Monocle Weekend
Edition: Saturday

“So, would you recommend Mykonos?” Now, usually when you get asked about a holiday destination that you know in detail, the answer is either a resounding “yes” or some clear warnings about the hygiene levels or unsavoury people that hang out there (yourself included, possibly). But when anyone asks me about Mykonos – a dozen visits to my name – I always pause and sometimes just fail to offer a committed reply.

Why the reluctance to becoming a fully fledged ambassador for somewhere I seemingly can’t stay away from? Well, Mykonos town at night heaves with cruise-ship trinket-buyers who seem to be perpetually discombobulated by the town’s labyrinthine network of alleys. The retail scene is increasingly pitched at a crowd presumed to have lost all sense of taste in the heat. Restaurant owners have become giddy with their pricing; having watched Narcos, I imagine Pablo Escobar was charging less per kilo for his wares than the restaurant owners of Mykonos are requesting for their scaly catches.

Yet while other Greek islands may have nicer beaches and fewer avaricious traders, that’s not the point. And so, despite all of the above, I still come back to this place.

I am typing this on the terrace of a quiet modernist hotel looking down on to a garden of fondant-fancy pink oleander, flame-red hibiscus and palm trees jiggling in the breeze (you can suffer from terrible wind in Mykonos). And just beyond is the sharp blue sea being whipped into soufflé-soft waves. All I can hear is sea, rustling leaves and doves.

And that’s the Mykonos trick. You can have two very different holidays here – and even alternate them from one day to the next. Today you could take your scooter down the rough track to Fokos Beach where there are no sunbeds, no beach clubs and just one restaurant: the cute and amazing Fokos Taverna. It lures you in again and again with sunny food and the team somehow remember you from year to year. Then tomorrow you could head for lunch at Spilia in the east of the island. It looks across a perfect bay where yachts drop anchor and people head to the restaurant in ribs, or simply dive into the water and swim to their table. There’s a DJ and, likely, dancing once rosé o’clock strikes. These two places couldn’t be more different but both are sublime.

Mykonos is also a place of beach clubs made for every taste. There’s the chilled (well, in daytime anyway) Alemagou and the now Soho House-owned Scorpios, which at night is rammed, beautiful and filled with a party crowd drawn from Beirut to LA (someone modestly arrived by helicopter when we went).

Now, there are many travellers who will find the jumble that is Mykonos perplexing, wishing there was a little less litter and fewer squished kitties on the roads. Or maybe they’ll hanker after a Greece of goat herders and simple living (although even that is still to be found in Mykonos). And I get it. Yet what can’t be beaten is the blue cloudless sky, the breeze on your face as you head back to the hotel from a day reading and sleeping on the beach and the knowledge that tonight could be a fun night out or a moment of calm. It’s an island that is changing, and fast – and who knows, perhaps the affair will come to an end.

But anyway, just to be clear: I really am not recommending it. No way. And definitely don’t blame me if you find yourself dancing on a table, clapping your hands out of rhythm and wondering if you should take up Greek dancing.

How do you capture the scent of a work of art? This question was put to French parfumier Officine Universelle Buly, which has been working in collaboration with the Louvre for more than a year to produce eight scents inspired by pieces in the museum. Ramdane Touhami, owner of the fragrance house, enlisted the help of eight of the industry’s most perceptive noses to create perfumes inspired by the likes of the “Venus de Milo” and Gainsborough’s bucolic “Conversation in a Park”. The latter has been interpreted by Dorothée Piot as a delicate rose-scented aroma. The perfumes are only available to buy from Officine Universelle Buly’s pop-up shop (open until January) in an old postcard booth at the Louvre.

Jessica Johnson is executive editor and creative director of The Walrus, a Toronto-based magazine dedicated to longform journalism, poetry and fiction. Since 2003 it has become one of the most treasured names in Canadian media, winning countless awards. Its pages have featured the brightest names on the country’s literary scene (Margaret Atwood, among others).

What news source do you wake up to? Apple News: I immediately check if they selected one of our stories to feature. After that it’s a round-up of various topics but I usually start with Canadian politics.

Coffee, tea or something pressed to go with headlines? French press if there’s time. I get Stumptown beans when I’m in New York and bring them back to Toronto. They set off the security machines because of the density of whole coffee beans.

Something from the FM dial or Spotify for your tunes? I listen to Spotify but my taste is varied: folk, rock, classical, disco. My own algorithm is pretty weird and I’m not concordant with my own taste from day to day.

What’s that you’re humming in the shower? I’ve been relistening to Rihanna and “Work” with Drake is stuck in my head. I listen to one artist for a while then move on. The last was Lucinda Williams.

Five magazines for your weekend sofa-side stack? I’ve subscribed to The New Yorker since I was five – my grandparents got us a subscription. I love Cook’s Illustrated. Dinette is beautiful on the intersection of food and culture. Nouveau Projets won magazine of the year at the Canadian National Magazine awards. This might sound weird but Men’s Health is my favourite women’s magazine: full of nutrition and exercise tips, relationship and career advice.

Are you a subscriber or more of a newsstand browser? It’s changed over time. I like browsing more now; as a magazine editor I want to see everything in the market in situ.

Bookshop for a drizzly Saturday afternoon? In Toronto the go-to place is Type.

Sofa or cinema for the evening? Sofa: I’m usually reading. Since Trump’s inauguration I’ve re-read old books to escape. Right now I’m reading society novels set in the UK about 100 years ago. There are a lot of class parallels to now.

What’s the best thing you've watched of late and why? I haven’t had as much love for a show since Outlander ended. I find it hard to follow what people say is amazing; there are too many good recommendations out there. It’s better to find things on your own.

Sunday brunch routine? My speciality is homemade granola or scones.

