The marble plaque is improbably specific. In Greek, the inscription, from 2013, reads: “On this beach, on 9 January one thousand years ago, Aphrodite stepped onto the shores of Pafos.” A hulking rock formation marks the spot where the Greek goddess of love is said to have emerged off the coast of Cyprus in a flurry of sea spray and spume, posing naked, at least according to Botticelli’s 15th-century rendering, on a giant scallop shell. She has long demanded deference on this sun-hardened island at the far-eastern edge of the Mediterranean – the ancient temples at Palaipafos, Amathous and Kition where she was once worshipped downgraded over the ages into the bare-chested Aphrodite statuettes sold in souvenir shops across the land. As the sun rises over distant hills (slow and unhurried, as is the Cypriot way), throwing her birthplace into relief against a grey-hazed horizon, I cast a silent challenge to the notoriously capricious deity: Can you help me fall back in love with this place I once called home?

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Aphrodite might have been up to her old tricks on the day Aleksander Eng happened across this historical building, wiped the dust from its windows, peered inside and fell in love with its long-abandoned bones. The now 36-year-old Dane, who made his fortune as an early investor in Joe & the Juice, and his partner Emilie Green Novél, set about converting the former village marketplace into a hotel where 18 rooms frame a courtyard. Mid-century design pieces bump up against vintage dial-up phones and heirlooms – including a tiny pair of scuffed riding boots Eng wore as a child. It feels personal, and a far cry from the soulless resorts that dominated in my day when prawn cocktail was deemed the height of sophistication. Red-and-white-striped loungers under ivory umbrellas surround the pool.

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