From city to sea: the Athens Riviera offers the best of both worlds

The Acropolis might as well be a sauna. As I ascend its dusty slopes, scaling hunks of pinkish marble, the thick humidity sends a trickle of sweat from the nape of my neck to my lower back. Slipping off my sunhat to dab at my temples, I’m irked – I can usually hack the heat. Why do I feel like a swooning Jane Austen heroine?  

It’s a relief when my septuagenarian guide, Eleni, confirms that this is stifling weather, even for Athens – especially for Athens in October. “I can’t remember when it was this humid,” she says, escorting me to a shady step to talk me through the temples in their Golden Age heyday. And Eleni should know – she’s been guiding here for 40 years.

Mid-October, Athens is still a summery 30 degrees – heaven by a hotel pool, but a little more than I’d bargained for as I planned long mornings weaving around the city’s ancient wonders. 

But I soon get into a rhythm. I do my sightseeing before 10am, lounge on rooftops through the heat of the day, then head out after sundown, eating and drinking my way through the ramshackle, hand-painted bars and smart Mediterranean bistros in Psyrri or Gazi, or hitting the riot of après-work cocktail bars north of Ermou Street. 

The city is criminally underrated, the best mix of captivating historic roots, cool creative neighbourhoods and hearty hospitality. If only the air were a little cooler than the welcome.

I fan myself with a pamphlet on the Parthenon, and meditate on the thought of a dip in the Aegean a few days from now.

With some time to spare, I’ve tacked a few nights onto my city break to cool off on the “Athens Riviera”, which stretches from the historic port of Piraeus down to the temple ruins at Cape Sounion. This sliver of coast is where locals come to flee the summer heat, bombing down coastal roads for weekends at high-walled villas or sea-view apartments by beaches that range from sceney to sporty to sleepy. 

It’s closer than it might seem, too: no onward flight or hours-long ferry involved. Instead, I’ll be nipping just out of town, a 20-minute metro ride and a 10-minute cab from Athens’s ruins, to the craggy fork of coastline around Vouliagmeni. 

The Riviera has barely registered with tourists, who tend to strike out for the more-marketed islands, but I want easy, instant lounging – and if it’s good enough for Athenians, it’s good enough for me.

I spend my last city-centre day in Kolonaki, Athens’s answer to Chelsea: brunching at glossy bakery Queen Bee, jogging the twisty-turny paths of the National Gardens, sipping aperitifs at queue-worthy Zurbaran.

By the next morning, I’m sea-side in Kavouri, a string of apartments and tavernas along a rugged, toffee-coloured beach, backed by puffs of sunlit pine forest. It’s a pretty 4km coastal walk from here to upmarket Vouliagmeni, crowned with beach clubs and sushi bars. Kavouri side, you get the hushed lap of the waves early morning, unobscured electric sunsets, and a more local atmosphere. Staying at the friendly, no-frills Amarilia Hotel, I’m even woken by the bell of its neighbour, the chapel of Agios Nikolaos, nudging me to slide back the balcony door and acknowledge the sparkling Aegean.

I take the hint and jog along the pretty, paved coastal path that starts in front of the hotel, eyeing sleepy fish restaurants and waving to local pensioners taking their morning dip straight off the rocks below. The morning sun simmers the wild rosemary that trims the path, mingling its scent with the sea spray for a full noseful of Med. I happen upon skinny tracks down to tiny pebble inlets, where locals have spread their towels or set up deck chairs. A few glance up at me, miffed that I’ve stumbled upon their spot.

Crossing Kavouri’s headland to Vouliagmeni proper, I snoop around the entrance of its exclusive Astir Beach, where £50 lounger rentals make my eyes pop like an old Warner Brothers cartoon. I decide to spend the day, instead, on Vouliagmeni’s public beach (loungers £7), with its silvery shingle, bat-and-ball courts, and sparkling clear shallows.  

Plunging in, the comfortably cool water quickly cleanses me of three days of city grime and suitcase-shoulder. Straight ahead, a string of pastel windsurfers decorates the horizon like bunting. Small beach shacks serve up nuclear-strength iced coffees and £1.50 toasties. Everything feels fresher out here – cooler and breezier. Everyone’s in holiday mode. I dry off, dig into my book, and join them.

There is a flash side to this stretch of coast – the tranquil Astir Palace resort, now a Four Seasons, is where the “Riviera” scene began, attracting Jackie O and Brigitte Bardot in the seventies, and a host of imitators ever since. You can go wine tasting at family-run vineyards such as Strofilia, their smooth red agiorgitiko banishing all memories of musty retsinas on past Greek holidays, or take a sunset sailboat down to Cape Sounion. 

Cushioned loungers and butler-serviced beach clubs wink at every turn, but I keep things low-key, sipping coffees in beachside cafes or hopping on the coastal 122 bus south, spotting locals pulling over to swim in luminous aquamarine coves below motorway overpasses. It’s easy – and cheap – to simply hop off at the nicest-looking spot.  

One afternoon, I settle in at Agia Marina, where a bar with thatched parasols plays bossa nova covers of Rihanna and The Lovin’ Spoonful, full of young hotties sipping tequila cocktails at sunset. I try to read my book, but my focus is pulled by young skater guys skimming across the shallows on a bodyboard, teaching local kids their tricks. Down here, summer still rocks on.

Back in Kavouri, I treat myself to dinner at Krabo Beach, a white-and-wicker hangout modelled on Mykonos, where my meal is entirely blush pink: silky taramasalata, grilled salmon with skin as brittle and salty as dried nori, with palest rosé from the other Riviera. Yachts linger just offshore, like glowing lanterns on an inky bay, while their passengers order magnums of fizz and laugh raucously over the music. It seems to strike the balance between elegant and earthy. Greeks, it seems, find it hard to be 100 per cent pretentious.  

On Sunday, I rest my rosé head by Lake Vouliagmeni, a few paces inland, where entrepreneurial locals have set up a slick amphitheatre of butler-served loungers around the mystical-feeling, emerald lake. Framed by plunging ochre cliffs, it’s pretty fabulous, even when I brave the weed-strewn water, supposedly thick with muscle-soothing minerals. It’s an utterly peaceful alternative to the beach: no thwack-thwack of bat and ball games, no shrieking kids.

Best of all, I’m not so removed that I can’t dip back into the city. One night I take the metro from nearby Elliniko for an evening in the hip Pangrati district – starting at the serene B&E Goulandris gallery, full of Picassos, Van Goghs and lashings of contemporary Greek art. 

I mooch on to its grid of low-lit bars and restaurants, devouring goat’s-cheese pies soaked in honey and raspberry-balsamic salad at Mavro Provato, the sort of joint where friends loiter late into the night, nursing espressos or digestifs. After nightcaps at Musique Bar, I spring for a cab back to the beach, retreating to its cooler, breezier microclimate before the clock strikes 12. Sinking into cool white sheets, I brush aside thoughts of setting an alarm. I’ll just wait for my church bell reminder, and see where the day takes me.

Wizz, Aegean, British Airways and Ryanair are all currently offering direct flights between London and Athens.

In the city, relaxed Asomaton, in a listed stone building, has rooms with terraces and a tranquil rooftop minutes from the sights; from £62, B&B. asomaton.com

Slightly more old-school, St George Lycabettus has a rooftop pool with a priceless breeze; from £85, B&B. sglycabettus.gr 

On the Riviera, sea-view Amarilia Hotel, behind relaxed Kavouri Beach, has affordable, comfy rooms and a pool; from £97, B&B. amarilia.gr 

For something luxurious, try Somewhere Vouliagmeni; from £190, room only. somewhere-hotels.com