Turquoise waters lap in a musical fashion beneath the terraces at Atsitsa Bay. A near postcard-perfect spot, there is even an interesting ruin to mark the point where forested hills ramble down to the shore. Come evening, the sun will set in exactly the right spot, but right now, a small group of us are busy sharing our innermost feelings over morning coffee. I am finding feelings to be distinctly uncomfortable. I’m on the Greek island of Skyros for a 10-day holistic retreat that includes yoga, writing, singing, art, meditation and realising your creative magic. Despite these delights, I’m feeling cynical, feeling mean for feeling cynical, disliking myself for feeling mean, and disliking the others for being the innocent participants in my meanness. It is all very unrelaxing.
I wonder if, by the end, I will have found bliss and wisdom. I certainly hope so. Novelist Diane Connell, who is leading the retreat, tells us that the theme for our time at Atsitsa is “kindness”. “Do we need to be told to be kind?” someone beside me mutters. Perhaps we do. I’m certainly not that good at group activities, but nonetheless, we gather in a wide circle for a getting-to-know-you game that turns out only to work if you don’t try to be an individual. Despite this, some can’t help themselves. Afterwards, on discovering the bar on a gorgeous sea-view shaded terrace and a tasty local beer named Mythos (as well as a local white wine made very nice by the addition of ice cubes), I ditch my plan to drink nothing but herbal teas, and subsequently jettison a further plan to get up early for morning yoga in the Magic Circle. I wonder if I’m attaining vital self-knowledge after all.
Skyros Holistic Holidays was set up in 1979 by American psychologist Dina Glouberman and her Greek journalist partner Yannis Andricopoulos. Back in the day you could avail of tantric sex and primal screaming sessions. This millennium it’s wild swimming and water sports, singing and screenwriting, comedy and creative writing. The writing courses themselves kicked off in 1984, and since then there has been an illustrious roster of tutors: Hilary Mantel, Martin Amis, Margaret Drabble and Sue Townsend have all run courses for Skyros Holidays.
Experiments around creating ideal communities can take place anywhere. A beautiful backdrop certainly helps, but people are people wherever you go, and we certainly have a broad mix. Almost everyone is travelling solo, although some friends have teamed up for the trip. I meet a woman who moved to a new house in a whole new area on the basis of something called astrogeography, and a man who used to work in a media company with former RTÉ director general Dee Forbes, but now makes a living writing murder mystery games. One fun woman writes detective stories, another is a psychotherapist. The astrogeography lady turns out to be lovely, as does a girl who moved to Berlin to do stand-up comedy, supporting her passion by working in tech. She tells me about a clown convention she went to in London, astonished at how serious everyone was.
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I make friends with a just-graduated American doctor, who is travelling around Europe before getting stuck into work, and an artist who wants to switch to writing because, she says, the art world is rotten to the core. Most are genuinely nice, but that doesn’t mean all personalities are compatible. Some put smiley faces, love hearts and kisses after their names on the sign-up sheet. A couple of high-achievers volunteer for everything before anyone else can draw breath and then self-deprecate loudly.
The food is fantastic. We eat on a terrace below the bar, helping ourselves from lavish buffets with delicious hummus, salads, pittas, moussakas and more. Birthdays are treated with amazing cakes. I sign up for a work group to help clear up after breakfast, and quite enjoy the virtuous feelings it imparts, although a former BBC producer doesn’t think I wipe tables properly. Then, extra coffee in hand, it’s time for sharing-feelings-sessions in small groups, and then on to our chosen courses.
I have opted for screenwriting because I have had an idea in mind for years, but have never worked out how to go about it. Years ago, starting out, I failed to get into journalism college, but got offered a place in film school instead. Being contrary by nature, I stuck with journalism, and have often wondered about the path not taken. Some people have come because they’re serious about developing an idea, and others because they want to meet new people. Peel away the communal wrappings and the classes are excellent. Pick one or two core sessions to commit to daily, and any number of other drop-ins, and do as much, or as little as you like.
Catherine Williams is teaching screenwriting, and initially I’m sceptical. Williams has won Baftas for her work on the likes of Teletubbies and Shaun the Sheep. How helpful might she be for the more adult story I have in mind? Very, proves the answer, as we learn how much of good screenwriting depends on everything other than dialogue. In fact, it is days before we come to write any at all. Instead we set scenes, tell story with images and quickly get to a place where vast castles of ideas are building in our minds. People have hidden depths, and as we share the fruits of our homework, it is pure pleasure to hear the rest of our small group’s suggestions on making things even better, always beginning with: “I love that, but what if…?”
