Edra’s favorite part of the trip was the potato chips. I ate some pretty weird flavors in Australia (ketchup chips—yuck!) but the ferry had oregano (pronounced “or-ay-ga-no”) which Edra loved.
We arrived in Santorini a few hours later, sailing past the volcano and into the Caldera. The caldera is a circular area of water surrounded by land masses which used to be connected, until a volcanic explosion separated them, forming a huge crater-like bay. The volcano lies smack in the middle of it all.
We took a long, windy road up the mountain, and drove across the town until we got to our home for the next four days, Fira (aka Thira). Our apartment had a beautiful balcony and a small pool overlooking the water. We immediately took to the pool, and spent the entire afternoon staring at the beautiful view. At one point, we heard bells ringing, and were thrilled to see an old Greek man (complete with a Greek fishing cap) leading 10 donkeys right past us. Turns out we were on the donkey path, and watched the scene repeat itself each evening.
I didn’t think Mark would be tire himself out in that tiny pool, but he must’ve swam a thousand laps. He exhausted himself by dinner.
Fira was the most wonderful little town. Built high on the cliffs, the houses and shops seemed to be part of the mountain, carved into and jutting out of every little crevice. There were a thousand steps to every hotel or shop, and each entry was framed by a colorful door in an archway. No matter where you turned, you got a marvelous view of the ocean, the whitewashed houses, the colorful doorways, or infinity pools that seemingly fell off the cliffs and became one with the sea.
The c ruise s hips loved Santorini, and dumped thousands of cruisers into town each day. It felt a bit crowded, but as small as the tiny town and little alleyways were, it didn’t feel impossible to navigate.
The food was as amazing as the rest of our vacation spots. The first night we tried a local specialty, pureed fava beans cooked in a little crock with cheese (and no, Mary, we did not drink chianti with them!).
Even better was breakfast, which the hotel housekeeper made for us every day. She brought out a huge tray of peaches, hardboiled eggs, grilled cheese sandwiches, fresh juice and coffee and sweet breads every morning. We’d relax on the balcony, taking in the view and the food. It was a lovely way to start each day.
The second day, the girls decided to take a boat tour of the Caldera. They purchased tickets to ride what I called a pirate ship. I was wavering about going, especially because the ship visited both the volcano and a beach, but after I heard their recap, I was glad I opted out. They hiked 45 minutes up the volcano at noon, in the middle of the summer, so to say it was hot is an understatement. They also jumped from the deck of the boat into the ocean and swam to the beach, then swam back. And to top it off, the boat dropped them at the bottom of the cliffs, and they had to hike up the mountain and back into the town. Never mind my wussy self, I’d have been doing all that with an equally wussy 10-year-old. The girls had a good time, but assured me I’d made the right choice in cancelling.
Instead, Mark and I took the bus to Oia (pronounced “Eee-ya”). It was cheap, only 2 Euros, 10 cents, because Mark’s child’s seat was half-price. It was a lovely ride across steep cliffs. We ended up in the picturesque Oia, which is famous for all its blue-domed churches.
There were about a hundred cliff-top restaurants with fantastic views, but none of them served gyros (akin to our lowly taco), so Mark had no interest and was growing hungrier and crankier by the minute. Eventually, in the most beautiful town I’d been in, I settled for the one restaurant with no view simply because they served gyros, which satiated my growling child.
There were about a hundred cliff-top restaurants with fantastic views, but none of them served gyros (akin to our lowly taco), so Mark had no interest and was growing hungrier and crankier by the minute. Eventually, in the most beautiful town I’d been in, I settled for the one restaurant with no view simply because they served gyros, which satiated my growling child.
We wandered the cute little village for a few hours while we waited for the girls to return from their boat ride. It was hot, and all of the Greeks disappeared for their siesta. Mark played for a while in an empty playground, and I realized the Greeks must hate their children. They had a few metal toys, like a merry-go-round, which was scalding hot in the mid-day sun, and the entire yard was covered in lava rock – good times if you fall and scrape your skin up.
About 20 minutes before the girls arrived, I gave up on our wandering and found a little pub with a phenomenal view. It had a sign outside that read “Ice cream” and I could see a full bar, so I knew both Mark and I would be happy. It was so hot and the view was so wonderful that I didn’t even hesitate when I read the menu and saw the ice cream was $10. It was even more expensive than my beer!
No one in Greece gives good directions, and that day was no exception. The barkeep sent us in the wrong direction from the actual port landing, but eventually we did meet up with the girls at the big church in the center of town.
