits that sit in jars in the restaurant for guests to help themselves to at any time of the day or night, a nice touch guaranteed to win my greedy heart), it’s impossible to feel impatient. 

Time seems to have already slowed down. We should go and explore, go and look at that church, that village, that beach that the charming girl on reception pointed out to us… And yet perhaps we’ll just linger here a little longer, watching the seabirds whirl and dart, and the yachts hundreds of metres below. 

On day two, lying on one of the cushioned beds by the pool after breakfast, with nothing between us and the Aegean but air, Mr Smith downloads an app so we can identify these boats and where they’re registered. Having been on sailing holidays in the past, it’s delicious to think of them all faffing around with lines and jibes while I lie happily on dry land, too content to even pick up my book.

The Orion suite (Astra, I dimly recall from my schooldays, means of the stars, and all of the Verina’s suites are named after constellations, presumably because of the stupendous night skies on offer out here) is similarly set up for complete and utter indolence. It’s an unassuming whitewashed bungalow, with two simply-furnished, stone-floored rooms that come alive when I fling open the soft blue shutters to reveal that same, mesmerising view, also on offer from the private terrace, which puzzlingly boasts enough seating for quite a party – or two very lazy people who like to lie down a lot. Breakfast can be delivered on request, ‘and room service’, Mr Smith observes. ‘We basically need never leave.’

I’m not too proud to admit I like to listen to other people’s conversations at meal times though, so we actually end up leaving the room quite a bit – first to watch our fellow guests tackling the extremely generous breakfasts (I’d recommend the kagianas: richly yellow eggs scrambled with tomatoes and topped with feta), and then, eventually, to venture beyond the hotel boundary. 

A 10-minute trot down the hillside and we’re at the blue-domed chapel we can see from our room, following the path onwards past an olive grove brings us to a rocky beach, which proves the perfect place to plunge into the turquoise water, guided by a kindly naked Athenian, who doesn’t seem at all perturbed by our arrival. 

15 minutes along the cliffs and we’re in Kastro, a picture postcard village mentioned by Herodotus that’s home to the striking Church of the Seven Martyrs, the ruins of a 2,600 year old acropolis and approximately 7,000 cats – as well as a couple of decent tavernas serving ice cold beer. 

One lunchtime, with the wind blowing directly on to the terrace (the price you pay for sea views this good), we even rouse ourselves sufficiently to take a taxi to the more sheltered beach at Vathi (which, we discover, we could have walked to had we not slept so late), for a feast of local specialities, crispy chickpea fritters and herbaceous slow-braised lamb. 

Marinos, the chef and owner of the Symposio at the far end of the village, tells us he was in London in the 1970s… In fact, he seems to have worked almost everywhere, but he says gesturing at the view, he’s happy to be back home on sleepy Sifnos. ‘This is my corner. I need nothing more than here.’ After just three days on the island, I can’t disagree.