Santorini Musings

To my many fans: I know, I know. It’s been a long time, and I should not have left you (at least without a dope beat to step to). So I’m going to make it up to you by sharing my latest adventure in Santorini. (That’s in Greece, and yes I do feel that I have to point this out because I recently spent 45 minutes trying to explain to a living example of the need for social Darwinism that no, Syria is not in Greece. It is a separate country, and yes, I’m really, really sure.)

The Voyage Out
I flew direct from London on EasyJet, and let me tell you - if you ever want to feel completely insignificant as well as nurture your latent misanthropic tendencies, then by all means take one of their flights. I paid extra for Speedy Boarding, which basically meant a slightly smaller queue and marginally less attitude and incompetence at the check-in desk. I spent 45 minutes waiting to drop my bag surrounded by chavvy families on their way to either Paphos or the south of Spain. Listening to their inane conversation was enough to make me want to go all Sylvia Plath and stick my head in an oven. I fear for the future of the human race, I tell you. I finally checked in and made my way to security, where I suffered the inevitable indignity of a “random” security search. I don’t know what it is about me, but whenever I travel, I get searched. The instances of me not being searched are so low as to be statistically insignificant. It’s annoying - not because I think I’m being pegged for a terrorist, but because they always dump out my bag, and I have packing that thing now to a precision science. (The best was the time the guy unceremoniously dumped my bag onto the table, only to have two tampons, a pantiliner and my journal all fly out. One of the tampons hit his cheek before rolling to the floor, and while I was chasing after it, I realised that my journal had landed open to the page I use for self-affirmations. I have to say, I’m really pleased that I and the lovely man at Heathrow security shared that special moment wherein he got to read such poetic musings as “I am the ninja of hotness” and “I’m smart so it doesn’t matter if I run funny”.)

After a lovely early-morning patdown, following which I didn’t even get an invitation to dinner, I made my way to the gate. Which, of course, was located as far as humanly possible from security. Despite the nice signs marking out General Boarding from Speedy Boarding, the area around the desk still looked like the mezzanine at a rock concert - people milling around everywhere, looking confused and possibly intoxicated. I made it to the plane in one piece (despite being body checked by a woman who was at least 80 and who was rocking the fiercest camel toe I’ve seen outside of a gymnastics studio), and managed to get a seat next to reasonably normal looking people.

The flight itself was uneventful, save for the woman next to me spending a good portion of our 3 ½ hours assuring her elderly father that the plane was not going to crash, and him responding that he was pretty sure itwouldgiven all the statistics he knew. It was really great to kick off my holiday listening to a litany of all the recent air disasters from the past 5 years, chock full of specific details like number of fatalities, reasons for the crash (mostly human error, which did not bode well since I was on Easy Jet and I doubt they recruit from the cream of the crop), and recaps of eyewitness accounts from the few survivors. Can I add that the flight itself was entirely smooth, with not even a dab of turbulence? I would hate to see this pair on a flight during some rough air.

We landed early and I collected my luggage and went outside to find my car. I had arranged with the hotel to be picked up from the airport. (I later found out that there is a bus that runs to/from right outside my hotel and it costs 1.60 Euro but the hotel neglected to share that tiny little detail) I was accosted by a group of middle-aged, sweaty Greek men all smoking those nasty black cigarettes. “Car? You here for car? What you name?” Now, I’ve learned from my travels NEVER to give them my name. I always ask them to tell me the name of the person they are picking up. This assures that they are actually the right driver. (I had one scary situation in Philadelphia (of all places) where I swear that if I hadn’t prudently made a phone call to a colleague, describing the car, driver and license plates, I might not have lived to be writing this right now. I’m serious. I’ve never been more terrified in my life - and it was a cold, clammy terror. The kind that comes from deep within our leftover caveman senses and screams STRANGER DANGER in Hanson Mmmm-bob voices and flashing neon sparkly lights). It turned out that they had my name and after much group discussion in Greek I was led over to… a huge coach bus.

Now, I had reserved a CAR. I was willing to pay 20 Euro for this privilege (let me note that I didn’t know any better, and that I figured it was safer than a taxi. I always err on the side of caution and I’d rather pay a bit extra and not be stabbed, maimed or made dead), but I was not willing to pay 20 Euro to ride on a big ass coach bus. I promptly did my helltotheno face and called the hotel. A bit of a heated discussion ensued, which was shut down when I read back the email I had received, verbatim, which clearly stated that a CAR would be waiting for me with a sign with my name on it. Long story short, I got on the bus. It dropped me off first and I ended up paying 5 Euro. Welcome to Greece.

The Hotel
The women at the hotel were a bit scared by me (I was not exactly radiating charm over the phone). The manager was actually really nice, very apologetic and told me that she could tell I was stressed and she was going to make it her number one job to make me relax over the course of my stay. This was both reassuring and a bit intimidating. The type A overachiever in me suddenly sprang to life wondering how this so-called relaxation would be gauged? What did I need to do to be “relaxed”? Was she tracking anyone else’s relaxation? How did I ensure I was the most relaxed? (You can all see now why I needed a vacation, right?)

I was upgraded to a “junior suite” or, as I would charitably describe it, a reasonably sized hotel room with minimal furnishings and fewer amenities. There was a jacuzzi in the suite (a big box-like thing in the corner with freestanding steps - think MC Escher type staircase), but you couldn’t have paid me enough to put my body in there. I will say that the room was clean and had a nice balcony view of the sea and the pool - and while it was sparely furnished, it actually worked out well because I wasn’t in the room except to sleep, shower and change. I spent the rest of the first day by the pool, slathered in SPF50 and gradually introducing my pale Anglicised skin to that big orb in the sky called the sun.

