SANTORINI ISLAND, GREECE

by Dan Winters (posted by his more techy savvy daughter)

"I chose the road less traveled, now I don't know where I am." -- seen on a poster

Legendary Santorini is a short Air Bus flight from Athens (no cocktail service, that short). In 1968, my crew of three guys from our semester aboard program and a fraternity brother and Athens resident Thrasus arrived by cargo ship. It
took 20 hours, we slept on the deck. (It didn't have a cocktail service either). Only four other people got off when we did. We camped for five days on the roof of the only restaurant. The one hotel on the island was closed permanently. This time, there were four

cruise ships in the harbor and if we wanted to sleep on the roof we needed to have booked it six months ago. I would like to wax how much better it was 47 years ago, but I don't really remember. I think we thought it was stunning, but were pretty disappointed that there were no college girls there. The beer was cheap, however. Circumstances had changed. But the thing about beauty, I think, is that it doesn't disappear when a bunch of people look at it, even if they arrive on over-crowded cruise ships. Santorini remains agonizingly beautiful.

The island is part of a circular archipelago. We got the history of the archipelago from Tamara, the Serbian sweetheart who was a crew member on a charter catamaran we found ourselves on. I am sure her version was totally accurate. Here is an exact transcript:

Tamara: "Long time ago, I don't know when, let's say 3,500 years, these islands all big volcano. We say caldera. The caldera blow up. So now many islands, you see in the middle, lava rock." We were  

anchored in front of a mammoth pile of ugly jagged magma that apparently boiled up in the blow up. Nothing grew, nothing. It looked a lot like our backyard since the drought and water rationing. Tamara continued. "Then, I don't know, let's say 2,500 years ago, it blow up again. Now two lava in middle. No one live here for, I don't know, let's say 1,000 years. Then village of fisherman come, I don't know, let’s say 600 years…then we have big earthquake, I don't know, let's say 60 years ago. Now many peoples in Santorini.  Only one peoples live on the lava island. An old guy. They say he broke up with his girlfriend and move there. He Old McDonald. He has many goats, cows, sheep, I don't know, let's say many." Tamara obviously went to the same school of public communication that I did. People want answers, most don't necessarily care how accurate the answers are. Close is good enough.

 

We lucked out. We made all the right travel decisions despite a total lack of research, planning or information. In short, as usual. The first night we raced to the cliffside walk off the main town Thira and sat in the first bar we came to. It turned out to be a perfect place to watch the sunset, which is the primary activity in the town except maybe taking hundreds of selfies of yourself and the sunset. Four teen girls in an awesome display of me-ism, selfied themselves and their drinks for an hour and a half straight. The sun slipped electric orange over the magma pile. It alone was worth the trip. Turns out it would be the only clear evening.

 

The next day on a whim we signed up for a charter sail at 9:30, the bus to harbor came at 9:35. It was supposed to be for 14 people, only eight of us showed up. The crew and the eight were like something casted by Wes

Anderson of the Royal Tenenbaums. There were the overly enthusiastic seniors: us. There were the hilarious mid-thirties Brits: Rob and Nathan. They had just purchased a cottage together in Gloucester. The cottage was built in 1586. Rob said, "It was actually

two years before Sir Francis Drake and his mates sunk the Spanish Armada. It sounds ghastly but it is really quite brilliant." Rob had been a child actor and now directed local theater. "It was

a bloody cock up not to grow into Colin Firth. Not dishy enough so its bugger off, get me arse behind the curtain." Nathan was "knackered" to return to his staid job as an HR consultant. "Feeling a bit narky, been to cheeky Santorini, fancy ouzo, the thought of me barmy job! Makes a mate want to get pissed." We think that meant, he was feeling blue because he liked Greece, disliked his job and wanted to get drunk. Which he did. There was the mid-forties yuppie Alaskan Airlines pilot and his stewardess wife: Chris and Diane. They were trendy outdoors sorts –bikers, skiers, hikers, energy drinks and craft ale. We were not sure they grooved on the Euro crumbling, aged elegance thing. Their Mecca was Bend Oregon. No sitting at a quiet cafe nursing an expresso; they were renting ATVs the next day. The cherry on the top and a

Wes Anderson's casting coup was the couple from Beijing.  He didn't speak English, was a nice guy and had a striking resemblance to that wing nut leader of North Korea. His girl Audrey was not the young girlfriend of the older rich financial guy stereotype, she was achingly pretty, a wispy butterfly—sweet, independent and energetic. He had never been to Paris, she had many times—they were flying there next. It looked like the butterfly was driving the bus. The sailing crew, Tamara, her lanky, charming girlfriend and the handsome captain, were all Serbian. Not a good sailing pedigree, Serbia is a landlocked country. We formed a kind of family during our day at sea which made me the grandfather. I worried about having to pick up the check.