Nana Princess hotel review: island of stories

“Zeus was born in a cave in that mountain just over there,” remarks our guide, Georgia, casually, as we drive along an otherwise unremarkable coastal road on the northern edge of Crete. We turn to look out of the bus window, as if we might catch some glimpse of ancient Greece’s ruling deity among the pine trees and scrubby bushes which carpet the peaks.

“We believe that these entities genuinely existed here,” she says. “Stories like the Minotaur and his labyrinth, or Daedalus and his son Icarus, who flew too close to the sun… there is a grain of truth to all of them.” Certainly, Crete is the kind of place where you could imagine divine beings in their element. Colourful wild flowers line the winding highways, alternating with olive groves, orchards groaning with fruit, and the occasional vineyard. The bounty of the island includes olive oil and wine, as well as figs, almonds, lemons and cherries.

It’s a heady mix, and, as we travel past the sparkling, turquoise sea on one side, and the wild, lush interior on the other, it’s difficult to imagine anything bad ever happening on this piece of paradise. But something did, and it was unnervingly recent: our ultimate destination, on today’s idyllic drive, is to the former leper colony of Spinalonga. It’s currently a small spit of rock, just 20 acres square, situated a 15-minute boat journey away from a little harbour in in the pretty village of Plaka, on a north-eastern tip of the island. During Venetian rule, between the 13th and 17th centuries, a fort was constructed here, the remains of which still stand.

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Its tragic history started in 1903, when the only solution to prevent the spread of this unpleasant and, at the time, incurable disease, was to isolate sufferers. Husbands were separated from wives, mothers torn from children, youths ripped from families, and sent across by boat to live on this unprepossessing, windswept, empty islet. Life was, as you can imagine, almost unendurable, but the lepers adapted, building shelters, then homes, planting food, even establishing shops and going to church. Spinalonga’s status as a leper colony finally ended in 1957, when the sufferers were taken to Athens for treatment.

From Plaka, home to a parade of cute cafes and souvenir shops, the islet looks very close – indeed, several people attempted to swim back to the mainland after being taken there – and you can clearly see the Venetian battlements which ring its contours, named mezzalunas (half-moons) due to their semi-circular shape. I board the small tourist ferry which whisks us across; it’s a blazing hot day without a cloud in the sky, and as we approach, I can see how green Spinalonga is, carpeted with trees and grasses, and blooming with flowers. The water around it is crystal clear, and it all looks so beautiful I can’t imagine how the poor people being rowed to their exile must have felt. “Lepers being brought here left all hope behind,” says Georgia, when we disembark. “It was an island of the living dead.”

It’s an eerie feeling, being somewhere so beautiful, yet so abandoned and now relatively overgrown. Red poppies blaze along the crude, paved paths, butterflies darting between them. There’s the remains of a rudimentary hospital, and a church dedicated to St Panteleimon, the ‘all-merciful.’ We see the big gates leading to the docks, which would be kept locked – heartbreakingly, families could only speak to their relatives from the other side of them. Spinalonga was immortalised by Victoria Hislop in her best-selling novel, The Island, which was published in 2005, then turned into a hugely successful, 26-part TV series in Greece in 2010, much of which was actually filmed on site.

It’s sobering stuff, and an important part of Crete’s history. Nevertheless, I am relieved to partake in a relaxing glass of wine at lunch in a nearby taverna, before heading back to my hotel. The Nana Princess is built into the side of a slope which dips down to the sea in Hersonissos, just twenty minutes from the capital, Heraklion. The notorious party town of Malia is another ten minutes down the road, but thankfully, here, all is peaceful and serene, with a backdrop of mountains behind, and in front, just an endless expanse of deep blue water.

Its design is a departure from traditional Greek touches, being built in steel, glass and stone; from the floor-to-ceiling windows in the lobby, which give onto a jaw-dropping view to the sea, to the dark teak staircases, twinkle-lit pools and steel slats on the front of the building.

The 106 rooms and suites, most with their own private pools, are split over five different levels which stretch down to the beach. Mine, a spacious deluxe suite, boasts a relaxing lounge area, a sizeable outdoor deck, and a marble-tiled bathroom with a chromatherapy dial you can use to change the light colour. But I choose to spend the rest of the day by the resort’s main pool, with its nifty call buttons attached to each parasol, enabling you to summon a friendly waiter who can deliver a cocktail straight to your lounger. The resort also has a sizeable spa, the Royal Wellness, which has a well-equipped gym, an indoor heated pool, yoga studio, and all manner of different hi-tech massage treatments.

As the sun starts to sink into the sky, I head to the Artemis bar at the top of the resort, for a drink with a killer view over the water, as the lights around the hotel start to slowly illuminate. Then, from a choice of three main restaurants, I head back down to Meat in Point, perched on a corner of the smaller, second pool, which serves delicious dishes such as hearty Cretan salads, home made pastas, and rabbit stuffed with wild mushrooms (all of which I sample, to be honest).

There is silence all around, apart from the chirping of cicadas, and I bask, finally, and completely, in Crete’s mythical beauty.

Superior sea view rooms at Nana Princess start from 241euros / £212 per night; to book, visit nanaprincess.gr.

BA flies from London to Crete from around £186 return; ba.com