The pool was small, but nice. The real highlight was the crazy bartender. I’m still not sure of his name. On three separate occasions, I received three different names - Kostas, Frank and Villi. This guy looked straight out of central casting for middle-aged lecherous Greeks. He had the brilliantined hair swept back, the shirt that had too many buttons left open, the gold medallions. He was overly flirtatious (often to the point of being nonsensical) and while I think he thought he was being charming and adding character to the place, we really just weirded me out a bit. It’s a bit unnerving to be alone on a trip, in your bikini no less, and have a strange man staring at you across a pool while lip syncing “It’s Raining Men” and pointing your way. Of course, this didn’t stop my relaxation-deprived self from spending the whole second day lying by the pool in a semi-vegitative state.

Exploring Santorini
I discovered Perissa Beach after exploring a bit of the island (more on that later), and spent the rest of my days there. It’s an absolutely gorgeous little stretch of beach that was quiet, not too touristy and very, very chill. The water was crystal-clear, the perfect temperature (cold without being ice cold). I spent days just lying on my sun lounger, drinking water and staring at sun and sea and sky.

I also spent time in Fira town and Oia. Fira was the closet town to where I stayed and like everything else, was up a pretty steep set of hills. (On a side note, every holiday I’ve taken in Europe has involved ridiculous hills or series of stairs. I’ve long since accepted it and now see it as an added boon - holiday + free fitness!) I liked Fira much better than Oia, probably because the small, winding “streets” had a bit of a medieval feel. There were tons of shops, but they were unique shops - not like many tourist destinations where every other storefront is chock full of “I Love [insert city name]” merchandise. I also thought the food in Fira was top notch - there were many great restaurants to choose from and it was obvious, after a bit of reconnaissance, which ones were “real” and which ones were tourist traps. Oia was aesthetically more pleasing - located right in the caldera with a great view of the sunset (that famous view) and the volcano. There were wide, whitewashed streets and plenty of picturesque churches and courtyards. But the entire area felt a bit hollow and artificial in some way. I think it’s because most of the hotels, B&Bs and rental properties are on the Oia side of the island. Fira has one big hotel and maybe 1-2 small little villas, but isn’t as overrun. I tend to enjoy venturing off the beaten path, so I’ve always liked the less popular areas of places I’ve visited.

The Bus
Ah, the bus. Aka my daily near-death experience. The trip to Oia goes out alongside a cliff. A very, very, very steep cliff with very, very, very windy roads. The kind of roads that make me think of stunts only Jason Bourne could get away with. The kind of roads that immediately invoke “tumbling to a fiery doom”. The bus was a large coach (American friends: think the charter buses you see) and was very nicely equipped with air conditioning and comfortable seats. It was also equipped with a certifiably crazy driver. This man chain-smoked constantly, and took corners like he was driving a finely tuned performance race car. At one point I swear I think the bus was on two wheels… well, at least ONE wheel was not on the asphalt. The road itself was small, and that’s even by London standards, and it was two ways and peppered with mopeds and other crazy Greek drivers. I was white knuckled the entire ride - especially after a near head-on collision with another bus as we were turning a corner at a speed that made me think that perhaps the police were after us.

The way back was better - marginally. We didn’t go back the cliff-side way, we took the road down along side the beach. That was a plus. What wasn’t a plus was the driver on his mobile phone the whole time, also chain smoking, and also talking to his colleague (the guy who took our money and gave us tickets). He managed all three of these while driving that bus all over the road. Apparently, he viewed the lane markings as casual suggestions that could be easily dismissed. We nearly hit about 4 pedestrians, almost crashed into 2 cars, 3 motorbikes and came within an hair’s breadth of getting really well acquainted with the side of a building.

The trips to Perissa were much better, though they reminded me of my infamous taxi rides in Turkey and I have since come to the conclusion that the driving tests in southern Europe must be administered by the heavily intoxicated.

The Greeks
I found the Greek people, aside from crazy bartender man, to be wonderfully kind and hospitable. I also found them to be really, really concerned with the amount of food I was eating… or rather, not eating. The amount of food provided was truly staggering and I suppose if I were a grown man, I might find it an enjoyable challenge. Given that I was spending my days on the beach, in the heat, in a BIKINI (a visible reminder of past foods that were eaten), I wasn’t trying to ingest 5,000 calories a day. Every time I ate what I deemed to be a reasonable intake a food, which was nearly always about 1/6th of what I’d been given, I had to deal with a litany of questions. The thing is, I think they were truly concerned. I was told several times that I was “too skinny” and that I really should be eating more. It felt like the Twilight Zone. Until I remembered that I was in Greece, and these people created whole cadres of Gods and Goddesses dedicated to the arts of eating, drinking and general self-indulgence.

Final Thoughts
All in all, I really enjoyed my trip. I managed to relax - spend real time looking inward and thinking some pretty deep thoughts. I also managed to have some pretty honest conversations with myself and work through some things that have been bothering me. I spend a lot of time alone, but never really time with myself - if you get the difference. It was really refreshing and rejuvenating to get inside my own skin and let go of worry, frustration, anger, sadness - if only just for a little while. I love the Greek way of life - things happen when they happen. The bus timetable is a great example. I’d say it’s more of a general guide or outline as to when buses might, potentially appear. However, if you wait at the stop patiently, a bus does indeed always arrive.

I try to learn something new on every trip I take, or from every experience I have. I take from Greece the knowledge that life goes on just fine, regardless of whether it’s tightly scheduled or not. Worrying is not proactive and only begets more worrying. Life should be enjoyed and savored. A lot of you might be scratching your heads right about now thinking “Yeah, of course, duh….” - but there’s a real difference in saying these things, thinking them and then living them.

Que sera, sera.
And I…

I will be ready. :)