I've always felt the same way about upscale resorts whose suites include little personal "plunge pools." Sure, they look great in magazine spreads, but I've never understood the idea of taking a dip in an unswimmable dollop of water within view of your next-door neighbor, especially at a posh resort where immense heated pools overlook the grappa-clear -- and perfectly swimmable -- waters of the eastern Mediterranean.
Such is the story at Anassa, the Thanos Hotel Group's $60 million gem of a flagship property that is putting the island of Cyprus back on the map of "it" places in the Mediterranean. The tourist-friendly Greek side of the republic (as opposed to the Turkish-occupied northern region), where Anassa sits, is the Greek Isles without the ferry hassles, Ibiza without the Eurokids on ecstasy. The area's warm, dry Middle Eastern climate makes it a year-round getaway.
"We like it because it is so close to Germany and it's safer than Israel these days," says Ralph, a fortysomething German developer who lounges on the resort's private beach on a mid-November day as the temperature approaches 80 degrees. "Besides," he adds with the casual tone of the well traveled, "we've been everywhere else."
Later that day, to my surprise, I see Ralph swimming in the Mediterranean, zipping off in the direction of North Africa with the tenacity of a channel swimmer. Even he has no use for a plunge pool.
Turtles, Spice, and the Goddess of Love
Anassa -- the name means "queen" in English -- sits on a bluff overlooking her ruggedly handsome empire, the Akamas Peninsula. The Cypriot government restricts development here, not because Akamas Peninsula is the birthplace of some great, mythological entity -- indeed, Aphrodite's alleged birthplace two hours east of here is off limits to developers -- but because the area is the nesting ground of endangered sea turtles. A jeep tour of the dry, hilly, sparsely wooded peninsula proves that, like Robert Redford, it's more handsome from a distance. But the resort guide, a native Cypriot, knows where the true beauty lies.
He drives to a particularly barren bluff where a scraggly bush clings to life, tears off two small sprigs of green, and holds them to my nose. The smell is overwhelming, instantly intoxicating, and strangely familiar.
"Junipere," he says in heavily accented English, carefully placing a sample of the shrub in my hand. He walks over to another bush and performs the same trick. This time it is a spicy, clean scent that makes me instantly hungry. "Oregan-oh," he proclaims. The rest of the tour is spent as if sniffing our way through a well-stocked wild-spice rack, and when we pass a herd of goats pre-seasoning themselves as they graze on the herbs, my growling stomach betrays my carnivorous intentions.
Seaweed Wraps, Feral Cats, and Whitewash
Other excursions include trips to the ancient coastal town of Pafos, where in the 1960s a local farmer stumbled upon a series of intricate mosaics buried by an eons-old earthquake, and to the tiny mountain village of Lofou, where narrow, pedestrian-only thoroughfares and a complete absence of litter lend the place a strangely Disneyesque patina. But this is not Disneyland. From the Phoenicians to the Romans to the British, who still maintain two huge military bases on the island, the trail of civilization goes back 10,000 years.
Truth be told, few guests take the time to explore the past. Most prefer to remain in the present to enjoy an algae wrap at the Thalassa Spa, dine at one of four restaurants, swim up to the infinity-edge pool bar, play tennis or one of myriad water sports, or stroll the landscaped, herb-filled grounds where feral cats live among the olive trees.
Anassa is so smartly designed that you never get the impression that you're at a 177-room resort. The lingering impression is not one of a massive hotel, but of gorgeous details: patches of polished marble, splashes of whitewashed walls framed by sprays of bougainvillea, wrought-iron balconies, lush gardens, mosaic-tile fountains. And, yes, plunge pools.
Taking the Plunge
By the last night of my stay, the only function my lilliputian pool has served has been as a water dish for the kitties that visit in the night. I decide to make my move.
The pool is as brisk as the Mediterranean -- too cool for simply lounging, especially at night. The New Yorker in me is ashamed that I would even consider making such an inane request in light of recent events, so when I call the front desk and ask if my plunge pool could be made warmer I try to borrow Ralph's semi-bored resort tone. To my chagrin, I sound dopey, not worldly. But I am determined to make use of this splash before I leave. It is my own little bowling alley, a useless status symbol I'm going to expose for what it is.
When I return several hours later from a gratifying dinner at Basilico, Anassa's grottolike signature restaurant, I am surprised to see steam swirling about the gently glowing surface. Two plush towels sit neatly folded on the chaise.
I pour a Scotch from the minibar, slip into my suit, and settle comfortably on the steps of the pool. The water is a perfect temperature. The breeze stirs and I catch the fleeting scent of an exotic herb. As I turn to float on my back, a timer turns off the pool light. It's midnight, and with the lights off the night sky is exactly two colors, black and white.
This is not bad, I think to myself, quietly reassessing my stance on plunge pools. When a distant splash and oh-so-faint giggle escape from somewhere in the night, I finally get it: Here I am at the birthplace of Aphrodite, the Goddess of Love, and not one but two towels were put out for me.
Of course, this silly pool isn't big enough for one person to enjoy.
It's small enough for two.
By David Downing
David Downing, a freelance writer and frequent Fodors.com contributor based in New York City, adds this advice: never go solo to Aphrodite's birthplace
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