Ah Santorini, I’ve been dreaming about visiting this tiny little island since I read The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants when I was about twelve years old. In the book, Lena, one of the four main characters, and probably my literary soul mate, travels to Santorini to visit her family, aptly describing the magic and beauty of Santorini along the way.
Pleased that I could finally cross of this ‘must visit’ island, I took the ferry from Paros to Thira, the port city of Santorini, and arrived in the early afternoon. The hostel where I was staying was in Perissa, a beach town about forty minutes away, but luckily my hostel offered transportation to and from the port. So, here’s the thing about traveling: sometimes you just have to throw all notions of right and wrong, normal and abnormal, safe and dangerous out the window. Some things are simply done differently elsewhere. For example, in the States it’s somewhat frowned upon to hop into an unmarked white van chauffeured by a hairy man who doesn’t speak your language and let him drive you up the most winding treacherous cliffside that you’ve seen in your almost twenty one years of life, simply because they are holding a piece of cardboard with the name of your hostel written on it in sharpie. But in Greece, this is the norm, so I happily hopped aboard the previously mentioned van and trundled up the mountainside, praying for a well-functioning emergency break the entire way.
Luckily, I never had to find out whether the emergency break was working or not, and made it safely to my hostel. I spent the rest of the very hot afternoon wandering around, eating crackers and seltzer (my stomach may have been a bit off-put by the van ride), and enjoying the sunset on the black sand beach. I chose to stay in Perissa because it was cheap, and while it had a nice beach town feel to it, it was not the Santorini I came to see. I was in search of Lena’s Santorini, or more specifically, Oia (pronounced ee-uh), the white washed cliff town nestled high on the northern point of the island.
I found out I had two options for transportation from Perissa to Oia. I could take the bus or I could rent a moped. After viewing the quality of the roads on the drive to my hostel and after my bike experience in Copenhagen, I decided on the bus. We rolled into Santorini around midday and I was quickly blown away by the views. Santorini is what remains after a huge volcanic explosion, and the island therefore takes a circular shape surrounding a sunken in caldera (cauldron) that has filled with water, four hundred meters deep. This natural phenomenon has created some of the most stunning views I’ve ever seen, dark blue water contrasted with sheer rock cliffs, with views of sky and ocean on every side. The town itself is composed of one main road on the skinny ridge of the cliff, with side streets of white washed buildings nestled amongst winding paths on either side of the ridge. Precariously lumped together, such that it seems that they could all slide right into the ocean if someone so much as sneezed to loudly.
I had a pretty good picture of the layout and main attractions of Oia from reading the sisterhood books. I knew that there was a bunch of steps that lead down to a very picturesque little fishing village called Ammoudi and I also knew that there was a nice little outcropping of rocks to go cliff jumping off just past the village (this latter part I actually found out from the movie and not the books). I easily found the steps and made my way down them, the stone was rubbed so smooth from the millions of feet before mine that I kept slipping and landing on my butt, the picture of grace. About three-fourths the way down the steps (there was about a million of them) I saw that there were about thirty donkeys tied up along the walls. The donkeys had flowers and shells around their necks and were quite cute from a distance. I quickly realized however, that in order to get down to Ammoudi I would have to walk right past the donkeys, like right past them. I stopped and considered for a while. Donkeys kick, donkeys bite (maybe?), donkeys spit (no, that’s llamas). But, this was the only other way to the bay and anyway, I was almost done with my trip, if I was beheaded by a donkey I wouldn’t be missing out on any new places (this is seriously the kind of thing I say to reassure myself….) So, trying not to breath, I wound in and out of bejeweled donkeys for the next five minutes, praying that today wasn’t the day they decided to get even with the creature they had to lug up and down those steps for a living.
By some miracle I made it unscathed and was rewarded with a darling little town of bobbing fishing boats and colorful restaurants. Five minutes or so was enough to get the lay of the land (it’s a small town) and having already had lunch, I decided it was time to move onto my next adventure. As I’d been walking down the never-ending, butt-bruising, donkey-hang-out stairs, I’d been able to see a dirt path winding along the cliffside complete with the occasional swimsuit-clad tourist. From this ingenious observation I surmised that this must be the trail to the infamous cliff jumping spot.
