What to do in Santorini on Your Honeymoon

Take a Cooking Class in Santorini.

Taking a cooking class is one of the best ways to enjoy Santorini. There is no better way to create memories of a destination than to learn how to cook recipes that are native to the place you are visiting. Knowledge of how to whip up a creamy and biting “shrimp saganaki” is the ultimate souvenir that lasts a lifetime. The owners of Petra Kouzina take that notion and create an intimate and inviting experience for their guests. When you enter Petra Kouzina, you enter a 1950s cave style house. It is the home of Paula and George, who have an affinity for boho, island-swept, minimalist interior design. In addition, they have a knack for making guests feel like welcomed neighbors as opposed to nervous strangers. 

Cooking alongside your loved one as Paula and George tell stories of their own island-inspired romance and show how that love is reflected in the cuisine makes for a meaningful and thoughtful experience. 

After appetizers and (tons of) wine in the foyer, guests are welcomed into the immaculate and rustic kitchen for cooking class.

Here they prepare the tangy and savory dishes that Greece is known for, including moussaka and fresh Greek salad. Once you finish the hard work of sampling mezze, prepping food, and drinking copious amounts of wine, you get to enjoy the fruits of your labor. In the hazy Santorini heat, under a bright sun, nouveau chefs sit on a breezy porch, curled up on cozy couches with lots of laughter and story swapping. Meanwhile, they all enjoy their culinary creations accompanied with—one more time for the people in the back—MORE WINE!

Want more details? Click here for the entire post about my experience at Petra Kouzina. 

Taste Some Wine.

I felt the dust and dirt blow under my feet while simultaneously watching my sandals turn gray. It was all the evidence that I needed to know that I had chosen my footwear poorly for the desert fields of Santorini. 

“The wine comes from these vines!” our guide exclaimed excitedly. He went off, chattering eagerly about the history of Assyrtiko wine, and its history on the island. Looking around at the arid fields around us, it was easy to see why our guide thought that this might be fascinating to most. It didn’t look like much of anything could grow in those fields. 

In fact, it looked like a place where things come to die. However, the most important ingredient for wine does grow from the muted green plants growing in the ashes.

Assyrtiko wine can only be cultivated in Greece, specifically in Santorini.

Our guide’s pride in being part of tending to and knowing about the rare grapes that grow in the volcanic and ashy fields on the island was abundant.

For anyone who has only viewed wine tasting experience as an opportunity to get sloshed, and is hoping to actually learn about wine and pairings, this experience is for you. Don’t get me wrong, there’s definitely still an opportunity to turn up. However, the vineyards on the island offer you a bit more. You’ll come away with not just having learned about wine, but a true appreciation for wine and the artistry that surrounds it.

I always thought sommelier was a French word for, “I get paid to get wasted.” (It makes sense that I was wrong considering I never took French a day in my life.) However, it turns out there is plenty to learn about wine.

One of the most important lessons of the day involved proper pairing.

I grew up on the south shore of Long Island. It’s a part of the world not particularly known for its appreciation of culture or sense of refinement. Especially in young women. As a product of my environment, I’m more like a pirate meets Oscar the Grouch brought to life. So, what did I know of pairing wine? I always bought the cheapest and largest bottle that I could find. I’d invite my friends over, and put out some Cheez Doodles and Brie. Then we’d drown out the trauma of dealing with the onslaught of “Karens” that infiltrated the restaurant that we all worked at during those days. 

“There’s a little more to pairing than that. Wine can change the taste of certain foods, and vice versa,” our sommelier advised. 

“Bullshit,” I whispered to my husband. Before us lay a range of different snacks: blue cheese, dark chocolate, Parmesan, nuts, and prosciutto. 

“Try a sip of this white wine with the blue cheese,” our guide instructed. The Assyrtiko was incredibly acidic, not bad tasting at all, but left me wondering if the outer layer of skin on my gums had been eroded. The blue cheese was on its usual bullshit: being pretty tasty, but also, strong and cruel on the taste buds. 

As decent as both were, it felt like Sparta had raged a battle in my mouth.

It stung, it tingled, it felt like I needed mouthwash. Our sommelier, always one to delight in surprising his guests, looked like he had been looking forward to this next moment all week. “NOW. Try the blue cheese and this stronger red wine.” 

If this were the 1600s, this dude would have been burned for sorcery. I’d never had such a favorable experience with blue cheese in my life. It tasted mild, smooth, and the creaminess was far more pronounced than its pungency. I typically pass on strong red wines as, to me, they taste like licking a wooden cabinet at an old person’s home. However, having the blue cheese on my palate as I drank the wine—the red was tolerable, and certainly not biting as it would be as a stand-alone option. 

