I grew up believing Greece existed in permanent blue light. Mamma Mia! reruns taught me that islands meant sequins, heartbreak, and women singing on rooftops. But when I landed in Crete — my first time in Greece — the scene was quieter. The Aegean shimmered without music. Even the sunlight moved differently here, slower, more deliberate, like it had nothing to prove.
That same unhurried rhythm defines JW Marriott Crete Resort & Spa, the brand’s first Mediterranean property and its most thoughtful expression yet of what luxury can mean. “The opening of JW Marriott Crete Resort & Spa marks a milestone moment for the brand with its entrance into Greece,” says Bruce Rohr, JW Marriott’s Vice President and Global Brand Leader. “Every destination we choose is carefully selected to reflect the evolving values of luxury travelers.”
For Rohr, the goal isn’t just to impress, but to exhale. “Our properties need to speak to the unique culture, design language, and local traditions,” he tells GRAZIA USA. “It’s not enough to simply place a beautiful hotel in a beautiful location.”
Crete, in all its elemental glory, gives that vision form.
Arrival: Where Architecture Breathes
Perched on a 100-acre stretch of coastline in Marathi, near Chania, the resort doesn’t announce itself with grandeur. There are no flashing signs or glossy arrivals — only a discreet path lined with olive trees leading down to an architectural whisper. Designed by the Athens-based firm Block722, the resort seems to grow out of the land itself: stone walls merge with cliffs, roofs are planted with native flora, and every structure faces the horizon as if in quiet worship.
Inside my suite, the restraint was its own luxury. Walls of sun-baked plaster, marble floors cool underfoot, ceramics made by local artisans — each element simple yet deliberate. The color palette mirrored the island: terracotta, sage, sand.
I ordered a glass of rosé and tzatziki from room service, opened the sliding doors, and sank into the private pool that blurred into the horizon. Below me, the Aegean was still. For a moment, I forgot the rest of the world existed.
Design as a Dialogue
Rohr describes the new era of JW Marriott design as “a balance of form, function, and emotional resonance.” That phrase comes alive here. Every line and surface feels calibrated to encourage stillness — a luxury that’s increasingly rare in a world that runs on noise.
And while sustainability has become a buzzword in hospitality, here it feels structural, not symbolic. “Luxury and sustainability go hand in hand in today’s hospitality landscape,” Rohr explains. That philosophy is embedded throughout the property: geothermal and solar energy systems, heat recovery from air conditioning, and gray-water irrigation ensure that beauty doesn’t come at environmental expense. It’s not sustainability as branding; it’s design logic.
The interiors are tactile and grounded — soft linen, olive-wood furniture, stone basins that look carved rather than installed. Light pours through the glass at different angles throughout the day, transforming the rooms into living artworks.
You don’t notice the details immediately; you feel them first.
The Taste of Time
Crete’s culinary heritage is woven into the property’s DNA. Across six restaurants, JW Marriott Crete treats food as storytelling — part ritual, part revelation.
Dinner at ANOEE, an open-fire restaurant by Chef Manolis Papoutsakis, was a sensory education. Smoke, salt, and lemon mingled in the air. The gamopilafo — lamb and rice simmered in broth until pearlescent — carried the weight of centuries of celebration. “It’s what you eat at weddings,” my waiter tells me. “For luck, for joy, for family.” It tasted like home, even for someone who had never lived here.
At Õnalos, the sea-to-table restaurant overlooking the Aegean, a plate of seafood crudo gleamed like a watercolor, while the cuttlefish offered zest and silk in perfect measure. Even the bread, drizzled with local honey, seemed to taste of sunlight. Cuccagna offered rustic Italian simplicity, while Fayi turned communal Mediterranean dining into performance — platters of olives, figs, and grilled vegetables served family-style.
Every meal draws from the JW Garden, the resort’s on-site farm where thyme, capers, and oregano are grown for the kitchens. “It’s not about farm-to-table anymore,” Rohr says. “It’s about helping guests understand that what they eat is part of the ecosystem they’re standing in.”
At sunset, the garden transformed into a dinner party — long tables, gleaming candlesticks, the air heavy with rosemary and sea breeze. The kind of evening where the conversation fades into the rhythm of the waves and everyone speaks a little softer.
Later, at Line Athens — the resort’s collaboration with the team behind one of The World’s 50 Best Bars — I ordered a cocktail of Cretan botanicals, lemon, and sage. The space, a circular sunken lounge of marble and velvet, felt like a conversation between Halston and the present: decadent, but never loud. If the spa is where the mind exhales, this is where it winks.
The Ritual of Wellness
The next morning, I visited ANOSEAS Spa, where time itself seemed suspended. My therapist began a massage that unfolded like choreography — precise yet fluid, each movement intentional and attuned, a symphony of scent, pressure, and touch that blurred the line between ritual and reverie.
Afterward, I lingered by the hydrotherapy pool, sipping herbal tea as the light danced across the water. Beyond the spa, the Aegean glittered, still and infinite. Rohr’s words came back to me: “It’s not about escape. It’s about reconnection.”
Here, reconnection feels almost unavoidable.
A Toast to the Island
That evening, I joined the resort’s sommelier for a private wine tasting overlooking the cliffs and sea. She poured Assyrtiko, Vidiano, and Kotsifali, each tasting of mineral and sunlight, each carrying the story of Crete’s terroir. “We’ve been making wine for four thousand years,” she says, smiling. “We don’t rush it.”
Dinner blurred into twilight. From my table at Õnalos, I could see the faint outline of the mountains beyond Chania, where the island folded into shadow. It felt like sitting inside a postcard that refused to stay still.
Beyond the Resort
To understand Crete, you have to leave its luxury for a day. In Chania’s Old Town, cats roam between café tables and every corner smells faintly of grilled fish. I wandered the cobblestone streets, ate octopus and bread still warm from the oven, and watched locals mingle over tiny cups of coffee.
Another morning, a Notos Mare boat arrived directly at the resort’s dock — a cinematic detail that never stopped feeling surreal. We sailed past cliffs and coves where the sea shifted from turquoise to silver. When we anchored, I jumped in. The water was cold and crystalline, the kind that wipes away thought.
Later that afternoon, I drove inland to Tsikalaria, a small pottery village, where I met Maria, an 82-year-old ceramicist whose hands moved like poetry. She guided me as I shaped a lump of clay into a bowl that promptly collapsed. She laughed. “Good,” she says. “Now it’s yours.”
By the time I returned to the resort, I understood what makes it so singular. The JW Marriott Crete isn’t about spectacle — it’s about sincerity. The design doesn’t announce itself; it invites you in.
Every space — every corridor, every terrace — feels attuned to its setting. The materials are tactile, the vibe hushed. It’s a property designed not for Instagram, but for introspection.
Leaving Slowly
On my final morning, I woke before sunrise and slipped into the pool outside my room. The sea below was glassy, the sky bruised with light. I sipped coffee and thought about how different this was from the Greece I’d imagined. No dance numbers. No soundtrack. Just design, silence, and the feeling of being entirely present.
JW Marriott Crete doesn’t sell a fantasy — it builds a reality. One made of stone, light, and the rare luxury of calm.
Because true design, like true travel, doesn’t tell you where you are. It teaches you how to see.
