Sapphires of Santorini
I wonder whether the Greek Gods were, one day, handed an easel and some watercolors, and whether with their divine powers and godly hands, they had flourished a paintbrush to depict the azure paradise that is Santorini. I’m thinking this as I follow our hotel receptionist down a trail of winding stone steps, my eyes glued to the immaculately blue Aegean Sea stretching out in front of us. I don’t know if it’s the contrast to the white buildings around us, but this blue is like none I have ever seen before. I’m taking each step slowly, one searching tip toe at a time, so as not to take my eyes off the landscape. It’s so breathtaking, so spectacular, it’s almost extra-terrestrial.
My first impressions had been quite the contrary upon arrival. My aisle seat meant that I missed the first views onto the village-scattered calderas and the blue-domed churches whilst the other passengers “ooh’ed” and “aah’ed” in delight. The airport was small and battered. Apparently, the number of taxis on the island is limited, which had worried me given the sight of the airport. But the taxi drivers had been eager and plenty to await us at the exit. We were installed at the back of a car in no time. If I had been expecting a scenic drive up to the north of Santorini, I was disappointed again. The route to Oia (pronounced “ee-yah”) had disclosed none of the wonders of the island I had been so desperate to see. We drove past brown fields, ruins, old electricity cables and donkeys. The water looked grey - in fact, everything looked grey. The sun was hidden behind the cliffs and the whole right side of the island was overcast and murky. Slowly, the road had snaked its way up the hill – closer to the sky, the sun – closer to paradise, I had hoped.
And sure enough, once the taxi driver had dropped us off on a square and pointed us towards the pedestrian street where our hotel was supposedly located, I had known we were close. The pedestrian street was surprisingly empty – due to Covid no doubt – so we hadn’t blocked anyone’s way when we stopped dead in our tracks in awe. In front of us, finally, we saw the sea; the cliffs; the churches; the white houses; the pools; and the way the island curls itself snugly around the other volcanic islands like a half-moon. Welcome to Oia.
We’re staying at the Adronis Luxury Suites Hotel and the receptionist is walking us through our suite. Although she is extremely helpful, I secretly cannot wait for her to leave. Our room is splendid with a king-sized bed, a private pool and a shower the size of a cave. A wall of floor-to-ceiling windows runs along the entire length of the room showing off the spectacular view onto the sea and volcano. The receptionist tells us the room is one of the best they have, and there’s no other room below or next to us. After showing us the island map and scribbling some notes on it, she leaves. Finally, we’re completely alone with our very own slice of Santorini, just for us.
It’s around 3 pm now which means it is lunchtime and we’re both giddy. We’ve been in the pool since our arrival and haven’t eaten since breakfast. Needless to say, we’re ravenous. Ever since planning the trip, Pitogyros had seemed like the place to go for gyros, and there’s nothing mystery man and I like more than a solid portion of comfort food. We get to the small shop located at the same place the taxi driver had dropped us off just a couple hours earlier, and see some people standing in line for a table. Take it from me, lines are always a good sign. The kitchen and cashier are inside a small room, whilst the tables are across the street outside on a sort of wooden deck. The waiter informs us the wait isn’t too long, and we use the time to examine the menu. We both choose the Pork Gyros with a side of Tzatziki and by the time it’s served I am salivating. The wrap is made with warm pita bread filled with gyros pork, onion, tomato, tzatziki and French fries. I take a bite and flavor explodes in my mouth. It’s salty and fresh and slightly spicy because of the onion, and the fries make it feel all the naughtier. We don’t talk while we munch through our wraps loudly, smacking our wet lips and nodding at each other in appreciation. Hands down the best gyros I’ve ever had.
We walk back to the hotel slowly, peeking into a boutique here and there, our bellies full of gyros. I know we’re both thinking of the sun beds waiting for us on the hotel room patio. We install ourselves on them the moment we arrive. As I’m lying there, I can feel the faint breeze tickling my arms. The sun is still hot. My eyelids are heavy, but I look up one more time and see that I’m sitting in the shade of a young olive tree. So pretty, I think before closing my eyes. An understated gem. And its smell… it smells of Ancient Greece…
I must have fallen asleep, because as I open my eyes, the setting sun is painting the landscape with yet another octave of colors. The water, the cliffs, the white houses; they’re still here, but somehow, as the sun is muting its rays, so too are the colors of the panorama. The cliffs have taken on an auburn shade and the sea is a magnificent blue. Farther away, the volcanic island emerges hazily, offering an idyllic backdrop to my evening ponderings.