The day was full of lots of learning experiences including the ways that the barrel or cask of wine affect its flavor. Yes, I was buzzed, but I felt that for the first time I grew an appreciation for wine and the ways that it could manipulate and be manipulated. 

After two stops, the day came to a close at a third venue which typically hosts weddings. One was in progress as we enjoyed our last tasting and many of our group mates drew out elaborate plans to crash the celebration, emboldened by the magic of Assyrtiko. Sitting high above the Santorini cliffs, we toasted, sipped, and ate, consumed in awe by the magic of the Santorini sunset—emitting hues of girlish pink, creamsicle orange, and bold yellow amidst a blue sky. 

Scare Your Mother.

A Greek friend of mine told me, “you have to rent a quad with Arthur [my husband] when you get to Santorini! It’s what everyone does in the summer!” 

Images of Arthur and I tumbling off a cliff passed through my mind like a movie reel. I could see the headlines now, “Two Dumb Americans – Mix Up Brake and Gas Pedal – Plunge Into the Aegean Sea.” My overprotective mother apparently saw the same headlines because she warned me that under no circumstances were we to rent a quad. 

So, all things considered, we rented a quad. 

It wasn’t long until whipping around with my arms wrapped around Arthur’s waist that riding on our four-wheel death trap felt thrilling to me. I loved the wind whooshing past my ears and through my hair. I delighted in its wild screaming being the only thing that I could hear as we zigzagged around the island. And I adored finding completely empty roads and seeing how fast we could fly from the starting line to the finish line. On our first day, we never seemed to be going the appropriate speed. 

“Slow down, kids!” An old, white-haired man, crossing the street from the beach, sporting a speedo cautioned us as we zoomed past him grinning. We were high on newly exchanged nuptials and the realization that the island was ours—at least for a week.  

Each time we drove, I felt close to the nature around me.

I remember cruising to our hotel on our last night in Santorini. We meandered through towering deep red cliff sides on our right side with mostly the stars illuminating our way home. I looked out toward the lullaby waves of the sea on the opposite side of us, hushing gently as they landed onshore. Their sound gently lulling to sleep the people in the houses which were carved into cliffs warmly adorned and dimly lit. My husband and I were ants moving among a gargantuan and storybook landscape. 

During the daytime, our encounters with nature were just as intimate. The smallness of our vehicle allowed us to get close to wondrous views of the water surrounding the island. Often, we would pull off the road simply to admire the height of the cliffs and the vastness of the sea.

Speaking of dangerous, if you think of Athens in that respect, check this out. 

 Live Like a Celebrity in Santorini.

If you have dreams of feeling like someone important on your honeymoon in Santorini, get a room with a plunge pool. If your dreams do not include being elbowed in the head by tourists and being knocked unconscious by a selfie stick, stay at Alunia Incognito Suites (or somewhere like it). That is to say, stay farrrrrrrr away from all the hype of the Oia sunsets—as far away as possible. 

Do yourself a great service. You know those three blue domes that you see every woman taking selfies in front of on her romantic trip to Santorini? The ones where women dawn their biggest ball gown dresses and look off pensively into the sea? Pretend those domes continuously emit venereal diseases. People stand unnervingly close together in this packed-out area. So it’s actually not inconceivable that you’re more likely to catch scabies than you are that iconic sunset photo of your dreams. Sorry. 

If you have enough willpower to abstain from Instagram, you might be at a loss regarding the hype surrounding a part of Santorini called Oia (pronounced ee-yah). Most people visit Santorini to stay in an iconic cliffside mega-suite in Oia. The hotels and eateries of the area overlook the sea and have perfect views of the sun setting every night. Most people don’t realize when booking these suites here, that you’ll be sharing your little slice of paradise with no less than a billion other visitors.

I was definitely taken aback by the crowds.

I knew many people would congregate in this area. But I was in shock when I couldn’t walk without literally stepping on someone. The crowds make the already narrow streets of the location feeling suffocating—hardly romantic.

My idea of romance and joy was staying as far the fuck away from people and their selfie sticks as humanly possible while on the island. We managed to accomplish that endeavor by staying at Alunia Incognito Suites: a modest hotel in the middle of a wide-open, somewhat desiccated land. It’s a hotel so apart from “the scene” and people that it seems to rise up from the conception of itself. On a walk around the area, we’d see maybe five people at most. 

One of the closest neighbors that we had was an elderly Greek woman who ran a small convenience store up the road. She was a tough lady who spoke nearly no English. The prices in her store seemed to be decided at whim, but always reasonable. Even if they weren’t, I don’t think anybody would be asking this no-nonsense proprietor for an explanation of her prices. She seemed to know that we were on our honeymoon. Her remembering this detail often brought a small smile to her face when we would stop in to buy wine and snacks. We would always be the only people in the store to emit a happy twinkle from her eye.

