My big, fatGreek getaway

The MarBella Elix hotel stands like a fortress on the edge of a cliff, the kind of fortress that would appear inArchitectural Digest and has a telephone next to the toilet.

I’m always confused by the telephone next to the toilet in hotel bathrooms. Is it to receive calls or make them? Am I supposed to use it to report having slipped? As I mull this over I glance to my left at a vast mirror, in which a familiar figure is doing a poor impression of Rodin’s Thinker. His hair is far too long. So I reach for the phone, dial reception and ask if the hotel has a barber. It doesn’t, but the chap on the other end is kind enough to suggest a name in the next town, even kinder to book it, and I now know what these phones have been for all along.

Later in reception I’m handed a number on a piece of paper and instructed to ride up to the town square and dial it. So I suit up, clip in and pedal into the late afternoon heat.

Sea, air and hair

I’m pleased to report that in the MarBella Elix, the hotel breakfast. Disposable gloves and masks are mandatory, but for the first time in too long I am able to pile baklava on my plate in a way that would be embarrassing if I had to ask a server to do it for me.