Santorini, Arrival

I arrived on Santorini at three o’clock, stepping off the boat in complete awe of the blasted caldera. Santorini is always talked up by every tourist and guidebook, but somehow I thought it was only that – talk. No, the massive cliffs are incredible, the black volcanic island in the middle dark and beautiful.

Disembarking, I followed the crush onto the dock, where I was assaulted by an army of sign-bearing Greeks, shouting the name of their hotels and car-rental companies. I accosted three American boys who were leaving, and asked them where they stayed. Blue Sky Villas, the told me, and said it was plenty clean and safe. “But far from the beach,” said one, “so rent an ATV.” I found the man holding the Blue Sky Villas sign, and when five young American girls and two French girls approached him, I figured it was probably clean and safe enough. They took us up to the hotel in a little bus, the road winding up along the cliff face precipitously. At the top, we drove along what felt like the rim of the world, until we came to Fira. Blue Sky Villas is nice, the proprietor friendly and the room big, open and clean. It costs twenty-five euros a night, including breakfast, which seems like a deal to me. There’s even a swimming pool, should I decide to relax at the villas for a while.

Fira town is incredibly beautiful. It follows the ridge of the cliff that overlooks the bay, and all along its sides are cafes, bars, hotels, and tourist shops. Everything is brilliant, sparkling white – even under the cloudy sky. My first act was to buy a gyro at a diseased little stand that didn’t seem like it got much business. Nevertheless, it was tasty, and I sat on a whitewashed ledge and sipped a cold beer with my pita. Then I found a small supermarket and bought toothpaste (for some reason, I pretended to be French) before I walked up into the city proper. It’s beautiful, all small winding streets and terraces. There are some incredible views on the cliff side, and a stomach-wrenching cable car that goes down to the old port. I wandered for hours.

Tomorrow I’m going to rent an ATV and drive around the island. It costs seven or eight euros for a twenty-four hour rental, and everybody’s on them. I’ve seen a couple of racy-looking buggies for rent too, so I might see about those. I would go for a scooter, but the ability to drive in the sand seems useful – plus, although it’s likely untrue, the ATVs seem a touch safer, and I’ve already witnessed at least five near-accidents.
I got home at about seven, and I took an accidental nap, waking up at ten-thirty. I elected to skip dinner and wait for breakfast, and decided to spend the evening writing instead – which I’m doing, sitting in the chairs in the courtyard outside my room. It’s eleven-thirty now, and I’m considering bed. Morning is coming, and hopefully the sun with it – and I’ve got a lot to explore. Old ruins, black sand beaches, seaside towns – I hope I can see it all, but I’ve only got a few days. This trip is going to go quickly, and then it’s back to France – France, which seems so boring, so blah – host families and suitcases and logistics, when all I really want is the promise of a 25-euro room and a small duffel bag. I’m bringing presents back from Greece – no way not to – and my little bag is already full to bursting. I might have to pick up another, a prospect which doesn’t cheer me.

Put me in a new direction; point me to the edge of the world.