From the Future!
I was originally going to post this on our last day on Santorini, but as is typical, life got in the way and this post slowly gathered dust. So yes, I know that I'm posting it over a week later. My apologies. Dear reader, when you read these words, just imagine that it is still April 29th and we are still on Santorini. It's a snapshot of how I felt at the time and I've tried to maintain that through my edits.
The Island
We've been on the island of Santorini now for the better part of a week. We arrived on Saturday, the 23rd of April, on an enormous ferry that was more like the cruise ships waiting in the harbor than any ferry I'd been on before. It seems normal enough at first, if a bit large. To board the ship, there's a metal on-ramp. Hundreds of people and cars gather outside and duly mob the entrance at the appropriate time. But then there's the staircase that leads you through this brightly lit passageway that feels like it belongs in a mall. And at the top there are restaurants, cafés, and shops lining walkways that extend down either side of the ship on multiple levels.
It sort of makes sense. This is a major people-mover and you can end up spending a lot of time on it. Our trip, for example, was about 7 hours. That's a long time in one place. So of course in a place like Greece, doing a thing like transporting tourists to idyllic islands, capitalism is going to happen.
As we exited the stairs, a uniformed man inspected our tickets and pointed us toward the back, saying something about the particular floors we were allowed on (6th and 7th, apparently). For we of the lower, economy class, a small café and some open seating at the back of the ferry would be good enough. Truth be told, it was what I would have preferred anyway. The seats were good and sturdy, there was a roof over our heads, and the views of the Mediterranean were all around us.
My only real complaint was that by placing ourselves outside, we were implicitly placing ourselves in the smoking section. And boy do the Greeks like their cigarettes. When I was here some 16 years ago, I remember the situation inverted - indoor spaces were almost ubiquitously soaked in smoke and outdoor spaces were our sanctuary. Times have changed. At least the wind helped.
As the ship pulled away from the port outside Piraeus, the early morning sun cast an orange haze over the scene. In the distance, container ships laden with goods sat at anchor, waiting their turn. With their cargo, they looked like tiny islands of neatly stacked, colorful lego bricks. I imagined some child-god sitting on the hills around Athens, throwing his toys into the sea in a fit.
Fire and Ash
Santorini is really not just one island, but a small, circular archipelago. It was formed through multiple volcanic eruptions, which left the caldera that we see today. The main island, and the one most people talk about when they talk about Santorini, is shaped sort of like a half-circle or a half-ring. I think that more properly it's called Thera, though it's confusing because that's also the name of the main town on the island, the port, and an ancient ruin (which are, of course, all in different locations).
The terrain is dramatic and rocky, filled with young and jagged and wild and multi-hued formations. Unlike some other volcanic islands, the many eruptions from various volcanoes have deposited a variety of different rocks and minerals in the area, with a variety of different colors. There's iron-rich red, coppery green, lime white, black, brown, tan, and many others. At times, the rocks jut out at strange angles, like waves frozen in motion.
One of the most famous volcanic explosions of all time took place on Santorini around 1600 BC; the Minoan Eruption. At the time, there was a thriving civilization living on Santorini, based out of an archaeological site now known as Akrotiri. (In fact, this name is taken from a small nearby village; we don't know its original name.) When the volcano went off, it triggered a tsunami that filled the city with mud, then deposited a truly insane amount of ash on top, like 20 meters of it. In one sense, yes, this destroyed the bronze-age town. But in another, it preserved it in a unique and remarkable way.
There is still much to be excavated, but the amount that has been found is astonishing. They had dual hot-cold water systems, multi-story buildings, a complicated political system of group rule, and second-story bathrooms connected to a sewage system. Remember, this was a millenium before Rome's famous water systems! When excavations began in the 1950s, Santorini was still using outhouses. Imagine how much of a shock it must have been to find a 3600-year-old second-story bathroom connected to a pipe with a backflow valve (to prevent odors from leaking back up the pipe). The society was so advanced (plus some other historical coincidences, like the obvious prosperity of the city and the means by which it was destroyed) that some people think it might be the site of the legendary city of Atlantis.
But this is just one way of describing Santorini. There's a lot more going on here than volcanoes.
