Pretty as a picture

5 April 2008

Santorini, Greece

There are very few places in the worlds that live up to the promise of the postcards. Those little glossy squares of photographic perfection can give a false impression and usually they present an ideal much more than an actuality. I can say, with hand on heart, that Santorini lives up to all the promise of any pictures that you may have seen.

This is going to have to be one of my shortest posts because of the time constraints. Tomorrow we arrive in Venice for an overnight stay, a city that I have been looking forward to visiting for many years. At the end of those two days I hope that my feet will be sore and my camera will be slightly melted from use. Surprisingly it seems to be a “love it or hate it” place among those on board and I am just hoping that I won’t be disappointed.

But, about Santorini. I had another tour to escort and I am very happy with the one I was given. We started by tendering from the ship to a small port area and finding our buses. The port was also the stopping place for a large ferry that was disgorging cars and trucks as we arrived. Flat ground at sea level seems to be a rarity on this island and the narrow road that ran precipitously in a series of switchbacks up the cliff face showed how much effort it must take to get anything imported from the sea.

From the port we reached the plateau far above and then began to climb even further until we were at a lookout atop one of the mountains in the islands interior. This gave us the chance for a panoramic view of the island. On the way the guide had been describing the agricultural conditions and the hardships that farmers faced. There was little of what I would call soil, most of it being made up of pumice and there was no natural water. The reason for the flat roofs typical of the houses is that they act as rain collectors and from the bus I’d been able to notice that all the roofs sloped towards one corner where there was a hole for channelling the rainwater into a cistern.

Fortunately for farmers the pumice soil captures any moisture in the atmosphere but little water and a constant wind make for very stunted plants and even the tress have a gnarled and weather beaten look to them. The guide also explained that tourism is such a source of income these days that most of the small patches of ground we did see under cultivation are either hobby farms or still tended by older people with farming in their blood.

From the lookout we drove to the village of Oia and this is where postcard met reality. From the bus parking area the guide walked us through a few narrow cobblestone streets to the cliff edge, gave us a time to be back at the bus and then left us alone.

I doubt that there would have been much she could have said that would have kept my attention from the view if she had stayed with us. We stood with the blue of the Mediterranean below and the whitewashed houses tumbling down the cliff face at our feet. There were splashes of colour among the houses however, the blue of doorways and windows and the blue of the domed churches. There were also a few places that dared for more terracotta colours but the overwhelming feeling was of blue and white.

Walking around was a matter of ducking down an alleyway that seemed to lead nowhere until it suddenly opened out to reveal more of the cliff and water and a view as if hundreds of wedding cakes had been stacked with haphazard abandon. I took photos, found an ATM to get Euros and then spent too much on souvenirs. But it was a beautiful place and with the view, the Greek restaurants and bars and with a few more hours (or days or weeks) to enjoy it I think I would have been very happy.

From Oia we drove to Fira, the capital of the island. This was a larger version of Oia with its white houses overlooking the blue water but it had less of a small village feel and a bit more of a tourist attraction. Our guide said goodbye to us here after pointing the way to the two means of transport down the cliff to where our tenders were waiting. There was a choice of cable car or donkey but I was determined to do it the old fashioned way and walk down the cobblestone path to the dock.

As a tour escort I had to return to the ship straight away rather than linger in the shops and restaurants for the couple of hours that were left to us. Being the diligent employee that I am I went straight back, only getting lost in one outdoor gyro stand and a handful of shops.

The walk down was interesting, the cobblestones are in need of repair and there was the occasional need to dodge donkey trains and the frequent need to dodge donkey messages. It was an impressive sight looking back up the cliff and looking further along the coast there were even more villages spreading their faux snow way along the cliff.

The mere mention of the Greek islands brings all sorts of images to mind and my brief visit to one of them only confirms that those images may well live up to the reality. The temptation to sell my house, buy a boat and cruise the world rears its attractive head again.