I've found a tourist-free Greek island that's heaven for lockdown sceptics

I’m done with being cautious. Not about spreading Covid-19 – I’ll jump through the hoops and wear the muzzle if it makes others feel safer. But no longer will I tiptoe around my rhetoric on the matter.

It is my view that the world, with the notable exception of Sweden, has entirely lost the plot over this virus; an illness that has trashed the global economy, and which at least 99.9 per cent of the human population has survived.

We now know, based on the evidence, that this is not a dangerous virus, except to those who are vulnerable to any number of health risks already. Highly infectious? Yes. Highly deadly? No. Worth locking our children away, dressing like ninjas and behaving as if this was the Great Plague? Certainly not.

So I was elated to find, upon my recent visit to the Greek island of Santorini, a quiet, worry-free utopia for lockdown skeptics like me. Where hoops were being jumped through, but hysteria was nowhere to be found.

Better still, Oia, the Instagram-famous labyrinth of white domes clutched at the forehead of the island’s steep cliffs, was empty of the usual dawdlers and pouty influencers that usually fill its narrow cobbled streets. The few tourists I did encounter were not gagged and tense, but smiling and maskless.

Getting there wasn’t particularly straightforward, it must be said. My first attempt to fly to Santorini was thwarted at check-in by a combination of Greece’s current entry requirements – no negative Covid-19 test needed, just a QR code that is irrationally fiddly to acquire – and BA’s appalling customer service. Mark my words, if I can possibly help it, I’ll never fly with them again.

Happily, easyJet came to the rescue and upon landing a few days later, the Greek immigration offer barely glanced at the sacred QR code, let alone scanned it. The two ominous, swab brandishing, PPE-clad medics at arrivals performed no random checks on passengers that I witnessed. This anticlimax, after an uphill battle to get there, was (almost) the last I had to deal with on the Covid front.

The change in tone from England’s current pent-up reality was evident as soon as I entered Oia’s Andronis Arcadia, the hotel in which I was stationed, where I was, to my surprise, permitted to remove the muzzle upon entry.

Rather than masks, check-in staff wore discreet perspex mouth shields that actually enabled us to compute one another’s expressions while talking – such a novelty these days, and makes all the difference when there’s a language barrier.

The only noticeably odd aspect at dinner that night was the sheer normality of the situation. Two jaunty violinists kept the restaurant lively. There was laughter; smiles exchanged between strangers. The tables were spaced a little further apart than they perhaps would have been last year, but the scene was otherwise reminiscent of a time long before this pandemic robbed people of their ordinary.

Making new acquaintances – one of the best things about travel – has become a thing of the past in a paranoid world where even our friends and family are walking biohazards, to be feared, not embraced. But that night, for the first time since pre-lockdown, a stranger approached my table as I was eating alone.

I assumed, naturally, that he was going to tell me off about something. But he was just there for a chat. He was British, there with his partner and two teenage sons, and we had a freakishly normal exchange; about our peers back home being shocked that we had chosen to leave the country, but what a solace it was to get away.

This would set a pattern of similar conversations over the next days. A couple from Finland who I met on a boat expressed their enormous relief to find respite from Project Fear back home, but said they’d been roundly shamed for choosing to travel. Two Britons and a Dutchman I went scuba diving with (one of the only points at which I was masked-up, and not with the surgical kind) had endured similar judgement for daring to go on holiday.

All the fellow Europeans I spoke to were of the same ilk; young-ish, healthy, polite, not there to make trouble, just to have a nice time. But then, Santorini is where you come for the famed sunset, not to party.

And what a sunset that is. There are plenty of angles from which to gawp at that giant orange orb as it drops beneath the horizon each night; a catamaran cruise being one of them. This half-day excursion, organised by Andronis, sails past both the popular Red Beach – named, unsurprisingly, after the colour of the pulverized volcanic rock that looms over it – and the White Beach – ditto – and stops at the bay of Mesa Pigadia for snorkeling.

Here I encountered the only case of Covid-weirdism over the course of the whole trip. The boat was willing to loan snorkeling masks, which cover your nose, but thanks to 'health regulations', not snorkels, that go in your mouth. This strikes me as strange, and at odds with science, given the virus is spread from both the nose and mouth. But a small inconvenience in the grand scheme of things.

