A digital detox with yoga and art on Silver Island in Greece
Caroline Sylge reviews this idyllic yoga retreat near the Evia coast and finds clarity through meditation, her inner artist and the beauty of island nature
When I called from Athens airport to tell my host Lissa I had lost my case, I knew I was in for a good week.
‘No problem!’ she said, genuinely seeming to mean it. ‘I have lots of yoga clothes you can borrow, and everyone gets a free sarong!’
A tiny islet a 15-minute speedboat ride from Oreoi on the coast of Evia in Greece, Silver Island is owned by Greek-South African sisters Claire and Lissa Christie, and hosted by Lissa and her Namibian husband Corné, who live on the island for most of the year - lucky things. With no internet connection, it’s a great place for a digital detox, but I did wonder what being out of contact, with only eight others and myself for company, would be like.
Pretty easy, as it turns out - most especially because of the island’s beauty. It’s covered in waves of silver-green olive trees, fuschia-pink bougainvillea trail across white-washed walls, little yellow flowers grow up in the middle of sandy tracks, wild garlic and herbs are scattered just about everywhere and there are plenty of arty nooks and crannies to hang out in.
I was in an en-suite bedroom named after the goddess Rhea, in one of just two white-painted and blue-shuttered buildings on the island. It was a beautifully serene space with a giant inspirational photo of a moody Victoria Falls on the wall and a delicious egg-yellow rug in the bathroom.
“By the end of the week, I feel connected to everyone, and happy and warm inside. In a quiet moment with no-one around, I stand on the jetty in goddess pose, breathing the ocean air, head raised and jubilant”
I found it particularly pleasant to sit on my bed with my back against the wall, moleskin notebook balanced on bent knees, looking directly out at the ocean through the wide-open French doors, red geraniums in the foreground, the slope of a mountain on Evia island in the distance.
I had a little terrace-cum-balcony that I shared with Michelle, a friendly yoga teacher from South Africa who was six months pregnant and in the next-door room, Panacea. Our terrace had bright red deck chairs, white wrought iron tables and a sun umbrella shoved artfully into an empty olive oil can stuffed with rocks. We sat here a lot in the brilliant sunshine, reading our books, chatting or just staring out to sea or into space.
Yoga was taught in two-hour sessions twice a day, and featured simple, measured, back-protecting sequences, with 30 minutes of meditation before or after each session. Halfway through the week I began to feel real clarity during these sessions and would sit looking at the sea view just listening and smelling the wild sage and garlic growing nearby the open air yoga shala. I was soothed by the yoga nidras (when I didn’t fall asleep during them) and enjoyed focusing on colour and the chakras.
Between yoga classes, I did not miss my laptop or the internet one little bit. Instead I walked alone to the two small and cute beaches, Pebble Beach and Jetty Beach, to the romantic-looking Light House or, early in the morning, to the meditation platform. Each place is beautifully sign-posted with blue threaded lettering on wooden signs.
One day at Sunset Rock I found three giant brown seagull eggs and the seagulls going a little crazy above my head - I was here in early May, and it was hatching season. Turning to leave them in peace, I was thrilled to come across the only danger on the island, a Horned Viper, a small grey and white snake with diamonds on its back and a poisonous bite. Naturally, I leapt over it and ran.
Most days I paddled, swam or snorkelled off one of the two pebbly beaches - it didn’t matter that they weren’t sandy. The sea was always clear and had that lovely crisp marine smell you get from unpolluted waters. I especially loved reading after a dip on Pebble Beach’s loungers, which were inventively slung with tightly bound, multi-coloured ropes.
Throughout my stay I was especially drawn to Lissa. She taught me fun things like an easy way to say ‘thank you’ in Greek (‘ef harry’s toe’) and, alongside Corné, was always interesting, easy company. The two of them are impressively practical - they drive the boat, do the shopping, cook great meals, clean the rooms, grow the veg. Lissa’s incredibly creative and her giant travel photographs, installations, paintings, handmade signs and arty touches grace the walls and the spaces on the island.
A highlight was raiding her art drawer, where I found stencils, paints and paper to while away a happy few hours creating a (fairly childlike) picture of sea and wild plants - I found the whole experience supremely meditative, absorbing and quiet-making, and have been back into my painting at home ever since.
My fellow guests were easy company too - as well as Michelle, there were two 25-year-old Cambridge graduates newly into yoga and full of energy and ideas and another pregnant yoga teacher and her fiancé on a kind of yogic honeymoon. Thanks to Lissa and Corné’s carefree attitude, everyone felt able to do exactly as they pleased, whether that was with others or alone.
It was especially relaxing to share dinner outside, where the large white table was always set creatively with sprigs of wild garlic wrapped in napkins, candles, little vases of fresh flowers and pots of salt and pepper. We sat, looking out to sea, perhaps sipping a glass of rosé (wine is optional here) and enjoying healthy Mediterranean meals served in decorative bowls passed down through Lissa’s family. We munched on carrot and pumpkin fritters with Greek parmesan and sage, beetroot and Greek ricotta with crushed seeds and herbs and lemon dressing, freshly picked leaves straight from the garden, olive breads and ripe and rich tomatoes - delicious.
By the end of the week, I felt connected to everyone, and happy and warm inside. On my last walk, I stood on the jetty in goddess pose, breathing the ocean air, hands out, head raised, jubilant. I left with a clear image of my daughter in our garden at home, with a true and vital urge to see her again and reconnect. Back at the port of Oreoi, I said goodbye to my fellow retreatants, sat in a café with wifi and downloaded 240 emails with a mix of dread and glee. The pull of them took me back to the real world, but before I responded to anyone, I took one more look at the sea, sat back and finished my tea.
