There’s a quiet kind of longing that builds over the years — for stillness, for sun on the skin, for hours unmeasured by productivity.
I didn’t realise how much I needed it until I returned to a place that once offered a glimpse of what rest could feel like.
I first visited Casa Cook Rhodes in 2016, part of a European press trip during the hotel’s soft launch. One of the first in the then-emerging world of “concept hotels,” Casa Cook felt less like a place to stay and more like a space to pause. Though the itinerary left little time to linger, I still remember the feeling of sun-warmed stone underfoot, the stillness of the swim-up terrace, and the quiet pull to return.
This year, my boyfriend and I decided to book a trip with no plans. No museum queues or packed day trips. Just time. A place to let the days unfold. And that place, for me, could only be Casa Cook. I hoped it hadn’t changed too much.
We arrived in the small hours of the morning, hours later than planned thanks to airport delays and frayed tempers. But when we opened the curtains late the next morning and stepped barefoot onto the terrace, everything softened. Tucked into the wild hillside landscape of Kolymbia, where white stone and sun-faded green meet the sea, Casa Cook feels more conjured than constructed. It was designed for what they call ‘bohemian spirits’, a phrase I would usually shy away from, but here it lands differently: a quiet shorthand for people drawn to sunlight, stillness and space. The raw natural beauty of the landscape provides a stunning backdrop to the mid-century modern architecture; all crisp white lines and sparkling expanses of turquoise pool against an unapologetically wild, untamed surrounding.
The last time I’d been, there were maybe 40 guests total. We’d shared long breakfasts and dinners around communal tables, most of us travelling solo. This time, it was couples mostly. A few mother-daughter pairs. Groups of quiet friends. Not the selfie-snapping twenty-somethings I’d half-expected, but people in their thirties, forties, fifties. All of us drawn, it seemed, by the same invisible thread: the desire to retreat.
Casa Cook has grown since then. A second pool, a new restaurant, a wellness sanctuary offering Ayurvedic treatments and full-body massages. There’s even a wellness suite now, with private jacuzzi and treatment beds for two. But it hasn’t lost its rhythm. There’s still a calmness threaded through everything, from the staff’s quiet attentiveness to the gentle soundtrack of cicadas, breeze and the occasional soft shuffle of sandals.
We stayed four nights, on half board — a first for me. Usually, food maps out my travel plans. I was hesitant to tie myself to a single spot. But memory served me well: the meals were, once again, wonderful. Not just tasty, but thoughtful. Morning buffets spilling over with Greek pastries, fresh fruit and just-baked bread. Evenings beginning with candlelight and sharing platters. A halloumi and pomegranate salad still lingers in my mind. The grilled sea bream too, all crisp skin and lemon. I took few photos. I was too content, too immersed in the moment.
And that was the rhythm of our days: slow mornings, swims in the sun, afternoons reading by the water. No plans beyond what the day might bring. I’d packed a Kindle full of summer novels but found myself staring at the sky more than the screen. They say it takes 72 hours to truly disconnect. I’m not sure it took that long. The moment we arrived, something inside loosened.
Casa Cook is quiet, not in a silent way, but in an attuned way. The music never intrudes. The design invites presence. Staff greet you with warmth and then disappear. Even our room, right next to the bar, felt like a pocket of peace once the door closed. The soundtrack of our stay was ambient and low: chill jazz, the hum of cicadas, a clink of glasses now and then.
Of course, just because I was resting didn’t mean I stopped noticing. I’ve never travelled without a camera, and this was no different. I wasn’t planning to make content, but the habit is muscle memory. Luis, thankfully, is similarly inclined.
We wandered the resort together, snapping shadows and reflections, capturing textures. Later, we explored Kolymbia itself — a town seemingly caught in time. Retro signage, faded sunloungers, shuttered restaurants. A little melancholic, a little magical.
Next door to Casa Cook is a newer sibling resort, Cook’s Club. Opened in 2023, it’s larger and livelier. Earthier tones, open spaces, more communal energy. It feels designed for a different kind of guest — sociable, celebratory, and probably a decade or two younger than us. In another life, I might have stayed there. But now? Casa Cook is the rhythm I crave.
Maybe this is just what forty feels like: wanting less from the world, but feeling it more deeply. I used to plan holidays by the hour. Now I find myself planning for quiet. Not because I’m tired of adventure, but because, in stillness, things land differently.
And still, I’m already wondering where to next…
Book your trip to Casa Cook here*
Book your trip to Cook’s Club Kolymbia here*
All photography © Kate Baxter & Luis Leiva.
2 responses
It looks dreamy!
This beautifully captures the essence of a truly relaxing vacation at Casa Cook and make me feel like I was there, basking in the tranquility and savoring the delicious meals. Overall, it’s a wonderful reminder to take time for peaceful getaways and savor the magic of slowing down.