Should you ever find yourself on such a boat, make sure, upon departing the catamaran at dusk, at the small but mighty Ammoudi Bay, to feast at Dimitris Ammoudi Taverna, a restaurant right at the far end overlooking the ocean, run by the characterful Joy and serving the freshest of seafood. It’s been fully booked of late, largely thanks to local patrons – a good sign that things are getting back to the way they were. The only way back up to Oia from this bay is via a 250-step winding stone staircase, easier tackled at night and when drunk, in my opinion.

It was a quieter scene at Andronis’ Lycabettus Restaurant, set in the heart of Oia, where I dined with another newly acquired friend who wasn’t afraid of my foreign germs, over an extensive and delicious tasting menu by candlelight. Located right on the edge of the cliff, with a brilliantly inventive sommelier on hand, this restaurant’s reputation as Oia’s most picturesque dining spot is well-earned.

Another way to perve on the sunset is from horseback on Eros beach, after a ride through the lunar caldera; though you want to be very careful who you choose to book with, and steer clear of the donkeys – Santorini is renowned for animal welfare issues around these activities. I did my homework and went with a farm where the horses were well taken care of with plenty of acres to roam.

Alternatively, the villa I had the great privilege of staying in at Andronis backed onto its own infinity pool, set in a prime position to see the sunset in splendid isolation.

Arguably the best way, though, is from the sky, hovering in a helicopter in the company of an entertaining pilot; which in my case was, hands-down, the highlight of my trip. Philipp, who runs the company with his fellow Germans Julius and Antonio, went out of his way to take me on a last-minute aerial tour of the island – during which he let me briefly take the controls; the most fun I’ve had in quite some time – and was kind enough to race me to their headquarters afterwards so I could use the Wi-Fi for an early morning conference call.

I got to know them, and their cat, over the next few days. It’s undoubtedly been a tough season for all local businesses, they told me, given the scarcity of visitors. The mood in Santorini, however, hasn’t been panicked, but more one of philosophical resignation. Philipp said, as we drifted high over the neighbouring island of Ios on another ride with the windows wide open: “Most people here aren’t afraid of the virus, it seems. And refreshingly, the majority are enjoying this quiet, touristless summer, not worrying about the financial aftermath.”

He added: “Everyone keeps saying, 'it’s bad but we can survive one season like this'. Just one though, it can’t continue beyond that.” I, too, hope for everyone’s sake that this nonsensical drawn-out assault on inter-Europe travel doesn’t last – the horse bolted all the way back in March, it's about time we stopped slamming stable doors – though the signs are there that it will.

There are reports of chaos in Zante, where an increasing number of British holidaymakers have been coming home with the virus of late – by most accounts all among young party animals. Nevertheless, Scotland’s Nicola Sturgeon has issued a blanket quarantine back onto the entirety of Greece; which is sort of akin to banning people from visiting Leeds after an outbreak in Leamington Spa.

Greece as a whole has registered one of the lowest Covid-19 rates on the Continent, and only 278 deaths. Taking into account its population, that’s 27 per one million citizens. The UK has had 611 deaths per 1m – more than 20 times the number of fatalities. If anyone should be in quarantine, it should be Britons who enter Greece, not the other way around.

No-one I spoke to in Santorini knows of a single case of the infection being reported on the island. For those paranoid about the pandemic, it could hardly be a safer bet. And for anyone who has always wanted to visit this photogenic havan, now is the time, when you’ll still have it largely to yourself. Four days wasn’t enough for me – I’m already plotting to return later this month.

Planning a visit

Stay: Andronis Arcadia; rooms from £560 B&B; +30 2286 027392.

Eat: Lycabettus Restaurant; (+30)2286072041. Dimitris Ammoudi Taverna; (+30) 2286071606.

Dive: Atlantis Oia; (+30) 2286071158.

Ride: Experience Horse Riding Akrotiri; (+30) 6975541447.

Fly: Peak Helicopter Service; (+30) 6988328919. EasyJet flies direct to Santorini from London Gatwick, Luton and Manchester, from £51.93 one-way. For early flights, Premier Inn offers slick, hygiene-enhanced rooms at Gatwick from £35 a night.