There’s a particular kind of silence that falls when you open your door in the early hours and find yourself suspended above the sea, coffee in hand, the Aegean still inky and asleep, where the hum of anticipation for sunset hasn’t yet begun, and the only thing stirring is the steam rising from your private infinity jacuzzi. This is not a dream. It’s Santorini. And you’re staying in a cave…

I used to travel to see it all. I’d land somewhere and immediately set out with a vague (okay fine, somewhat detailed) itinerary, and a completely unjustified confidence in my ability to figure things out on foot. I didn’t care how many buses it took or whether the train schedule hadn’t been updated since Mussolini…

Lazing around on a catamaran under the heavy heat of the afternoon sun, hopping from island to island, before stopping off at a secluded seaside restaurant for a polpo all’insalata with a side of sea breeze? Idyllic. Salty hair from diving into the sparkling shallows of the Mediterranean over and over again? I’ll take it. Has anyone ever needed convincing to holiday on an Italian island? Probably not…

If the Amalfi Coast had a less obvious cousin, it would be the Turkish Riviera. Stretching along Turkey’s southwestern edge, this stretch of coastline is all slow mornings and salt-slicked afternoons, ancient ruins, beach bars on stilts, and towns filled with cats and grilled sea bass…

Santorini unfolds like a mirage from the Thiran hilltop village of Pyrgos Kallistis. Whitewashed houses cascade down volcanic slopes, and the blue-domed roofs of Oia are a mirage in the distance, with the ridged landscape taking centre-stage under the Aegean sun…