While the hotel may have been small, the room was immaculate. 

It had a modern feel despite being in an old Greek church-like structure. Our private plunge pool wore many hats. It provided a gorgeous background during each morning’s breakfast. It was a relief from the oppressive mid-day sun. And lastly, a welcomed source of illumination during our drunken, Fitzgerald-esque, wine-saturated evenings where we would be returning home from whatever the day happened to bring (usually wine and ouzo). At a certain point, I think I actually did begin to think that we were of the same status as the F. Scott Fitzgeralds. A plunge pool, daily cheese plates, and a bottle of wine both in the day and in the evening will do that to a person. 

Thinking about planning a destination wedding? Click here. 

Sit in Sand of Every Color.

Santorini offers diverse experiences in terms of beaches. You’ll really have to take a Goldilocks approach—you try all of them until you find the one that is right for you. 

The black-sand beaches get their color from the volcanic eruptions of Santorini’s long-ago past. The dark-hued sand is bold, especially when compared to the white sea caps and the traditional image of a beach. Visit for the chance to snap some striking photos. Then, relax in a lounge chair settled under a straw umbrella while waitstaff makes sure that your cup is never empty, and that your wallet is never nearly as full as it was when you arrived. 

If you’re tired of being waited on hand and foot, the “red beach” provides a more rugged and adventurous opportunity. While the climb to this beach isn’t necessarily difficult, it can be a bit intimidating. It requires much more physicality and is more rugged both in landscape and experience than the leisurely stroll onto the black beaches.

There are some steep slippery areas on the short hike where there is nothing to help steady yourself. Personally, I felt uneasy wearing flip flops with no traction. Other people around me, even the elderly, seemed to have no issues whatsoever with the climb. So the real problem is probably that I’m a whiny bitch. Readers will know that when I’m corralled into participating in something physical that I don’t feel confident in, I quickly become very frustrated. Don’t let the photos on top of the cliff fool you—I was pissed.

However, there are scattered gems of rewards along the climb.

 For example, private bird’s eye views of the beach below which is set among red cliffs towering above, and bookending the sand and the beachgoers. These are ideal places to stop for a photograph. People seemed to be more than willing to take a photo of you in exchange for your doing the same for them. In a weird instance of flexing, the couple who helped us out with a photo literally said, “have a nice day!” and slid straight down the death-defying side of the mountain covered in sand. I watched in surprise as they cruised right past no less than a million signs that read something to the effect of, “do not wander off-trail – dangerous – risky –you’ll die.” Sometimes, you have to risk it all for the ‘gram. 

The hike was worth the reward. (But at that moment, I didn’t want to admit it; no less to my husband who loves arduous, strenuous, journeys of physical activity.) The towering red cliffs that sandwich the beach like protective arms, enveloping beachgoers in a powerful hug. They have a way of making you feel diminutive and humble. Any opportunity to feel small in nature usually takes your breath away—this was no exception to that ideal. So with each petite crash of a calm, blue wave from the sea, I felt my anger dissipate. 

The water looked to be as smooth as glass.

It contrasted greatly with the rougher sand that met it, full of pebbles, rocks, and seashells. Once you cut your feet beyond repair your reward is water that feels like velvet enveloping the body. It’s a feeling I would never expect from the sea, which is typically harsh and cold—unforgiving to small cuts and nicks from shaving and the enemy of all women’s hair. 

Looking up at the red cliffs and straight out at our belongings on the red sand, it was easy to entertain the idea that we might be on Mars or some undiscovered garden. Somewhere not quite like Eden, but almost. My husband carried me through the water, stared lovingly into my eyes, and once we were deep enough… he pretended to drown me. I, in turn, did the same to him. I grabbed one of his legs and pulled him around the sea until he was gurgling water and smacking the water in a panic. We’re not really the sentimental type, and this is how we show our love. 

In our juvenile play at the red beach, we were children of the red rock cliffs, swept in her embrace. But also enjoying our own embrace, and looking outward toward the horizon, toward the rest of our beautiful lives together.

People looked on in confusion and horror during our horseplay. I was never more aware that we did not have this beach to ourselves. But somehow, it still felt like our own. 

The entire over-touristed island of Santorini strangely felt like our own during our time there. 

Perhaps, it is the memories of the trip which are more our own.

The subjects of our giggles, the tears we cried from laughing too hard, the moments of appreciating Santorini’s jaw-dropping nature in silence with no one else in sight are definitely and will always be our own.

Heading to Mykonos on your trip to Greece? Don’t make this mistake.