Sani Dunes

Sani Resort, Greece.

Twelve years is a long time to keep faith with one place. Children grow, fashions alter, chefs come and go. Yet every May/June, as the damp British spring stiffens into something resembling summer, our compass points without hesitation to Sani. Our recent trip marked our twelfth pilgrimage, our seventh to Sani Dunes, and my daughter, once a four-year-old clutching an inflatable, now stands, still diminutively, at sixteen, GCSEs freshly behind her. If ever a resort has grown up alongside her, it is this one.

The ritual is set. Our holiday is always booked a year in advance, a small beacon of hope glimmering through the dark British winter. The arrival into Thessaloniki has become familiar choreography, the Sani airport staff, immaculate, warm, efficient, bearing complimentary transfers by Mercedes limo.

Our decreasing proximity to Dunes sees pulses racing with excitement, only to plummet the moment those automatic doors whisper open and the signature Sani fragrance drifts through the air. Heart rates tumble, shoulders loosen, stress instantly eradicated. Hugs and handshakes from staff who remember not just our names but the minutiae of our lives: how my daughter’s exams went, how my business is faring, how our health is. A level of attentiveness that feels genuine, never rehearsed.

At our suite, Champagne, fruit, petits fours, and, in the fridge, a bottle of Negroni, my favoured drink from years past, remembered and reprised. That, in miniature, is Sani: nothing is forgotten, everything is anticipated.

The rooms remain beautifully familiar, spacious, serene, beds so vast they threaten to unmoor you entirely. Ours, with garden and both pool and sea view, had sun loungers outside and storage inside, more wardrobe space than even the most ambitious packer could fill. Dyson hairdryers, iron and clothes steamers, Anne Semonin toiletries in refillable dispensers, practical luxuries, scented and sustainable.

The Dunes pool, largest heated pool in Greece, is lagoon-like, always edged with sunbeds, always mercifully uncrowded. There is no 6am towel dash here; if you leave your lounger for an hour, your towel is spirited away, a quiet rebuke to the selfish. Staff appear with iced water, extra towels, the offer of shade or sun. They are present, but never obtrusive; you are looked after without ever feeling looked over. On the private beach the same rhythm holds: clean sand, safe waters, peace so complete that even time itself feels politely hushed.

Meals at Sani are less about sustenance than ritual. Each restaurant has its own personality, a character in the play, and after twelve years we know them as one knows old friends.

The Beach House, barefoot and blissful, is always our first port of call and our last. Set directly on the sand, it is chilled in the best sense, languid, unhurried, sea breeze in your hair. Breakfast here is light and fresh; dinner more indulgent, a parade of seafood punctuated by ceviche that might as well be a UNESCO-protected dish. I maintain it is world-beating, and I will brook no argument. The Beach House is less restaurant, more ritual, a bookend to every stay.

Fresco, by contrast, is Italian fine dining with all the operatic flair of its chef, Michelin Star reward Ettore Botrini. It is, to my mind, the finest restaurant in the resort. The terrace looks across Sani and out to sea, a stage set for dishes that are both delicate and decisive: swordfish carpaccio glistening like glass, duck ragout that could make you weep, red snapper balanced on saffron rice, and a Tiramisu befitting Signor Botrini’s star, all accompanied with a wine list to rival the best in Mayfair. A meal here is a performance, you half expect the waiters to take a bow.

Katsu, perched on the marina, is Japanese of the highest order. Katsuhiro Hanamure, once of Nobu, presides with the precision of a conductor. Each plate is immaculate, each cut exact. It is, frankly, compulsory, the once-per-holiday place you cannot miss. And beneath it, Sea U bar catches the sunset as though it were invented for Negronis. Between the two, an evening of perfection.

Water, in Sani Asterias, is the flagship, and wears its role lightly. Mediterranean, Michelin-awarded, with a serenity that seeps into you as yachts drift in the marina below. The menu is restrained, elegant; live music often drifts across the terrace. It is a place to sit long after the plates are cleared, simply watching the water live up to its name.

Pines, over at Sani Club, is Greek made modern. It is fresh, seasonal, slightly less theatrical than its siblings, but no less satisfying. The view alone is worth the trip, food enjoyed with the horizon as accompaniment.

Lima, at Porto Sani, is Peruvian sparkle, a little Mayfair glamour transplanted to Greece. The Latin American flavours, ceviches, tiraditos, are authentic and bright, a different note in the Sani orchestra.

Even The Market, the Dunes’ more family-oriented dining room, has its charms. Asian-inflected dishes, crisp service, and, if you go later in the evening, a quieter, more elegant atmosphere.

And then there are the breakfasts, food hot and cold, fresh fruit, eggs any way cooked in front of you and pastries so scandalously good they should come with a health warning. Breakfast here is not so much a meal as an overture to the day.

Beyond food and pools lies an entire world. My daughter, once content with sandcastles and the OFSTED ranked ‘kids club’, now has academies at her feet: Rafa Nadal Tennis, Chelsea Football, Bear Grylls survival skills, scuba diving, sailing, biking, watersports both powered and pedalled. There are forest trails, complimentary activities that range from yoga to synchronised swimming to beekeeping, and even a treetop adventure course of ziplines and bridges. Evening entertainment runs from musicals in the open-air theatre to the much-whispered White Party, a beach party of candles, DJs, and dancers, all in white, stretching until early hours.

The spa, DSpa at Dunes, is a sanctuary. My daughter enjoying a Sublime Radiance Express facial, an hour of Anne Semonin alchemy that left them hovering between wake and sleep, skin softer than diplomacy. Afterwards, tea and dried fruit in the relaxation room, a moment of quiet that lingered long after.

The resort itself is a small town, yet a harmonious one. Complimentary golf buggies and Volvos glide guests between beaches, marinas, and hotels. The Sani Marina is an attraction in its own right: boutiques to rival the most prestigious shopping streets, restaurants, convenience stores, even a pharmacy. Sustainability threads through it all, no single-use plastics, glass bottles of water, wooden keycards, solar energy. You sense not just hospitality but stewardship, as though the place is designed to endure for your children and theirs.

And the staff. Always the staff. Led with aplomb by Nikos Ouzounis, they form an orchestra tuned to human need. Each year we marvel that standards can climb higher, yet somehow they do. Young, yes, but confident, intuitive. Towels appear unbidden. Names are remembered, stories recalled. Other hotels may outstrip Sani in gilt or grandeur, but few can match the warmth of service. We’ve stayed at the Belmond in Ravello, The Savoy in London, Prestonfield in Edinburgh, glittering addresses all. But Sani’s secret is service that whispers, not shouts, and that lingers in memory longer than chandeliers or infinity pools.

And so another eleven days drew to a close. We agreed, unanimously, it was the best Sani holiday yet, until next year, when we shall no doubt say the same again. My daughter disembarked from bed each morning with increasing reluctance, testament enough to comfort. I found myself checking my daughter’s school term calendar for next June before our return Mercedes whispered to the door to collect us.

In the end, Sani Dunes is not merely a resort. It is continuity, ritual, an annual punctuation mark that grows more meaningful with repetition. It is the fragrance in the lobby, the Negroni in the fridge, the ceviche by the beach, the faces that beam in recognition. Sani is not luxury in the abstract; it is luxury made personal, remembered, rehearsed, renewed.

We have already booked our return. Some habits are worth keeping.

“Other hotels may outstrip Sani in gilt or grandeur, but few can match the warmth of its service.”