(Ammoudi and all the stairs I climbed down and up – note the donkeys)
As I approached the trail I saw that it was blocked off with a small fence and a sign that said “no trespassing, danger from falling rocks.” I stood and contemplated for a long long time, like a very long time. Here’s the thing, I’m game to jet off to Europe by myself for two months, I’ll gladly (gladly actually might be too strong of a word here) stay in a hostel room with seven other men, and sign me up to trek up a big ‘ol mountain for a few days, but when there’s an official sign from a credible source (the Greek government?), warning me that my life is in danger and I’m breaking the law, then I get a little wary, because other than the speed limit, I’m just not very good at breaking rules. So, what to do, what to do? Had the fact that I’d made it unharmed past the donkeys meant that I was invincible or had I used up all my luck in not getting a donkey hoof in the chest? Only one way to find out. Knowing that I would forever regret not taking the path less traveled I surged ahead, ready to fling myself out of the way of any falling rocks. Clearly I’m still alive, so lesson learned, sometimes you just gotta break the rules.
There was a little island of rocks about 50 yards off of the shore where people were jumping. I stood watching for a while, trying to decide if I should join in. I wasn’t particularly nervous, but when you’re traveling by yourself things like this take a little more effort to decide to do. There’s a little theory we international relations people like to call ‘group think,’ that basically says it’s easier to do crazy things when you’re in a group, egging each other on and such. So although I had no swimsuit, nor anyone to share this exciting moment with, I took the plunge (like literally). It was a big day of “you regret the things you don’t do far more than the things you do.” Even more exhilarating than the actual jump was the beauty of the water. There was a little underwater ridge connecting the mainland to this island that was probably thirty feet below the surface. The water covering it was the clearest, most blue green color I’ve ever seen. You could see directly to the bottom, even though it was fairly deep. On either side of this ridge, the water became so deep that it was a dark navy blue. I have no idea how deep it was (you obviously couldn’t see the bottom), but to be that dark I think it must have been VERY deep. Santorini’s caldera is the same type of feature as Oregon’s Crater Lake, with cliffs that sheer, the water gets deep, fast. I wish I could put into to words the feeling I had swimming in that little area. As oxymoronic as this sounds, I was overcome by the most exhilaratingly peaceful feeling I’d ever experienced. It was essentially a whole bunch of “seize the day, you only live once, all the feelings, and live with passion” rolled up into one moment.
So, now that I’m actually in the water… I swam out to the rocks, climbed up to the little jumping area, picked my launching point, and went! It was a swift bit of awesomeness that ended with a major slap of water and the thieving of my earring right out of my ear (probably by a mermaid). I floated in the deep deep water for a little while (a way scarier occurrence than jumping off thirty foot rocks in my opinion) and then swam back to shore to dry off. Unfortunately, instead of relaxing in the sunshine in a state of post-most-awesome-moment-of-my-life bliss, I was greeted by a chatty Israeli man who wanted to talk US politics. First non-American I’ve met who didn’t like Obama, awkward…
Once I was sufficiently dry I made my way back up the donkey steps, a bit of a grueling task in the midday heat. I’d heard that I absolutely had to stay for a Santorini sunset, so I whiled away my time taking photos, milling about the little shops, buying new earrings, and best of all, enjoying some baklava and a cappuccino freddo while enjoying the most splendid view. Although I actually like the baklava I’ve had at home better (more nutty), it was truly amazing to watch the olive oil bubble out of the triangle of goodness as I dug my fork into it, seriously I was in awe.
About an hour before sunset, I staked out on the top of the donkey steps to catch the view. I’m glad I arrived early, because I think every other person on the island had the same idea. In the Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants Books that I mentioned earlier, I always loved how Ann Brashares (the author) was able to paint these very emotionally full moments, where the characters were truly feeling everything a moment had to offer, if that makes sense. I honestly felt this way during the Santorini sunset. The whole experience was almost too beautiful and overwhelming and vivid, especially when coupled with a day of intense sunshine, pure flavorful food, crisp cool water, and all the feelings that came with it. There’s something very tragic about the fleeting beauty of a sunset, and it was very present here.
I think I put off writing about Greece for so long because there’s so much richness there (no, not financial) that’s incredibly difficult to describe. There’s so much intensity in the constant, glaring sunshine, clear water, sharp feta cheese, ridiculously creamy yogurt, and rough red wine, but all coupled with a slow, traditional lifestyle rolling to an island pace. There’s both calmness and passion, fleetingness mixed with eternity. Athens may seem like it’s crumbling to the ground, the houses of Oia might appear to be sliding into the sea, but the places and the buildings and the history has been there for thousands of years. I’m not sure what it is exactly, but I think I’ll finish by saying there’s something really outstanding about standing on the main road in Oia and being able to see blue sea and blue sky in every direction and absolutely nothing else.
Soleil et Café 