Greece: Floating On

Aboard Silversea’s ultra-luxury Silver Muse, world-class cuisine meets exceptional service and off-the-grid exploration through the Greek islands.

By Anna Constantino

I’m a firm believer that there is no such thing as a good experience without a willingness to have a bad one. I mull over this guiding mantra while perched on a balcony overlooking the Aegean Sea, the crash of waves hissing against the ship and breaking the silence of exquisite seclusion. I’ve flown to the middle of the Mediterranean for nine days, alone. Motivated by a restless ache for adventure, introspection, and renewal, I booked my flights with little regard for what uncharted waters might bring. As the sun sets over my suite, golden light draping the crystal shoreline and whitewashed façades fading into the landscape, it becomes instantly clear: I’m exactly where I need to be—aboard the Silver Muse.

“Miss Constantino!” I step into the gangway of a 700-foot ship, greeted by an enthusiastic crew ushering in my arrival with bubbles. The Silver Muse is one of twelve ultra-luxury ships in Silversea’s fleet; boasting a 1:1 crew-to-guest ratio, its unwavering attention to detail reveals itself immediately. At my suite, I meet my personal crew, Ruby and Henry, who assure me that every need, no matter how seemingly insignificant (see: drawing a bubble bath), will be taken care of. I drop my bags and venture out for an unguided exploration of the ship, winding through corridors to discover enclaves of restaurants, swanky lounges, and wellness havens tucked into every corner. Alongside eight restaurants on board, Silversea’s exclusive S.A.L.T. (Sea and Land Taste) program offers a multifaceted immersion into the cultural identity of each destination, from cooking classes and farm visits to mixology sessions and wine tastings.

After amply covering the ship’s grounds (and a few wrong turns), I return to my suite to find my suitcase unpacked, a plate of freshly baked cookies, and a fully stocked fridge glimmering with ice-cold Stella Artois, champagne, and San Pellegrino (my holy trinity). My jet lag is accompanied by room service, a plush robe and slippers serving as my dinner attire as I unwind for the evening’s sail. Ruby hands me the week’s meticulously curated agenda, outlining an immersive exploration of the Greek islands, each day revealing a new coastline and innumerable possibilities. As quickly as the gentle rocking of the ship lulls me to sleep, I awaken to the subtle rumble of our anchor dropping. I pull back the curtains and step onto the balcony, greeted by fresh, salty air. First stop: Mykonos.

The morning begins with an herby omelette and fruit platter, then a quick hop aboard a tender boat to deliver me ashore. My first S.A.L.T. excursion brings me to Mykonos Farmers, a family-owned dairy farm producing fresh sheep’s and cow’s milk cheeses and yogurts. We’re greeted by Yiorgos and his wife, who lead us through a tasting—the creamy synotyro becoming my favorite—and teach us about fermentation. Between stuffing our faces and sipping wine, we prepare yogurt tzatziki, kremydopita (onion pie), and phyllo for Yiorgos’ grandmother’s coveted baklava recipe. A cheese-induced haze leads to a walk through town with new friends, weaving through white-and-blue corridors, pit-stopping for Greek coffee and seaside views.

By late afternoon, I’m back aboard the Silver Muse, indulging in a catnap before donning formal attire. A watercolor sunset accompanies a hugo spritz in the eleventh-deck Observation Library, its panoramic view setting the tone for cocktail hour. Dinner at Kaiseki—the ship’s omakase and hibachi-style restaurant—miraculously aligns with my new friends’ reservation time, and we enjoy wagyu, tuna, and a passionfruit crème brûlée before a nightcap at the Art Bar.