I’m quickly pulled out of my musings as mystery man reminds me of our dinner reservation at Amoudi Bay in half an hour. Always one to be late, I hurry off under the shower to freshen up knowing that today, punctuality would have to be an exact science. The sun is scheduled to set at eight-fifteen and our reservation is at eight. Amoudi Bay is – as its name suggests- a bay situated at the foot of the cliff just under Oia. We head off from our hotel on foot, weaving past the other tourists as we scurry along the pedestrian street. We spot the cathedral of Oia with its aquamarine dome, the giant mill I had only seen in movies, and many more clichés that remind me of a scene from the Sisterhood of the Travelling Pants. But we don’t have time to stop, and so we continue onwards to what looks like thousands of stone steps spiraling down the side of the cliff towards the water. The trail seems never-ending as we follow the path downwards. On the way we cross a farmer with his donkeys, trudging up the steps in single file. Behind them, the orange sky is glaring at us and the sun sits menacingly low. We’re bounding down the steps now, no stopping, but it’s impossible not to admire the architecture of the houses. All white, built densely together on the slope and facing the sea. I wonder what the sunset must look like from there, sitting in a jacuzzi, a glass of wine at hand…
We arrive at Amoudi Bay around twenty minutes after having left our hotel. We are shown to our private table just as the sun disappears behind the burgundy horizon. The view is slightly disappointing as the restaurant - eponymous to its location – is amidst a boat cruise drop-off point with noisy mini-buses coming and going from a make-shift parking.
I listen as the waiter describes their fresh catches with increasing suspicion. We had seen their fish bar as we had arrived: a counter of crushed ice on which lay a selection of larger and smaller fish, their scales glistening and eyes goggling. We had asked the waiter how much he recommends for two, and it seems to me that the sea food platter and two jumbo prawns he is suggesting as a starter, followed by sea bass sounds slightly excessive. In terms of quantity – and budget. But then, I remember we had asked our hotel to call to confirm our reservation. The Adronis Exclusive Suites. The waiters must have smelled tourists and money. Indeed, by the end of dinner mystery man and I had come to the most irritating conclusion that we had fallen into a tourist trap. Not for the quality of the food – no – the fish had been delicious, fresh and well-seasoned. Paired with a crisp bottle of white, we had had a lovely candle-lit dinner. So no, the food had not been the issue, but rather the quantities they had urged us to order… We would have had plenty with half of what we had gotten – and the final bill confirmed our sentiments.
***
It’s our first full day in Santorini and a sunset catamaran cruise is on the program. We had booked the excursion with Oia Sunset Cruises and had been told to meet our driver in front of a restaurant in Fira. He arrives on time, showing us to a bus similar to those we had seen at the restaurant last night. He informs us that masks are mandatory inside and we spend the rest of the drive attempting to mute out this loud rant about the other drivers, sloppy tourists, sunscreen smeared on his leather seats, Greek driving, his leather seats, the other cruise agencies and his leather seats. We never answer but it doesn’t seem to bother him.
Just as I had suspected, the babbler drops us off at Amoudi Bay, mere steps away from where we had sat last night. A long queue awaits us in front of a counter where we need to pick up our stickers that will assign us to a boat. It’s just after noon and the sun is beating down on us. As soon as we are given our tickets we step aside into the shade and the people-watching begins. There are all sorts of people here. A stubby couple in expensive attire and looking like they take themselves far too seriously. Next to us, a group of young women chatter excitedly, their beach bags overflowing with bikini changes and floppy hats, extra pairs of sunglasses and sun dresses, clearly ready for the holiday Instagram shoot. A girl in white, her skin almost as pale as her dress, with her boyfriend, preparing themselves for the frying to come. And many more, standing and sweating in the sun. Finally, the ticket colors are called out and we board our respective catamarans by groups.
