Santorini -- where tourism meets volcanism

This morning we woke up to our ship, the Aegean Odyssey, tying up in the submerged cauldera of the sleeping volcano that sometime around 1600 B.C. erupted violently and and turned a once thriving bronze age civilization into a Pompeii-like dead zone. The volcano completely destroyed the center of the island of Thera leaving only a crescent-shaped set of cliffs. For several hundred years nothing lived on the destroyed island as the ash cloud had covered everything to a depth of thirty or forty feet. Still, after a time, people began to re-populate the island remnant. Now some 12,000 people inhabit the lofty cliffside villages.

Thera, or Santorini as it's most often called, was one of my very favorite stopping places back in 1973 and 1974 when I was working as crew aboard a sixty-foot sail boat. Our mission then was to make a documentary about the Mediterranean, a task that required much schlepping of heavy cameras and tripods up and down hillsides. Here on Santorini our instructions were to set up a shooting location on the long, winding concrete path that wound its way from the harbor to the lofty heights above, a journey that required mounting six hundred steps before you reached the summit. The Captain, one Chuck Tobias, had selected a donkey to carry HIM to the village above and he wanted my shipmate, John Riise, and I to film him as he rode. "No problem," we said, and we dashed a hundred yards away and set up our camera. Our plan was to do several "drive-bys" with the donkey which would require Chuck to halt the four-legged fellow after each take so we might dash another hundred yards up the mountain where we could set up our shooting location again.

That's what it said in the fine print. However, no one consulted the donkey. Maybe Chuck just needed to know how to talk to him in Greek, who knows? But the upshot was that the donkey refused to halt between takes. This naturally required John and I to break down the equipment, dash ahead of the briskly trotting donkey, and then set up for the next take before Chuck and the furry fellow reached us. Not knowing whether any of the takes were being successful in our shooting haste, we just kept doing our dash-ahead all the way up the mountain. By the time we reached the summit neither John nor I was able to walk. We just collapsed on the pavement. The hell of it was, in the final movie the donkey scene ended up on the cutting room floor. Jeeze!

So, as you might guess, I have some very fond memories of Santorini. This island is one of the most photographed places on earth. I suspect that almost everyone has at one time or another seen a calendar shot of the beautiful whitewashed buildings perched on the edge of the cliffs overlooking the deep blue mediterranean waters of the volcanic harbor. The villages from a distance look like the whipped cream icing on a chocolate layer cake. Fortunately, we got to ride buses to the top so I didn't have to repeat the donkey-chase episode by navigating the six hundred steps. That left me with plenty of energy to do some photography and sight-seeing. There's a really great museum here on the island filled with all the things that the archeaologists have found on the sourthern end of the island in the village of Acrotiri. Concetta and I hoped that we would get to see the dig itself, but five years ago a tourist was killed by a collapsing room section at Acrotiri and now no one gets to tour there. Still, the museum had some exception frescos, pottery, and craft work.

After the museum we were allowed to roam the cliff-top villages by ourselves. Except for a few minutes of rain that dropped in unexpectedly, we had some truly great shooting weather with lots of blue skies and fluffly clouds in the backgroud. On Santorini, everywhere you point the camera the frame is filled with a rainbow of colors against the brillant whites of the houses. I loved the bright blues and greens and reds of the shop entrances, spectacular purples of the bougainvilla, and the yellows and peach colors of the awnings and umbrellas. Everything is so very colorful that Santorini is simply a photographer's dream come true. I'm so sorry that the IT neanderthals here on the boat have prevented me from showing the photos. If you were a photographer, one look at Santorini and you'd be booking your flight tomorrow. Do browse the internet and see what I mean.

For lunch today I wanted to completely avoid the sexy restaurants perched right on the edge of the cliff that are inevitably frequented by every tourist who makes the trek to the top. So, Concetta and I walked inland until we found a restaurant where nearly everyone inside looked like they stepped out of a Zorba movie. "This is just what I was looking for," I told Concetta. And so it was. I had the moussaka and Concetta had the stuffed Zuchini, both of which turned out to be wonderful. I had my usual Greek beer, Mythos, but we were too full to even think about dessert. However, a little later, after an hour or so of walking, we dropped into a coffee and pastry shop and finished out our lunch with some strong, black Greek coffee and a good-sized piece of baklava. Dear me, this has to be what heaven is like.

This afternoon, once we had ridden the cable tram from the cliff-top to the harbor, boarded the shuttle craft to the ship, and had our showers, we sat in the bar and relaxed. I've been trying out a new drink called a "sidecar," which is sort of like a whiskey sour, but better in my estimation. Concetta had the champagne cocktain, but she drank it all before I got a sip so I can't tell if it was good. I suspect that it was.

This evening we sought out our usual dinner location on the fantail, though the wind was strong enough to blow the silverware off the table. Fortunately, our new friends from Chicago invited us to share their table that was a little more sheltered. For next hour we regaled each other with stories of our work and home lives, drank a lot of wine, and generally got better acquainted, which was nice.

Right now, the boat is gliding through the dark swells of the Mediterranean toward our next destination, the island of Rhodes, perhaps my very favorite Greek island of all. Back in 1973, John Riise and I did much exploring amongst the ancient battlements of the port city that were established by the Knights of St. John the Baptist during the crusades. Though it was not allowed, we managed to sneak inside the massive walls where the crusaders held off Suliman the Magnificent and we wandered through the darkened tunnels where the knights fought to hold off the Turks all those centuries ago. If you love history like I do, Rhodes is definitely where you can rub elbows with it.

Well, once again it's coming up 11:00 p.m. I suspect that Concetta has gotten tired of waiting for me and is fast asleep. So, for now, I'll say, Kalini'ta (good night).