The most beautiful place in the world

Resplendent and overbearing the sun begins to set, unfurling its plumage of colors through the sky like a peacock: without hesitation, without inhibition. Clouds blister and squirm mismatched for strength in a game of peek-a boo, a rock paper scissors where sun trumps cloud always and even the grumpiest, grayest cloud has no choice but to dissipate in patches, giving way to orange and pink rays as if someone had pulled them aside like curtains. Sunset brings out the grandeur in everything: bathing the horizon in pink, turning the remaining clouds into no more then silhouettes, causing the water to glitter with it’s reflection, highlighting various white and blue Cliffside buildings in Fira like a realtor showing off the best property. A sunset anywhere is beautiful, but a sunset in Santorini is like a bottle of Cristal when you are used to drinking Andre.

Most people visit the island of Santorini in the summer months and at late October the people that dot the picturesque landscape are like specks in spackle. Traffic is sparse: there are no honking horns, few exhaust pipes spewing clouds of suffocating black soot. Many of the places are boarded up until next season. Forgotten fliers boast parties that happened months ago and blackboards of restaurant specials left unerased offer air conditioning and deals on ice cream. The locals complain about the “bad weather” of occasional cloudy skies and temperatures below 70, weather that feels like paradise compared to my freezing apartment in Florence but does not afford one many opportunities to bring out their bikini. However the end of the season is prime for deals and with only a handful of tourists we have the run of the island and less danger of collisions as we ATV from the jagged cliffs of the lighthouse on one end to the village Oia made famous in movies on the other end. Even without many companions some of the curves and cliffs of the narrow roads are frightening and my friend Jordan gets into a small fender bender with a fourteen year old on a borrowed motorcycle. Still the feeling of the wind in our hair and view of the open road can not be equaled and five days give us just enough time to cartogram the entire island as our own with the amiable assistance of many gas station attendants, our three ATV’s and our tiny rental car whom we name “Shelby”. Getting around is effortless and inexpensive many ways but the best transportation of all on Santorini is the donkeys.

On the only day during our stay that actually constituted bad weather we had resolved to take a boat to the active volcano and hot springs about twenty minutes from the island. Winds churned the waters and cut through my sundress and sweater as the boat is tossed by the waves which spew icy water all over my sandaled feet as I try to ease my qualms about seasickness. After a hike around the volcano’s craters and charred rocks and a motion sick affected boat ride back we stand dismayed at the foot of the wide 588 stone stairs up from the port. Luckily we are soon accosted by a wrinkled old Greek man with the bluest eyes I have ever seen. “You want to take the donkey taxi? Five Euros? Donkey’s yes?” Skills as a salesman are not necessary to convince us and we eagerly pass over crinkled bills. Saddled and ready the donkeys trudge up the steep stairs leaving a trail of their poo and our squeals behind them. This was an experience repeated twice more during our stay, later with whisky to ease the terror of facing straight down the steep side of a cliff on the back of an animal that liked to get as close to the edge as possible, charge directly into a traffic jam of several of it’s immobile friends, and change it’s speed more than Greek people yell Opa!


When we were not trekking around feeling as if we had magically hoped into a postcard a la Mary Poppins, traipsing through turquoise shutters and white domes followed by packs of friendly and adorable stray dogs, and exploring the black, red, and white beaches we were eating. There were twice-daily visits to the 24 hour bakery by our hotel for one euro nutella filled cream pastries and giant fluffy sugar covered doughnuts fresh from the oven. There were Greek salads of fresh vegetables and seasoned feta, flavorful stuffed grape leaves, juicy chicken and formerly undiscovered Greek dishes like Fava and baked Feta which maybe the single greatest thing on the planet and is actually just feta wrapped in pastry dough and baked in honey and sesame seeds. In the tradition of Germany, England, and Italy Greece also had amazing French fries (or “fried potatoes). While many people would probably think of French fries as an American food to be had with a cheeseburger at McDonalds I have eaten more in Europe then I ever do back at home, partially because they always seem to be magically included in whatever I order. On the subject of McDonalds we resigned ourselves to one of the more upscale European ones and had McFlurry’s both jaunts in the Athens airport as we made our way to and from the Acropolis and Athens markets.


After all of the laughter and adventures as well as the burial of my gold gladiator sandals (or “gold sports shoes” as one tittering hiker called them before adding “I kid, I kid, they work.”) it was time to say goodbye. With each step offering a new and more picturesque view, it is not at all an exaggeration to say that Santorini is the most beautiful place I have ever been. Leaving had all the finality of our final sunset from the lighthouse, a beautiful ending but bittersweet in it’s farewell. However just as the sunset brings promise of a sunrise to come I hold onto the belief that I will someday return to collect the pieces of my heart sown about the island and Saturday’s sunset will not be my last in Santorini.