Santorini Sans Crowds

Perched on the upper terrace of Ammoudi Fish Tavern in Oia, somewhere between my last bite of octopus and my first taste of loukoumades, I watched the dimly lit waters of the Ammoudi Bay settle into evening. Catamarans slipped into their berths for the night while skippers disappeared ashore. The wind softened the conversations around us, lending an unexpected intimacy to the meal.

Then a cruise ship emerged.

Stretching more than 1,000 feet long, the vessel looked less like a ship and more like a floating city. I watched as rows of illuminated cabins, pools scattered across multiple decks, and neon lights glowing high above the water rolled by.

As it pushed through the channel, the bay transformed. The calm water was suddenly littered with white caps. Restaurant staff hurried to move tables away from the patio’s edge as waves rolled over the dock below. Somewhere aboard were thousands of tourists preparing for their next port of call.

For a moment, Santorini’s reputation sailed directly in front of me. Then it passed.

Santorini welcomes roughly 3.4 million visitors each year, despite having only about 15,500 year-round residents. On some summer days, cruise arrivals alone have reached well into five figures, prompting the island to cap daily cruise visitors at 8,000 and introduce a peak-season disembarkation tax, according to a 2024 report from CNN. Still, during my four days on the outskirts of Oia, I experienced a rare sense of calm, as the crowds felt distant and unobtrusive.

The ship continued into the darkness, carrying the crowds with it. The bay grew quiet again. It wouldn’t be the last time Santorini’s reputation failed to match my experience.

Set within the cliffs above Ammoudi Bay, Santo Mine occupies the site of a former stone mine on the outskirts of Oia. Built within the hillside, the all-suite property is connected to the rest of the Santo Collection by a tunnel carved through the rock. Integrated into the landscape, the property feels less like a resort than a hideout—which, on an island this crowded, is the whole point. 

Maybe it’s the Manhattan conditioning, but the serenity and quiet of the spot almost made me uncomfortable. The property was at 70% capacity according to the staff. Yet, I could have sworn we were the only group there.

Weaving through a shadowed tunnel, our bags chattering on the tail hitch behind our golf cart. The tunnel connects both of the Santo Collection’s main residences. Our Santo Mine suites were carefully concealed on a perch overlooking the water.

Between the glass doors and the Caldera sat a narrow infinity pool that appeared to spill directly into the Aegean below. Before our cart driver had finished placing my bags in the room, I had already submerged my swollen airplane feet. Our driver laughed and asked, “First time to Greece?” to which I replied, beaming, “First time to Santorini!”

That night, I made my way down the winding stone path following signs for Rhoē Wine Bar. I was thankful for my overpacking of at least three pairs of slip-on sandals, as Oia, or all of Greece for that matter, surely wasn’t built for a heel. I gathered my hair into a clip in preparation for the wind, and just as I shuffled my bag, shawl, and phone between my hands, I peeked around the corner of the towering white stone. I was greeted by a sunset that looked like a magazine clipping decoupage right over the shoreline. 

I opted for the signature ‘Secret Garden’: tequila, red cabbage, raspberry, topped off with grapefruit soda, which I returned to at each cocktail hour that followed. I sat quietly as evening catamarans slipped in and out of the port, setting off for their nightly sunset cruises. Overjoyed by the idyllic painting stretched across the horizon, I was unfazed by the occasional gust that accompanies their windy season. 

Shortly after I took my last sip, our cart arrived once again to take us across the property to one of Santo Pure’s restaurants, Alios Ilios. The restaurant got its name from the Greek translation, “the sun that rises and falls in the sea”. Overlooking the Aegean waters, the sunset tucked itself in for the night and welcomed the chill of the evening to take its place. 

Alios Ilios is known for its quintessential rendition of traditional Greek comfort food. Beef carpaccio to start, accompanied by pan-seared tuna “tigania” that melted on the tongue. Grouper “spetsiota” took center stage, adding warmth to the meal, while blankets from the staff did the rest of the heavy lifting. 

Santo Collection’s Marketing Communications supervisor, Nikos Fournaris, joined us for our meal at Alios Ilios. Fournaris shared the history of the Santo Collection and the mission behind sustainability, tying each fact back to the land, the people, and the culture. Fournaris spoke about the sustainability initiatives, including its LEED certification and “Stay With Purpose,” earned by Santo Mine’s intentional placement of suites occupying the site of a former stone quarry. At the same time, rooftop gardens are planted with native island flora.  

Maybe it was the ‘family style’ eating of Greek culture, or Fournaris’s genuine curiosity, that shifted conversations from drawn-out introductions and work talk to family morals, cultural differences, and passions outside of work. By the second night, passing plates and stealing bites off one another’s forks had become the ritual—the kind of meal that felt less like a work dinner and more like a family dining room table. 

Oia By Boat

If you tell anyone you’re traveling to Greece, they’ll first gush about its beauty, then offer a warning. The roads are busy. The resorts are packed. The lookout points are shoulder-to-shoulder with tourists chasing the same sunset.

