A travel guide to the Greek island of Symi

The thieves came while we swam, rifling through our beach bag. A rookie error – the first rule of sunbathing on Symi is always to hang snacks from your parasol or they will be lunch for a peckish goat. It was our first day on Nanou Beach and we learned fast: each of Symi’s beaches has its own special castaway charm.

Closer to Turkey than Greece, Symi is one of the country’s most distant Eastern Aegean outposts, far from where the Greek mainland crumbles into the sea. Reputedly the birthplace of the mythical Three Graces and named after the nymph Syme, it lies in the Dodecanese archipelago, the largest island of which is Rhodes. Symi could not feel more different from its neighbour. Too far from Athens for a social scene, with no large hotels, it is small and quietly sophisticated. It has largely remained the preserve of inquisitive island hoppers and sailors bewitched by its harbour. Surrounded by steep slopes forming a natural amphitheatre, Symi harbour greets its travellers with an enchanting tumble of tiered, Neoclassical mansions suggestive of an Italian village in hues of ochre, terracotta, sherbet pink and lemon. Further inland, the island’s mountainous interior is dotted with churches, monasteries, windmills and few roads.

Another reason to visit is the recent arrival of the 1900 Hotel. Already the haunt of in-the-know Greeks, it is easily the island’s most charming place to stay, with just four rooms. Located right on the waterfront, the handsome, three-storey captain’s house built in the 1890s is known as the Mastoridis Mansion. It is named after the man who introduced the diving suit to Greece and Symi in 1862, revolutionising the island’s fortunes when it became a centre for sponge diving and shipbuilding. 

Restored without the dilution of any of its essential historic and architectural charm – including exquisite painted ceilings – it feels more like a private home than a hotel. Guests are given a code to the front door and can come and go as they please. Its broad, first-floor terrace offers ringside views over the endless theatre of the harbour: ferries docking; taxi boats zipping back and forth with sun worshippers; and sightseeing boats disgorging passengers. There is no hotel restaurant, but one of its owners, the architect Dimitris Zografos – the very best type of clued-up local – is on hand for any pressing culinary questions, whether it is where to have breakfast or the best spot for an aperitif. 

To get a real sense of Symi town, you need to aim high. One evening, we started at the top of the upper village, an area called the Chorio, which has panoramas of the port, and picked our way through the medina-like tangle of twisting, whitewashed alleys, gradually descending until we met the elegant Kali Strata, which translates as ‘good way’. This main route to the gialo (waterfront) is actually a marble staircase of 500 steps lined on both sides by grand, 19th-century merchants’ mansions. Built during the island’s most prosperous era, these are now in varying states of repair, some photogenically crumbling with fig trees twisting around their decaying portals, others smartly renovated with their windows framed by freshly painted shutters.

 Symi is dotted with 275 churches and monasteries, but the sixth-century Panormitis Monastery – 19 kilometres from the harbour on the island’s southwestern tip – is the pre-eminent one. The main building, dating from the 18th century, is in a fanciful Venetian baroque style. Still home to monks, it is an important pilgrimage site for Orthodox worshippers. Its atmospheric church, cluttered with dimly lit chandeliers, is where the faithful queue in hushed reverence to light candles and pay their respects to a silver representation of the Archangel Michael.