As if teleported, I wake to the natural beauty of Syros, an island in the Cyclades. A smooth sail readies me for a solo day exploring the colorful town of Ermoupoli and its neighboring medieval village, Ano Syros. The town renders the Greece of my imagination: buildings dripping with bougainvillea, bustling sidewalks, and crystal beaches teeming with laughter. A hilltop hike works up an appetite for Greek yogurt and pistachio gelato, a walk through the marbled streets leading me seaside. Down a quiet corridor, the gap between two buildings frames a perfect window to the water, revealing a wooden dock big enough for one. A swim with minnows and a sugar crash bring on a beach nap, followed by dinner at La Dame.

One of the ship’s two premier dining enclaves, La Dame specializes in French cuisine, offering a prix-fixe menu of classics, from bouillabaisse and escargot to langoustine and filet mignon. The standout, aside from an ounce of Oscietra caviar on ice, is a creamy mushroom velouté with herbs and truffle oil, perfectly paired with a glass (or three) of chenin blanc. I cap the meal with cognac and soufflé before slipping next door to Silver Note to hear the jazz band play.

My week settles into a ritual of eating, adventuring, swimming, and repeating, the ship feeling more like home with each passing day. Mornings greet me with a new shoreline and my usual breakfast (which Ruby has somehow memorized to a tee) and evenings conclude with a cold drink under a new sky. Despite embracing my seclusion, familiar faces bring comfort: a smile in passing, a shared conversation between pool chaises, and my favorite bartender bestowing the nickname I’ve apparently earned around the ship: “Miss Hugo” (spritz). With bottomless Duval-Leroy at my disposal, who could blame them? It’s the little things. 

Our Greek Island extravaganza breaks briefly for an interlude in Kusadasi, Turkey, where I trade one vessel for a slightly smaller version. The day begins in the spice markets, collecting locally grown saffron, pomegranate tea, and wild oregano for my pantry back home, before heading to the marina. I board a wooden gulet—a traditional Turkish sailing vessel—with five strangers from the ship. What starts as polite small talk quickly dissolves into cackling laughter and swan dives into the ocean, with a bottomless supply of Turkish wine to blame. We snack on feta, olives, and baklava before returning aboard for a well-deserved steam in the Zagara Spa and an afternoon by the pool.

Dinner finds me noshing on spanakopita, tabouli, and grilled prawns, then retreating to my private balcony for my nightly sacrament of champagne and caviar overlooking the water. My suite awaits with turndown service—and, tonight, an offer to draw a bubble bath paired with chocolate truffles. In my spoiled-rotten state, I select whichever bath salt screams “vacation” and soak until my fingers prune.

Morning brings Nafplion, a coastal town in the Peloponnese. A smooth eight-hour sail readies me for yet another S.A.L.T adventure, this time wine tasting (naturally, a morning activity for the Greeks). At Domaine Skouras in Nemea, we tour the cellar and taste six wines, the pours generous, the Mediterranean sun even more so. We finish with Labyrinth 9922, their most renowned bottle, created using a fractional blending technique of sequential vintages of the Megas Oenos label, matured together in a special barrel. I stroll around town in a wine-buzzed haze, stopping at a corner store for prosciutto, dolma, and a beer, then perch on a rocky cliff at Arvanitia Beach. Hours of swimming, reading Patti Smith, and bronzing put me in an ethereal state of relaxation, until a nearby voice pulls me back.

“Where are you from?” A Greek man and his wife take a seat near me, offering chips with a smile. “California,” I share. “Miss California!” they exclaim (my second nickname of the week). They insist their English is awful; I assure them my Greek is worse. Somehow, we manage, chatting about life for an hour. They tell me they’ve sat on this very rock every day for the past twenty years. And here I am—once to be found, then never again. “Why are you here?” they ask. I pause, unable to articulate the answer. “That’s a good question!” I laugh. 

We say our goodbyes, the couple blessing my safe passage as the tender ferries me back to the ship. The orange sun warms my face. The meeting already feels like a fleeting, precious memory. Why am I here? A meal shared with strangers. Breaking bread on a beach. A smile from a passerby. We’re all just travelers. Sometimes you land on the same path for a moment; sometimes that moment is the “why.”