The closest I came to experiencing that version of Santorini was from a distance.

Our catamaran slipped in and out of coves as we lay stretched out, sipping local wine, with a taste of home from The Doobie Brothers. Our Michelin-caliber steward was roasting fresh veggies on an open grill just off the stern, while Fira’s port nestled itself into the distance. There is no question that sightseeing by catamaran was the right choice for getting the best views while avoiding crowds. 

Rising from the center of Santorini’s caldera, between Fira’s port and the Karavolades Stairs, is a jagged island forged by volcanic fire. The caldera itself was formed by one of history’s largest volcanic eruptions around 1600 BC, an explosion so immense it reshaped the island and helped inspire legends of Atlantis. The mineral-rich waters that surround it are so warm and inhospitable that even fish avoid lingering there—Palea Kameni’s only ever official population: zero.

However, that population was once off by just one. The island’s only-ever resident is a man named Sostis. For Sostis, an urban legend and lovesick hermit, zero may be the perfect symbol for the essence of true love. With an official population of zero, Sostis isn’t even counted. The tale of Sostis was shared by our chief steward while peering over the rails of our catamaran just off the shore of Oia, Greece. The modern folklore was shared shortly after being warned of what felt like the side effects and possible outcomes from a drug commercial, if we swam in the water surrounding Palea Kameni, due to its high levels of sulfur, iron and magnesium. 

The volcanic island within the Santorini caldera is named after the Greek translation meaning “old burnt island”. Sostis, a former tour boat operator around Santorini, found his ‘Juliette,’ an Italian tour guide he met when visiting Italy. After being met with the devastation of an unmatched love, he chose complete solitude, claiming never to love again. This heartache led him to find sanctuary in the loneliest place, the island of Palea Kameni. For 40 years, he lived among a small menagerie of chickens and goats, finding peace in his quaint garden home to one olive tree, a couple of lime trees, and a prickly pear cactus. 

Sostis passed away this year from heart disease, refusing treatments as he wanted to pass in complete tranquility. A man who gave his entire life to a place, and the island doesn’t officially acknowledge he was ever there.

But maybe that’s the way Greece prefers it. 

Finding Stillness

My recommendation for a relaxing spa day is without a doubt an experience at Santo Pure’s Anassa Spa. After a thorough conversation with the staff, they tailored a full-body massage to my needs exactly—just the right amount of pressure, never rushed. Every movement felt intentional, with extra attention to my shoulders and neck, after evidence from a career in editing has shown it never goes easy on the posture. 

The staff made me feel as though I could—and should—lounge by the indoor pool, sipping antioxidant tea for as long as possible. 

After the sun got the best of my German roots the following morning, I returned to Anassa again for one of their facial treatments. I opted for a combination of their signature eye recovery, a triple action against tired eyes, with lifting and lightening properties. They recommended adding the AHA and double peel glow treatment, and to my surprise, my sun-scorched face was immediately cooled, hydrated, and soothed. 

Gastronomy

It would be an injustice not to mention the breakfast at Santo Mine. It quickly became a topic of conversation among our group—and a recurring feature in my family group chat. 

Each morning, tables overflowed with freshly baked breads, local cheeses, cured meats, seasonal fruits, and traditional Greek specialties. My plate was never modest. I’d pile it high, convinced I couldn’t possibly fit another bite, only to find myself returning for one more pastry or a second helping of yogurt with local honey. With panoramic views stretching across the Aegean and nowhere else to be, breakfast felt less like a meal and more like an invitation to slow down and savor the morning. 

As we neared the end of our stay, we commemorated the experience with a wine tasting at Santo Collection’s wine cellar. We indulged in five of the resort’s most promising grape varieties, paired with artisanal cheese. For someone who only recently was able to distinguish a Noir from a Cabernet, the experience was more than just reconciling the components of a red; it was a way for us to connect with the heritage of Santorini. The island’s volcanic soil protected many of its vines from phylloxera, leaving centuries-old ungrafted Assyrtiko vines that are still cultivated today. Many are trained into low basket-shaped “kouloura” coils to shield the grapes from Santorini’s relentless wind.

On our final night, as I took my last sip of Assyrtiko, I found myself thinking of Sostis. 

More than his solitude, I envied the stillness he had found. In a destination increasingly defined by overtourism headlines, relentless Instagram carousels, and weary tales of crowds, the moments worth writing home about were the quiet ones: Ammoudi Bay after the cruise ship disappeared into the darkness. The silence of my private pool overlooking the caldera. Dinners that felt more like family gatherings than work obligations. Waitstaff, chefs, and sommeliers eager to share stories of the island they call home. 

For all the attention Santorini receives, Santo Collection seems designed to offer guests the chance to step away from it. Not from the island itself, but from the noise surrounding it. Built into the landscape rather than imposed upon it, the resort creates space to experience Santorini as more than a checklist of landmarks and sunsets, leaving room for something increasingly difficult to find there: presence.