We've spent the last three weeks cramming it all in on a shoestring - train to train, to hostel, to bus, to boat, always on the go. This week we were going to stay in one place with no train stations, no schedules, no packing, just seven whole days to soak in the fun and the Mediterranean sun. We didn't realize Santorini would be a vacation from our vacation until we got there.
The nightlife was rather sleepy, couples and old people everywhere. On the last leg of our trip before going back to the imminent Real World, we were looking for a party. Santorini was lovely but may not have been the best Cyclades isle on which to find one. On one notable evening we met Drunk Norm, a Greek American from Georgia. Most of the bars were cash only so Drunk Norm agreed to help us find an ATM. He stumbled in and out of traffic, urinated in public twice, and leaned on us as lampposts as he rambled on about sharing a hostel with girls, likening the sounds of their peeing to "elephants snorting water". Instead of an ATM, he brought us to Beach Bar. Low on cash, we determinately convinced the blond bartender, Tim, to let us have a free drink, with the utmost class of course. He gave us a shot of something homemade that he called "Rocky". As we raised our glasses and tilted our heads back to drink, Kate who is particular about her alcohol, secretly handed me her shot glass. After sucking back the shot, which tasted like a bathtub, everyone was curious about each others' reaction to Rocky, I received jeers and tsks with the full glass still in my hand - but dammit, I had already drank the drink! Not wanting to throw dear Kate under the bus, I was now on my second shot of nastiness.
After some Oia moussaka and of course baklava we returned to our side of Santorini. The Beach Bar was asleep just like the rest of the town and remained that way for the rest of our stay. It would be hard to top dancing in the streets from our one successful night out so instead we enjoyed each others' company, reflected on our adventures, misadventures, what was Buca doing, and how reluctant we were to fly back to London, where we would inevitably board our plane to go home.
<3 kb
-
We became quite acquainted with the smoothie guy (mango breakfast!), the baker (midnight baklava) and the moussaka maker (my new favorite food). Most days found us quick stepping the black sand beaches to relax by the sea with our smoothies or 6-packs of cider. An amused (or embarrassed) European helped us open the bottles when he saw us banging the caps with a rock in the absence of a bottle opener. One morning on the island, I scuba-dove with Adrienne our new Aussie friend, and Magda the dive master. The dive was awesome and hilarious. I found myself laughing into my scuba mask as I hand fed hundreds of fish some wet bread. They excitedly bounced off of my wetsuit and sucked up the sogginess. Laurel and Kate, who snorkeled instead, reported back less enthusiastically as they had to swim through some trash to a large buoy and didn't see many sea creatures while there. Sorry, ladies.
The nightlife was rather sleepy, couples and old people everywhere. On the last leg of our trip before going back to the imminent Real World, we were looking for a party. Santorini was lovely but may not have been the best Cyclades isle on which to find one. On one notable evening we met Drunk Norm, a Greek American from Georgia. Most of the bars were cash only so Drunk Norm agreed to help us find an ATM. He stumbled in and out of traffic, urinated in public twice, and leaned on us as lampposts as he rambled on about sharing a hostel with girls, likening the sounds of their peeing to "elephants snorting water". Instead of an ATM, he brought us to Beach Bar. Low on cash, we determinately convinced the blond bartender, Tim, to let us have a free drink, with the utmost class of course. He gave us a shot of something homemade that he called "Rocky". As we raised our glasses and tilted our heads back to drink, Kate who is particular about her alcohol, secretly handed me her shot glass. After sucking back the shot, which tasted like a bathtub, everyone was curious about each others' reaction to Rocky, I received jeers and tsks with the full glass still in my hand - but dammit, I had already drank the drink! Not wanting to throw dear Kate under the bus, I was now on my second shot of nastiness.
Eventually we found some cash, returned to the promising Beach Bar, found Adrienne the Aussie and partied with the mixed crowd, now spilling into the street. Each car had to inch their way through the rambunctious people. My favorite person was a skinny spunky old lady who carried a Beach Bar flag that she would wave seductively in front of the cars as they drove through us. We made friends with strangers, danced on the beach, and swam in the sea, the perfect summer night.
A little hungover the next morning, we explored the caldera via sailboat tour, drudged up the hill of an active volcano, jumped into a hot spring, and docked at Oia, the other side of the island. This was our chance to ride a donkey up the steep cliffs. We had seen people do this from afar all day and walking was a distant option. Already on my donkey, Laurel asked me to hold her camera as she mounted her own steed. As I reached behind me to hand her the camera again, the donkey-men started yelling "Go! Go! Go! Go!", (or what can only be interpreted as such) and hitting the poor donkeys with sticks. Without a chance to assemble ourselves we raced up the switchbacks in a stampede of about 20 donkeys, Laurel, Kate and I being the only riders. There was a knob at the top of the saddle for me to hold onto so I had to make a decision: my life/good health (but I have so much more of the world to see!), or Laurel's camera (full of summer memories and would she understand me dropping it under Donkey's feet given the circumstances??), I was barely hanging on to either. Was laughing or crying appropriate? I couldn't decide that either so I did a little bit of both. As my hold was slipping on everything, I thought to myself, "This is it." So I shut my eyes and just at that moment the donkey stopped because we had reached the top of the cliffs. "I'm Okay?!" Safe on the ground, we looked at each other, limbs in tact and camera safe. It was all a bit ridiculous and now it is OK to laugh.
A little hungover the next morning, we explored the caldera via sailboat tour, drudged up the hill of an active volcano, jumped into a hot spring, and docked at Oia, the other side of the island. This was our chance to ride a donkey up the steep cliffs. We had seen people do this from afar all day and walking was a distant option. Already on my donkey, Laurel asked me to hold her camera as she mounted her own steed. As I reached behind me to hand her the camera again, the donkey-men started yelling "Go! Go! Go! Go!", (or what can only be interpreted as such) and hitting the poor donkeys with sticks. Without a chance to assemble ourselves we raced up the switchbacks in a stampede of about 20 donkeys, Laurel, Kate and I being the only riders. There was a knob at the top of the saddle for me to hold onto so I had to make a decision: my life/good health (but I have so much more of the world to see!), or Laurel's camera (full of summer memories and would she understand me dropping it under Donkey's feet given the circumstances??), I was barely hanging on to either. Was laughing or crying appropriate? I couldn't decide that either so I did a little bit of both. As my hold was slipping on everything, I thought to myself, "This is it." So I shut my eyes and just at that moment the donkey stopped because we had reached the top of the cliffs. "I'm Okay?!" Safe on the ground, we looked at each other, limbs in tact and camera safe. It was all a bit ridiculous and now it is OK to laugh.
After some Oia moussaka and of course baklava we returned to our side of Santorini. The Beach Bar was asleep just like the rest of the town and remained that way for the rest of our stay. It would be hard to top dancing in the streets from our one successful night out so instead we enjoyed each others' company, reflected on our adventures, misadventures, what was Buca doing, and how reluctant we were to fly back to London, where we would inevitably board our plane to go home.
 |
| Be still, donkey. |
<3 kb
No comments:
Post a Comment