It's All About the People
The archipelago is full of people. Far too many, if I'm honest. (And yes, of course, I'm part of the problem.) There are hard-to-imagine numbers of tourists that come to visit this small place every year. And I can see why. It's gorgeous, the climate is great, and the food is good. It's both a land of pampered luxury and rugged nature. You can complete a 5-mile dusty hike in full sun, visit a world-class vineyard in the afternoon, and have dinner prepared by a michellin-starred chef on a cliff overlooking the setting sun.
What I wasn't expecting was that many of the Greeks we would meet would also view Santorini as a place of possibility and second chances. So many tourist destinations have an air of something fundamental being lost, so it was strange to hear such positivity from those who live on Santorini. As the man who picked us up and drove us to our sea kayaking excursion put it, for them Santorini is an "island of opportunity". It was a story we heard echoed elsewhere:
At home, life was not good. The family was disrupted. (In one story, there was a divorce. In another, a death.) It was time for a fresh start. Santorini held promise and the chance to do what you want. Fast-forward to today and they have a successful business (running kayak tours, running a guesthouse, etc.).
Of course, the people we're talking to are those who already like tourists. That's why they work in tourism and are happy to talk to us. Even so, I thought it was notable that everyone seemed to be so friendly.
Take our experience with a grain of salt. One person suggested that it was only because we're here in the shoulder season after a long winter that everyone was so friendly to us. Essentially, people are just happy to have customers. The implication is that once the tourist season truly gets going, we should expect nothing of the sort. From what everyone said, Santorini in the summer sounds hectic, packed, and unpleasant. I'm glad we got here while everyone is still relaxed.
Home at Kamari
I want to leave you with an image of our daily life.
The guesthouse we're in is run by a Greek family that, while not originally from Santorini, has lived here for a good long time. Adriana said she's lived here for 27 years and her husband, Iannis, mentioned moving to Santorini as a teenager. At this point, they have truly rooted themselves in the community. They know all the local businesses, their kids are in the local schools, and they know the drama of the town. Iannis even helped out on a few of the archaeological digs.
The guesthouse is at the southern end of Kamari beach, just up some stairs by the bottom of the cliff. Because of its position, the view from the front of our apartment every morning is of a glittering sea, a rocky cliff, and the gentle curve of the beach. In the distance, another island rises through the blue-shifted haze, a smattering of white on one end.
There's a cat here. She's fluffy and friendly and we have no idea what her name is, so we gave her one - Stragalakia. It's a bit of an inside joke, but I'll explain. Back in Kalambaka, we bought some snack that we thought was crispy chickpeas. Once we actually ate some though, it was very clearly not that. What was it actually? No idea. Try as we might, we could not get a good translation for the name of the snack. The closest we could get was "Stragalakia Fluffy". Thus, the cat's name.
When we want to get somewhere, there are two routes we can take. We can go down to the beach and walk along the water, or exit the guesthouse via a dirt road that becomes a paved road and leads eventually into town. Along this road is an excellent Cretan bakery where we've gotten many tasty treats and coffees to start our day or to bring along with us for lunch. But don't let me mislead you - we also boil water at home and make instant coffee most days. Double the coffee, double the fun, right?
Alexa has taken it on herself to make sure that every day she takes a dip in the sea. I usually join her at the beach, but the water is cold and I've only gone in a couple times. It's beautiful though and I understand the appeal. The salt content is pretty high too, so it's remarkably easy to float, and the water is clear to the point of deception.
In the evening, I work. Typically, there are three or four hours of meetings and "face time" I need to put in to make sure the team knows that I'm still around. I fill the gaps with writing code or documents and it all seems to work out. The projects get done, everyone is happy, and I try not to let my job stress leak too far into my life beyond those hours. At times I am less successful at this task than I would hope, but I do try.
We wander into town for a bit to eat some evenings and cook in our little kitchenette others. It's not an elaborate set up, but it works. Truth be told, we eat quite well. It has not been anywhere near as hard to eat vegetarian in Greece as I had expected. Lamb is everywhere, yes, but so is Fava.
Sleep comes whenever we feel like it. The sound of the waves doesn't quite reach us here, but the feeling of the sea just outside our window is still present. I think that's the thing I'll miss the most about this place - just knowing that I can turn my head at any time and the great expanse of blue will be there.