Loutro is far from tourist crowds. Photo / Megan Holbeck
Megan Holbeck and her family live the dream in the sleepy, boat-access-only town of Loutro, Crete.
White buildings nestled around bays, their bright blue shutters matching the sea. Cats curled in doorways; olive groves and bright bougainvillea; seaside tavernas, their tables laden with cheese, salads and wine and shaded by vines. This is what we dreamed of Greece.
Then the decisions began. Greece has more than 200 inhabited islands, and each person we spoke to was convinced they’d visited the best. Problem was, each was not only a different isle, but in an entirely different archipelago.
Logistics were many. We were flying in from Turkey and heading to London, aiming to entice hordes of in-laws (aged 7-75) into joining us from across England and the US. The romantic idea of island-hopping across the Mediterranean quickly sank under organisational reality.
Eventually, we decided on Crete. Known for its food, history, stunning landscapes and gorgeous beaches, Greece’s biggest island also has two airports and great transport links. But despite narrowing down the options, the best beaches and sights, views and hikes were spread far and wide.
And so were the tourists. We were travelling in July – peak holiday season – and online forums suggested getting a good spot didn’t just involve paying $30 for a sun lounger but getting there at dawn.
Crowds certainly weren’t part of the holiday plan, so my husband narrowed the search with his three favourite words: boat access only. In the Google search lottery, out popped Loutro. This tiny village on the southwest coast of Crete is only accessible by ferry or feet – no cars, no crowds, no big hotels. It looked idyllic, with white buildings surrounding a blue bay, rocky hills behind. And after the 6.30 ferry took day-trippers home, the town would be ours until the 10.30 boat the next day.
We had a winner! Within a week, three generations of family had booked out half the Daskalogiannis Hotel for six days of bliss.
Several months later, we are travelling through water clearer and bluer than I’ve ever seen. We sit on deck, admiring rocky brown peaks plunging steeply into the sea, little villages threaded together along narrow tracks. We walk around a headland to see white buildings clustered around a horseshoe bay.
The Daskalogiannis Hotel is at the foot of Loutro’s jetty, and we fling open our balcony doors in time to watch the ferry disappear. Five minutes later, I join the extended clan for sundowners on the hotel’s waterfront deck while we watch the kids bomb off the jetty.
Loutro is around 500m long and a few streets deep, strung above two beaches – exploring town takes all of 10 minutes. But it’s perfect, not boring: small enough that relaxation is mandatory, with weeks’ worth of fun found by simply slowing down.
The days follow a rough routine dictated by heat, water and food. Exercise is done early, before sun bakes the hillside tracks. A swim off the jetty, before breakfast on the hotel deck: thick Greek yoghurt and fruit; sfakia pie (like a cheese-filled crepe drizzled with honey – delicious), or huge waffles drowned in Nutella.
Then, in a strange kind of magic, the days organised themselves. Sometimes we adjourn to sun loungers at the beach at the west end of town ($8 each), the kids spending hours snorkelling and leaping off rocks. The adults join in, then retreat to the shade to read, play cards and chat.
Some days, we brave the heat and trek to other beaches: tiny Marmara, with sea caves sculpted into the surrounding cliffs; sedate Phoenix; the long stretch of Sweetwater Beach backed by tall, sheer cliffs. Along the way, we explore Venetian ruins and white churches that popped against the turquoise water, our soundtrack goats’ bells and the wind. We spend hours in beachside tavernas with cold Mythos beers, and menus of crunchy salad, lamb and goat. Those who grow too hot and tired to walk, catch taxi boats along the coast.
Twice we pack picnics and hire boats to explore the coastline – spacious six-seaters with engines and shade. Marmara is the favourite, for its huge rock jumps and caves to swim and clamber through and a group of us swim home around headlands, luxuriating in the warm, clear water.
Each evening we regroup for dinner. Twice we picnic on the loungers, interrupting games and swims to feast. Each family brings things to share: cheese and bread; platters of lamb and whole chickens; vegetable pies and local greens; plenty of local wine.
Then there are the restaurants: wood-fired pizzas on Castella’s terrace above the beach; pork roasted over a huge fire at Pantelitsa; grilled swordfish and octopus at Ilios. Friendly staff bring out complimentary dessert and jugs of raki (strong local spirit) after every meal and we stroll home, the moon rising huge and full over the water, and tired kids collapse into bed.
The best bits of magical Loutro? The golden light of sunrise and sunset, when the land is alive with mauves and pinks and orange. That incredible water. And the space and time in the days, for giggling and games, for swimming and chatting, for connecting properly. With Loutro, we hit the jackpot.
Accommodation
Daskalogiannis Hotel, where double rooms with balconies, ocean views and a generous breakfast are $265 a night during high season.
Andreas runs the Villa Niki guesthouse and self-catering apartments – find it on booking.com. He is an amazing baker and chef, and offers nightly meals.
Activities
Boats can be hired from Chania Boat from €90 a day, excluding petrol.
Getting there
Fly into Chania and take an hour-long cab ride to Hora Sfakion for around €100, or catch a free public bus via K-tel.
Ferries and scheduled water taxis run several times a day from Hora Sfakion to Loutro.
The writer travelled at their own expense.