We’re around twelve to sit at the back of the massive boat, listening to the crew give us safety instructions. The most vital being, and they cannot stress this enough, not to spray sun cream once we’re at the front of the deck. The floor can get slippery and dangerous. No sunscreen on the deck. After a few other more or less important instructions, we hurry up to the front in order to snag ourselves a good spot. The front of the catamaran boasts five large lie-down areas made of waterproof mattresses built into the boat. At the very front, two large nets are strung between the catamaran’s hulls, looking extremely enticing for an afternoon nap. We had also been instructed not to sit or lie on these nets while we are sailing. Luckily, mystery man and I snatch ourselves one of the waterproof beds, spreading our towels over it, whilst the less fortunate try and find themselves a comfortable spot of fiberglass. The first thing we do is pull out our spray-on tanning oil and discreetly spritz it on each other. If we do it discreetly no one will notice surely? Tanning oil also isn’t really sunscreen, and it’s not like we’re using theirs. We had brought our own. And we aren’t sailing yet either. But the crew aren’t dumb. I think they would have heard that spritz from a mile away. Naturally, we get told off and sent to the back to finish our spraying there. Yes, (sigh), we are those types of people…
We set off into the sea and it’s wonderful. The catamaran slices through the waves that are now a dark marine blue compared to the almost turquoise waters along the coast. We are surrounded by islands, the wind is whipping through our hair, drops of sea water find their way onto our skin and are dried off almost instantly by the warmth of the sun. I lean back onto my mattress, closing my eyes and letting myself be swayed by the movement of the ship. We make some occasional stops at different bays and each time one of the crew members gives us a brief explanation as to where we are. We learn about a 70 something year old man who lives alone on the volcanic island after getting his heart broken on the mainland almost a lifetime ago; the sulfuric water that will turn any white swimsuit yellow, and some other things I forget the moment we’re told but enjoy listening to anyway. We plunge into the water from the deck, practicing our dives and swimming to the closest shores. We find rocks floating in the water and for a while simply forget ourselves throwing them back in the water and watching them pop up again.
At five, the crew lights a barbeque at the back of the ship. We watch hungrily as the chicken and pork starts to sizzle, and shortly after the buffet is ready. We fill our plates with meat, shrimp stew, salads and pitas which we eat on the deck with a glass of chilled wine, gazing out onto the sea. The sun begins to cool and we sail off again, back towards Santorini. The rest of the evening is serene, everyone seems to be fatigued from the swimming and eating. We make one last stop in a bay just before Amoudi to wait for the sun to set. The crew hands us a cocktail each that we sip on watching the evening sky. A cake is brought out for someone’s birthday, and a few moments later, the boyfriend proposes to his girlfriend in white that I had spotted earlier. I snuggle up to mystery man as the air begins to cool, and by the time we reach Ammoudi Bay, the sky is but a twinkle of stars in a sea of inky purple.
***
The next day finds us lunching at Metaxi Mas. According to reviews it is the restaurant in Santorini, and we are aching to test it out. After getting lost in the tricky streets of Exo Genia, which was, I’ll add, not a dispute-less endeavor, we had been offered one of their best tables overlooking the hills and the valley. We’re in the middle of the island now, facing its east side, and somehow the electric cables look more charming from here than they did from the cab. Perhaps it’s due to the endearing décor. We’re seated outdoors at a small square table, draped, like all the others, with a crisp white tablecloth. A long bench extends along the edge of the terrace and is adorned with colorful artisanal cushions that are propped up plushily next to one another. I’m sitting on the bench whilst mystery man is on a chair across from me. Between us, the waitress had already placed a platter of cheeses, olive oil, olives and bread. We don’t have to wait long before our starters arrive too. We had asked our waitress for the bestseller, and she had recommended the oven baked white asparagus. It looks simple on the plate: asparagus covered in a white sauce. But what a first bite! The sauce is rich and cheesy, adding saltiness to the bitter-sweet taste of asparagus. We share the portion evenly so that not one bite is spared. We had also ordered eggplant, grilled chicken on a bed of vegetables and a spicy pork dish – all of it sitting on our table when I feel the first raindrop hit my forehead. And then a second, and a third, until we find ourselves sitting in the midst of a rainstorm. We refuse to go inside however and arrange our plates meticulously so as to have them covered under our parasol. Huddling under the parasol ourselves, mystery man and I continue our lunch, shoulder to shoulder, cozier than many other lunches we have had. Oh, and the food you ask? The food is nothing short of perfection.
A few hours later, we’re sitting face to face at a table again. It seems to be a holiday of culinary experiences. This time we’re at wine tasting. Santo Wines is a wine estate sitting atop the calderas with a breath-taking view onto the sea. Their menu offers a selection of wine tastings, and we opt for the “Flight of 9”. Nine of their exclusive wines, all of them – as we come to discover – dry, except for the last; a dessert wine as sweet as I like them. Wine tasting is always fun, and we play around testing each other on the flavors and scents of each wine. Once our glasses are empty, we hop back on our quad, determined to get home before dark. When we arrive, we fall onto our bed. An evening of unwinding awaits.