We learned that Amber and Lori had ridden the donkeys up the path, but Vicki and Edra walked all 300 steep steps up the cliffs. We also learned Edra needed a little space, and so we have it to her.
Oia is also famous for its gorgeous sunsets. The whole town comes out to watch them, so we claimed a prime viewing spot about 90 minutes before sunset. We bought some crepes and did some serious people-watching, until the sun stole the show. The colors were fantastic, and I was glad we’d stayed.
However, the bus ride back was a bit hairy. We grabbed one of the last buses back, and I had the exact change in my palm. I handed the guy 2 Euros, 10 cents, the same price I’d paid on my way there. He barked at me “2 Euros, 80,” the full price, which threw mw off. I dug through my coins, handing him what I thought was 2, 80, but he tossed it back at me. Five people passed us getting on to the bus, so I just gave the guy three Euros and boarded.
Turns out we were the last tourists on. I stood in the aisle, and poor Mark literally stood next to the driver. There was an English mom and 20-something daughter sharing the jump seat next to us, and I whispered to Mark that he’d better not fall asleep like he did on the way there. Then I gripped him for dear life as we drove in the middle of the road, sometimes passing quad-runners, sometimes very near the cliff. I swore I was going to die on a Greek bus.
We’d finally made it town, and I breathed a huge sigh of relief. The driver stopped at the first stop, but I figured no one would get on, as there was literally no space for them to stand. How wrong I was! No less than SEVEN Greek girls got on, and crammed into the space between the driver and the door! I lost sight of Mark for a minute, and panicked, until the man in the seat next to me grabbed him and pulled him safely to his seat. He stood Mark protectively in front of him, as I thanked him profusely.
And just when I thought it couldn’t get worse, the girls started flirting with the bus driver. Who flirted back, even as he was passing slower cars, and driving with one hand. At one point, on a sharp curve, as he passed a motorcycle and flirted with a girl, his cell phone rang, and he actually answered it. I closed my eyes at that point, and just prayed to make it out alive, with my son intact.
But the rest or our week went much more smoothly. We took the bus the next day to a black sand beach, which was super rocky and made up of crushed volcanic rock. We paid 3 Euros each for our own personal palapas and chaise lounges, and I thought we were in heaven.
But Mark was the most in heaven—there were all sorts of vendors on the beach, selling DVDs, clothes, sunglasses, even binoculars! We had no interest until on guy walked by selling donuts, and then I couldn’t resist. I think that was pretty much the epitome of everything my son loves—surf, sand and donuts.
But Mark was the most in heaven—there were all sorts of vendors on the beach, selling DVDs, clothes, sunglasses, even binoculars! We had no interest until on guy walked by selling donuts, and then I couldn’t resist. I think that was pretty much the epitome of everything my son loves—surf, sand and donuts.
The last day we spent first in the town, and then in our little pool. Mark really wanted to go on the funicular, but there was no way I was going on that cable car to death. Luckily, he has wonderful aunties who took him down the mountain and back up again.
While they were gone, I ran into Edra, who’d been shopping in the town. It was sweltering hot, so we stopped in a café to enjoy a Greek beer. I figured it was close to lunch time, and was stunned when I found out it was only 10:45. I don’t ever drink beer that early in the morning, but it just seemed right.
We savored our last day in the pool, staring at the Caldera and the wine bar across the way. No one ever went in there, but they had a big staff, at least 5 or 6 people who somehow managed to keep busy. We enjoyed our last sunset over a savory dinner, and then ended up back at the wine bar, just because we’d been staring at it for four days and couldn’t leave without trying it out. I ordered a 12 Euro strawberry champagne (about $16!) and realized why it was always empty.
We woke early the next morning and sadly bid Santorini adieu. Lori, Mark and I hoofed it to the balcony on the other side, where we screamed “Opa!” and broke a plate. The other girls wanted nothing to do with our ritual, but I wasn’t leaving Greece until I broke a plate.
We took the ferry back to Athens, where we enjoyed one last fabulous dinner. We also enjoyed an equally impressive breakfast, not because the food was any good, but because we had one final amazing view of the Acropolis. It was a fitting way to say goodbye.
All in all, it was an incredible trip, and I will be pining for Greece, its beautiful islands, friendly people and wonderful food for quite a while. I have the memories and the photos, and that might sustain me for a bit, but not forever.
Because in my head, I’m now a little bit Greek, and in my heart, I know I’ll return again someday soon. But until then, I’ll smile every time I eat a gyro, and I’ll laugh every time I hear someone shout “Opa!” And I’ll hope that my return is not too far in the future…
No comments:
Post a Comment