What papers and periodicals will be spread out around among the viennoiserie? Currently my kitchen table has the Mueller report, a stack of New Yorkers, and a Nerve book called something like “365 Sex Positions” that I found that in my neighbour’s giveaway pile. I often bring home local newspapers, literary magazines and weird flyers.

Do you still make an appointment to watch the nightly news? Nope and I haven’t for years. If I need to hear about something I’ll find out about it; our entire staff is connected 24/7 through Slack. This is a problem too: I often feel that we’re too plugged in.

What’s on the airwaves before drifting off? When I’m ready for sleep I put the phone in the kitchen to charge overnight. If I’m unable to sleep I might read a book; I find that’s the best way to deal with the overload of the modern world.

‘Rouge’, Yuna. Malaysian popstar Yuna spends a lot of time in Los Angeles and it shows: there’s plenty of care-free Californian cool on her latest record Rouge. Two years in the making, this breezy album embraces 1990s pop and funk, with just enough hip-hop and R&B to make it delightfully danceable. Star collaborators Little Simz and Tyler, The Creator feature but it’s the duet with G-Eazy on the single “Black Marquee” that’s irresistible.

‘Kamala House, BV Doshi’, Apartamento Publishing. In 1963, young architect BV Doshi undertook his fourth commission. It was his most formidable to date: a home for himself and his wife on a modest plot of land near Ahmedabad, India. The home that the Pritzker laureate built – and still lives in – is now considered a pillar of modernism. This slim flick-through from Barcelona-based Apartamento shows the space in cheery use, complete with an intrusive peacock and squeezy Dettol soap by the sink. High-minded modernism meets everyday living.

‘I Love You, Now Die’, HBO. An intelligent, profound approach to true-crime stories has become director Erin Lee Carr’s trademark, making her a rising star in the world of documentary film-making. Here she delves into the story of Michelle Carter, a US teenager accused of driving her boyfriend to commit suicide via text messages. The subject matter is grim but Carr’s thoughtful touch goes beyond sensationalism to explore teenage obsession and the effect technology has on it, only to reveal that there’s always more depth to people than expected.

It’s hugely popular with tourists come summer but Cyprus, a former UK colony, has its fair share of political tensions to fuel the country’s press. A longstanding dispute with Turkey, which illegally occupies the nation’s north, regularly makes headlines. The Cyprus Mail launched the day after the British council’s Cyprus Post folded in 1945; today it is the nation’s only surviving English-language daily. “My father saw a gap in the market when he launched it,” says current managing director Kyriacos Iacovides. The periodical has since introduced more pages and is distributed to a readership of 2,000. We talk to Iacovides about women’s football and freedom of movement for popstars.

What’s the big story making the news? A Turkish ship has started drilling in areas considered the exclusive economic zone of Cyprus. It’s a mess.

Best headline? “Women play great football, get over it”. There’s been a lot of moaning about how the women’s world cup is not as good as men’s football and how women don’t know the rules: [this piece] pulls all the complaints apart.

Best picture? We carried an image of Kyriakos Mitsotakis, the new Greek prime minister, with his arm around the leader of Cyprus’s ruling party, Averof Neophytou. Neophytou is smaller and Mitsotakis has arm around him – they look like father and son.

Down-page treat? Recently a singer of ours was criticised for going to the north of the island to perform. We don’t recognise the Turkish northern territory. The southern press accused her of being unpatriotic for going, the irony being that almost the entire crowd there were Cypriots visiting from the south.

Spending a night in the desert is an idea that seems destined for comic failure, a self-imposed hardship for the sake of derring-do and a glimpse of the Milky Way. But it’s worth it, especially when done properly – and you needn’t stray far. Scarabeo Camp is an hour outside Marrakech in the Agafay Desert. Owned by Belgian couple Vincent T’Sas and Florence Mottet, it has somehow managed to elevate camping to a new level of luxury. Guests kip in private, opulent Bedouin tents, ride camels in the morning and enjoy Moroccan syrah by candlelight come sundown. All modern amenities are present (no latrines, we promise) but the set-up is minimalist enough to conjure feelings of real adventure and escapism, à la the efforts of a 19th-century archaeologist. Most guests stay for a night; some just pop in for a long dinner and chinwag by the fire. If you suddenly decide it’s not your cup of tea, fear not: a Scarabeo jeep will have you back in town before the sand in the timer has stopped falling. Now that’s service.

Smock, the in-house brand of Los Angeles shop Mohawk General Store, is bringing its breezy Japanese-Californian aesthetic to Brooklyn. Throughout July, the brand will host a pop-up at Williamsburg’s Pilgrim Surf + Supply. New Yorkers already appreciate Smock’s lightweight fabrics and generous, roomy silhouettes: Brooklyn is the brand’s second-largest market. “I think of Smock as a resort collection,” says Kevin Carney, the brand’s co-founder. “You can dress it up or down. You can wear it to Palm Springs or in the city. It’s a warm-weather uniform.” Snap up a cactus-print T-shirt and dream of the desert.

OK, we have been here too. Last week on a flight to Zürich we were feeling all smug as the crew prepared to close the plane’s door. Why? The seat next to us was empty so there would be space to spread our mobile office. But just at that moment, a woman darted onto the plane, taking her seat next to Mr Etiquette. Then the mist descended. She hadn’t dabbed her wrists with her favourite fragrance, she’d been hosed down with it. We tried using the overhead air nozzle to waft it away and coffee to mask the stench – but to no avail. Could we have said anything? Sadly that would have been even ruder. But we were secretly pleased when she wrapped herself in a blanket to defend herself from the nozzle chill – a metaphor for our frosty mood.

We hop aboard the M1 in Madrid to see how the nifty Wolta Rampini offers a helping hand to those who need it most: residents in the steep, historic borough of Lavapiés.