After lunch it is siesta time, although the sounds emanating from an optional Sing Your Heart Out make napping more of an interrupted doze. On the second day, I swap an afternoon opportunity to find my creative magic with Rich Watkins, for kayaking with Mark Gunston, mainly because, I rationalise, fewer people will want to share innermost secrets when out in a small craft on choppy waters. Gunston turns out to be a brilliant teacher, and I learn loads of useful new stuff, including a better way of getting back in again after capsizing.
Logan Murray is teaching a fully subscribed comedy writing class, and many of his pupils are keen to try out their lines. I discover some nice secret spots to get away from it all. One of these is a tiny bay, a short walk from the Course Centre. After dark the warm sea is filled with bioluminescence, and swimming covers me with melting stars under the clear sweep of the Milky Way. Staying up late for this is another reason to ditch morning yoga, although I do feel a bit guilty. Creative-writing holidays that don’t include yoga appear to be surprisingly thin on the ground. Do creativity and stretching yourself physically go hand in hand? Maybe it’s got something to do with all that desk time, the hunched shoulders, the RSI from bashing away at a keyboard. Or maybe it’s just the whole retreat vibe.
We take a trip to Skyros town, which is almost impossibly pretty. Cobbled lanes are flanked with whitewashed cottages, windows picked out in blue, and bougainvillea everywhere. Achilles, it is said, hung out here disguised as a girl, courted the daughter of the king and married her before heading off for Troy, where he met his end thanks to a dodgy heel. The town does feel as if it is dripping in myth. It is also dripping in little shops, boutiques and enticing tavernas. Sign up for a town-based retreat, and you trade more distractions for less of the whole commune vibe. Two courses have been merged for my session, so some participants who had booked for Skyros town are busy getting to grips with the more splendid isolation of Atsitsa Bay.
The final night is Cabaret. Performing is thankfully not mandatory, and as my screenplay hasn’t yet left the workings-out stage, I opt to watch. Some people go back year after year to do Murray’s comedy classes, and others are first-timers in funny. It doesn’t seem to make a huge amount of difference to the ultimate results, but there are a few genuinely brilliant moments under the starry skies, and oceans of goodwill. Next morning, we drift down in dribs and drabs for coffee and breakfast cake and tell everyone how wonderful they were.
“What happens here is powerful,” says Connell towards the end of things. “When you get home, wait at least two weeks before you decide to leave your job, your partner or otherwise change your life.” I don’t change my life, as I realise I quite like it how it is now, but it has all given me pause for thought. Do you have to bare your soul with strangers to be creative? Is there a space for grumpy misanthropes on a holistic retreat? And is a holiday like this about finding yourself, or is it to do with getting useful support in your own creative projects? Most likely a bit of both. It is very easy to accidentally get lost in your life, and being pushed outside what has become normal and comfortable can be alarming to start with, but some of the new ideas that it has sparked are still present in my mind. I haven’t, as yet, written my blockbuster, but I do, thanks to Williams and to Skyros, have more of the tools to try.
Gemma Tipton was a guest of Skyros Holidays. The 2025 season runs May 31st-September 20th, from £1,075 for seven nights full board, excluding travel and transfers. Early-bird discounts for bookings made before February 28th classes range from astronomy to living an artful life, singing to SUP Yoga, and comedy to crime writing. skyros.com
Skyros essentials
Getting there
Arrive in Athens at least a day early to make sure of your connecting flight to Skyros. Skyros Holidays recommends the Dorian Inn Athens, from €81 per night. Bus pick-up at Dorian if numbers are sufficient to Athens Airport. Aegean Air flies Athens to Skyros daily taking 45 minutes, return flights about €115 including baggage and taxes. Book domestic flights early, or take a longer ferry journey.
Staying at Atsitsa
Accommodation options include bamboo huts containing two single beds, mosquito netting, a shelf and a mirror. Loos and showers in nearby shared blocks. Request a hut to yourself, an en suite room in the main house, or – as I did – across the cove and up the hill in the local hotel. All subject to availability and at an additional charge. Families welcome during school holiday periods.
What to bring
Notebook and pens, stretchy gear for yoga, beach shoes for swimming off the rocks, flat shoes for walking, sunscreen and bug spray, refillable water bottle. Dress code: casual.
