santorini

A while back I had hanging on my kitchen wall a calendar featuring photographs of some of the most beautiful destination locations in the world: the ancient Temples of Angkor Wat in Cambodia, the canals of Venice in Italy, a tranquil glade in a Brazilian rain forest and, in the merry month of May, a spectacularly glorious and implausible village called Oia on Santorini ~ a seemingly impossible collage of white, blue and ochre tumbling down the side of a steep sienna cliff.

Now, as I stood taking in the exact same view on the way down to our new lodgings I broke into a broad grin, sending a silent but gleeful shout out to Athena, Poseidon and her entire Olympian posse in gratitude for such unbelievably good fortune. That smile didn't leave my face for days.


If all the imagineers in all the Disneylands in all the world labored for a thousand days and a thousand nights they could never in a thousand years conjure a place as fanciful, practical, pretty and profound as lovely Oia.

And if all the tourists on all the buses from all the cruise ships in all the world could stop here to crowd all the streets and all the taverns and get in all the pictures, so be it. Even that would not spoil this tiny gem.


After our uncharacteristic venture into beach resort glamour, we were looking for some traditional island style. We had booked the Chelidonia Traditional Villas
a month in advance and still couldn't get our desired length of stay. So if you plan on coming, plan ahead. And do plan on coming.

Our charming host, Triantafyllos Pitsikalis, pointed out the apartment where he had been born. He now owns and has renovated nine apartments, each unit a lovingly restored former home. Ours was Katarina ~ airy and spacious, with curved white walls carved right into the cliffside, it is simplicity and elegance itself. There is just no other way to put it. I want to live here.







All units feature wonderful private terraces with a view across the caldera toward Imerovigli, Fira, and the southern tip of the island. That is the patio of our unit featured at the top of the web page, by the way. And no, you cannot have it. It is ours. You may borrow it when we're not there, but otherwise, I'm not giving it up without a fight.



And when you stay there, you'll know why.


Our days quickly settled in happy routine. Up first, camera in hand, I'd put the coffee on and climb the stairs to our favorite bakery (chosen for it's proximity after climbing all those stairs) for honey, croissants and, if I could find one, an English language paper for Turk. Then we'd eat on that magical terrace, lingering as long as we possibly could before setting out to shop, eat and explore. I have never been so indolent on vacation before in my life.



And no, I have not a single regret.

Even the dogs are happier here.














We did manage to organize a day trip, clinging to the straps of the local bus for a 45 minute jaunt to the island capital of Fira, a city with spectacular vistas of its own. It was here that we came upon a mode of transportation unfamiliar to most Southern Californians, although we should take note. It strikes me as a very green way to get about.

"Want to ride a burro?" I asked the Turk hopefully.

"Where's it going?" he asked.

I had to admit I had no idea. "To the bottom of the cliff, it appears."

"I'm already at the top of the cliff. Why do I need to go to the bottom?" he inquired.

"Because it's there?"

He looked at me.

"I am not getting on an ass," he replied firmly, "just because it is there."

I could not argue with the wisdom of that.


I absolutely loved Fira for graciously providing their hardworking donkeys with the wonderfully named Magic Sunset Pool Bar. As far as I can see, it is the only watering hole/pool bar for working burros and I applaud their humanity. After a long, hard day hauling around sweaty tourists I think it is the very least they could do.


Athena, divine goddess of whatever-place-we-are-drinking-at-now.


Everyday at around 6:00 pm tour buses drop off day trippers and cruise shippers by the thousands (I think) at the town plaza. From there they begin a slow, winding pilgrimage through the streets of Oia to the western-most point. There, perching on walls, roofs and even at restaurant tables they remain poised for what must be one of the most heralded events on the planet. Our worldly innkeeper finds this exasperating.

"The people that do this are stupid," he tells us one day, shaking his head in disbelief. "Everyone has a sunset! The sun goes down everywhere. It is no different here than on any other part of the island. This is not even the best view. But here is where they bus them..." He sighs and shrugs. People. What are you gonna do?



He makes an excellent point.



Although it is a very pretty sunset.


We made the trek exactly once. After that, we were content to put our feet up, sip a bottle of the house white, watch the colors change over the caldera and thank the gods once again for our very great good fortune.

Yamas! Cheers.