When strangers ask me how I met my boyfriend, I’m always surprised at how old-fashioned the story seems to my generation. We met 10 years ago on the first day of university; His room was at the end of the corridor, and with a sudden arrogant confidence, I knocked on the door and introduced myself. When I tell this story to my millennial friends, they marvel and love the idea of dating “offline,” while Gen Z looks at us suspiciously, as if a secret old person is lurking beneath our (relatively) fresh skin. But all agreed that our “origin story,” as a worldly teenager once described it, was rather romantic.
But textbook romance has never come so easily to us as a couple. Shy and introverted as a hermit crab, it took almost two months for him to hold my hand in public; Meanwhile, his attitude toward logic and efficiency clashed with my dreamer impulses.
Our worst love story happened during our five-year anniversary trip to Mexico. After dinner, our heaving bodies were led away from our table by a conspiratorial waiter to find a trail of leaves leading to our cabana, where the staff had kindly prepared a surprise, rom-com-worthy tableau. Chris Isaac Bad Game was playing softly on the speaker, a huge, scented bath full of flowers had been turned on, candles were shining in every corner as a bottle of champagne stood on ice. But before I could even put my bag down, my boyfriend had collapsed on his side of the bed, fully clothed, and instantly fell into a deep sleep. “No one loves anyone…” Isaac sang sarcastically.
And so, for our 10th anniversary, a major milestone that cannot be ignored, I decided that we would find that elusive spark of romance forever. Extensive Google research revealed that the Greek island of Paros is one of the world’s most quiet and romantic destinations, so we set off, fascinated by the idea of the translucent sea and tiny white-stone fishing villages.
We have made an auspicious start. Having caught a bad cold the day before our flight, my boyfriend sat buried in a handkerchief during the three-hour ferry ride from Athens and arrived at the port of Parikia, swaying like a sailor, exhausted from the constant sneezing. “You know,” I whispered to her as we were driven to the newly renovated Minois hotel overlooking the Parsporas beach, “this won’t let you off the hook in terms of romance.” Accompanied by a welcome cocktail, he sank into a wicker rocking chair by the pool and remained there for several hours, attended to intermittently by attentive staff dressed in white tunics so immaculate they could be guarding the gates of heaven.
But after a day of seaside recovery – including more restorative fruit elixirs from Minois’ excellent bar and orange cake bites soaked in Greek syrup – the tissues were packed and things started to look up. The next morning we ran down a dune towards Parasporos beach to watch the sunrise, the Aegean sea was already warm at seven o’clock. Later, while wandering the slippery, winding streets of the capital Parikia and sipping the freddo espresso beloved by the Greeks, we visited Panagia Ekatontapiliani, a magnificent 1,700-year-old Byzantine church, and an 800-year-old Frankish castle. looking out to sea. At dusk, we sat at Minois’ impressive restaurant, Olvo, eating tuna and beetroot slices, the orange sky liquefying over the water. It was a textbook romance – but no matter how hard we tried and no matter how happy we were, the starry-eyed romance of the silver screen eluded us.
We awoke the next morning to find our wet swimsuits (laid out on our balcony to dry the night before) somersaulting on the hotel leaves – a pair of trousers never to be seen again. The Cyclades are known for their strong winds, and for the rest of the journey it felt like Zeus was blowing angrily on a stubborn candle. “I’ve never seen waves like these before,” said one waiter, a grim observer of the usually peaceful rocky lagoon. “You brought the weather from London!” We looked at the rain clouds gathering above us. “Maybe,” my boyfriend remarked solemnly as we clutched our palomas against what now seemed like gale force winds, “this love business isn’t for us.”
Reluctantly, we took shelter indoors to escape the natural conditions; Our quest for romance has been thwarted once again. But as the hours passed, something changed. We started the day by curling up on our bed in a sleepy, quiet awe, watching the sun rise over the endless ocean and the island of Naxos emerging from the fog; then spent the afternoon lazing around in the underground spa of Parocks, a luxury hotel located in a nearly deserted area on Paros’ northeastern coastline. Instead of flashy displays of leaf prints and champagne, we actually felt happiest in these quiet moments of togetherness. We thought maybe there was more to romance than wet songs and fireworks, and slowly the pressure started to ease.
The next day, the weather calmed and, with the weight lifted, we set out to explore the charming northern port of Naoussa, where gleaming little fishing boats sit next to powder-blue restaurant tables and pink bougainvilleas sprout from dazzling white boutiques. Intoxicated by the warm sea air and fine Greek wine, we left the restaurant and sat by the water, listening to the clinking of fishing boats in the dark.
The next day we checked into the sumptuous new hotel Cosme and spent a day wandering around Paros’ beautiful inland villages. In the quiet, mountainous village of Márpissa, we were invited into the home of a woman who weaved on her grandmother’s loom. After offering us spoonfuls of jam, a ritual of traditional Greek hospitality, she told us her story: married at 16, pregnant at 17, a widow at 40, after an angry father caught her kissing a Greek boy next door. He is now in his seventies. She had a wonderful new boyfriend. “Finally, now I choose,” he smiled, relieved and happy, no longer conforming to any standard other than his own.
On our last evening we walked to Cosme’s stargazing spot, where the sky was a thick, shimmering black. As we lay side by side on the cushions amidst the hum of crickets, I felt my heart full and at ease. I remembered what a tour guide had told us the day before while explaining how to mine Parian marble. “You must extract the marble as a whole, in the shape you want,” he said. “You can’t add or remove tracks later.” I shook my boyfriend’s hand. The gold standard of grand, grandiose gestures is not part of our marble – and if our style of romance is quiet togetherness rather than thunderbolts, that’s good enough for me.
I started to share this statement out loud, then stopped; When I looked back, I found him in a happy, deep sleep.
Fundamentals
Eleanor Halls is home to Cosme Hotel Paros (00 30 2284 440000; cosmehotelparos.com), with double occupancy from £1,198 per night, and PAROCKS Luxury Hotel & Spa (00 30 2284 440500; parockshotel.com), with double occupancy. was his guest. Prices start from £600 per night.
Various airlines fly direct to Athens from regional airports in the UK, with return fares starting from £34. Direct ferries from Piraeus (Athens) to Parikia (Paros) leave several times a day (from £110 return; go-ferry.com).