NoMad

NoMad

Most people come to Mykonos for the version of it that exists on social media, which is fine, and which Nomad Mykonos is quietly, entirely uninterested in. The hotel is on the southeast coast, above Kalo Livadi, a long sandy beach that draws a different crowd than the beach clubs of the west, and the drive across the island from the port already tells you something: the landscape dries out, the hills go quieter, and by the time you arrive you are somewhere genuinely apart. Thirteen adults-only suites are built into the hillside in proper Cycladic style, clean lines, rounded edges, an almost wilful absence of ornament. Inside: rough hewn stone sinks carved from grey Aliveri marble, curvaceous bathtubs, earthenware with the imperfections of things made by hand, and record players loaded with vinyl. Televisions have been removed, which functions as an invitation rather than a deprivation. Every suite has a private terrace and a pool or hot tub, sometimes both, and the beach is five minutes downhill on foot, far enough to feel optional. Kukulu, the restaurant, cooks from what the market offers that morning. The food is simple and precise, the kind of meal that actually tastes of the place. In the evenings the fireplace lounge comes into its own, hammocks and cocktails and an open fire against a warm night, which sounds contradictory and is very pleasant. This is a hotel for people who find the Mykonos party circuit mildly alienating even to look at. Mykonos Town is fifteen minutes by car when you want it, which is enough distance for it to feel like a choice and but an obligation. The short version: Thirteen adults-only suites on a Mykonos hillside above Kalo Livadi, with private pools or hot tubs, no televisions, record players, and a restaurant cooking from the morning market. The quieter, more considered version of the island.