***
When in Santorini, the hike from Fira to Oia is a must, or so I had read online during the holiday preparations. Starting off in Fira, mystery man and I follow the rocky path along the crescent shaped caldera. We pass Imerovigli which has to be my favorite village after Oia. The dormant volcano seems like a stones-throw away from here. It’s one of the highest points on the island, and with the wind blowing through my hair I truly feel like I’m on top of the world. The path passes right between the hotels and bungalows, and people plopped in their pools. Ten points for views, zero for privacy. As we come to the end of the village, the road becomes uneven again and we feel like we are completely emersed in nature once more. The water is so far below us that the crashing of the waves is smothered by the sound of the wind. We pass by a lonesome church we peep into; a local selling donkey rides; a set of old stone steps unravelling down the hill from where we finally spot a speckle of white houses.
We enter the picturesque Oia after 2 hours of hiking, and I think it’s been one of the pinnacles of our trip. The next highlight, I already know, will be lunch. Mystery man had rooted out another jewel for us to eat at, by the name of Melitini. It’s a snug restaurant in the center of Oia and as we arrive, the waiter leads us up onto a rooftop with around half a dozen tables. Above us, long pieces of white textiles reminiscent of sails drape across the terrasse and sway gently in the wind. We agree on an assortment of dishes including a fresh Greek salad, the pan-fried pork with wine sauce and oregano, a moussaka “à la Melitini”, grilled halloumi and a taster of their various spreads – of which the beetroot and feta are our clear favorites. The tapas arrive all at once and mystery man and I dig in. His choice of pork outdoes my baked aubergine – as it so often does – and we work our way through the meal poking our forks into this and that. All of it, of course, with a side of freshly baked pita.
After lunch I’m in a daze. Our day has been perfect, and we spend the rest of the afternoon strolling along the streets of Oia, browsing through boutiques and stopping for a frozen yoghurt along the way.
***
I pride myself in being open-minded, but I would be lying if I say I hadn’t been apprehensive about crossing over to the “dark side” again. But Wet Stories, the hotel staff had assured us, was well worth the drive. And so, it happens that, on our last day in Santorini, we drove our quadbike down south to the south-eastern coastline to sit in – plot twist! – the sun.
Wet Stories is a boutique beach bar, lined with stylish straw parasols and cozy beach beds – literal beds – serving classic beach bar food and bougie - booze-y - drinks. Cabana chic. I think I may have gotten overly excited upon discovering the Insta-worthy location, picking an eccentric cocktail instead of my signature go-to mojito. Now I’m sitting in my lounge bed, chewing at the straw, thinking that the peanut liquor that had sounded so appealing on paper is probably an innovation I’m not quite ready for in practice. But it doesn’t matter because my skin is brown from the sun and the temperature of the sea is delicious. However radical my choice of beverage had been, so underwhelming is my pick of miniature burgers and fries. It’s tasty, but nothing crazy, and I enviously watch as mystery man eats his plate of tuna ceviche clean. (Though I will confess I’m not a fan of tuna myself.)
The sun sets on the western side of the island, so we spend the rest of the afternoon lazing about on the beds, reading and watching the sun-less blue sky turn a pale shade of purple. Our skin is dry after a couple of hours, and we decide to head to one last bar. It would be a shame not to enjoy one more sunset drink staring out at the calderas. Packing our things, we hurry to the quadbike and race the fiery sun to Franco’s Bar.
Franco’s Bar. Where to begin? Tucked away under one of the many meandering streets of the labyrinth that is Fira, it is a laid-back bar, nothing fancy, nothing pretentious, but with an extraordinary view onto the volcanic islands, the sea, and the sunset. The town is so empty and quiet, I can hardly believe our luck. It must be strange for the inhabitants too, experiencing their usually tourist-packed home in such a tranquil state. I imagine the bar is usually full, but given the circumstances, we have five spots to choose from. We opt for two seats at the very front of the terrace. To our right, a group of girlfriends are huddled together with their cocktails, to our left, a man is alone reading a book. We order our drinks and lean back in our deck chairs to watch, one last time, nature’s spectacle before of us.
