Quick Hit: It's All Greek to Me
Let me get this out of the way first: Santorini's beauty made me cry. There, I said it. In a summer chock full of alternately interesting, dazzling, and thought-provoking European sights, this island of all islands goes instantly to the head of the pack. Santorini is a shimmering stunner, the sort of spectacle that generates a wave of awestruck, involuntary tears. It's that simple.
But not the side of the island that I'm staying on, mind you. My hostel located in the hot, deserty town of Perivolos is merely a 15-minute bus ride away, but it's a world apart. There are no cliffs on this side, no magnificent vistas to take your breath away. A half-empty black sand beach is all there is to boast about over here--not as if that is anything to sneeze at--and it's the volcanic kind that I have seen during my years of living in Hawaii, but never quite like this. The dark gray sand stretches for miles, as far as the eyes can see. It may go all the way to Athens, I don't know. Point is, I'm hardly slumming it by keeping my distance from the main attractions of Santorini. The hostel is running me $18/night, there is a pool and tasty, cheap food here (as there seems to be all over Greece so far), and an arctic air-conditioned bus to shuttle the throngs over to the cliffs and wonders that this particular Greek island is known for. Works for me. And who knows, maybe this setting somehow rendered me completely unprepared to lay eyes on Thira, the very city which stars in the millions of pictures that everyone in the free world has seen from the island of Santorini, and probably the most popular visible representation of the Greek islands in general. Once I departed that crowded bus and headed for the cliffs, even after having seen album after album of gaudily gorgeous shots of the place during my lifetime, I still couldn't believe my eyes.
I took note of my physical reactions during that first sighting. My heart skipped a beat. I swear I had to catch my breath. And those tears I already mentioned came accompanied by the chills, causing me to shiver in spite of the searing 100-degree heat of late summer. It seems that some places just zap you on impact, providing a direct hit to the senses that screams out "I'm ALIVE!" while at the same time projecting you into a dreamlike, almost catatonic state of blissful appreciation, quite hazy around the edges as even the most vivid dreams can be, but utterly crystal clear at the heart. Santorini is exactly such a place. It was a good ten, maybe fifteen minutes before I came to, camera in hand, snapping picture after picture and stumbling around in my worn-down flip flops, zigzagging my way up the slippery stone stairs that wind all along the remarkable coastline here. What's more, all of this was happening before sunset, which is known to be the best time of day to watch the island's glittery magic show unfold. I couldn't wait for that. For me, it was too late.
It already happened. I got zapped, Santorini-style.
Indeed, these past few days in Greece have been quite a sumptuous feast for all the senses. It started in Athens, where regular, modern-day life blends fascinatingly well with ancient ruins. Taken alone, the city itself is not much to behold. But...Those temples! That marble! Those Statues! Oh, Those Crazy Gods! At nearly every turn in Athens, history slaps you in the face with a column instead of a two by four. At times it is almost comical, like when you are sitting on top of a five-story building sipping Greek wine, nibbling on a sesame-crusted breadstick dipped in some kind of creamy cheese dip, when you notice some old buildings in an old town high up on the hill due north of your table. But that isn't any old town sitting up there, watching like Big Brother over the rest of the capital city. And that's most definitely not just any old building, either. Um, how do I put this calmly? It's the Acropolis!!! And that's the Parthenon!!! Can I get an OPA?!!!
And that breadstick you are eating is just the tip of Greece's culinary iceberg. But wait--speaking of iceberg, there is none of that green lettuce filler in any of the native Greek salads found in their homeland. Nope. There are only tomatoes, cucumbers, onions and green peppers, all chopped and slapped together right before your eyes and in record time. You can tell they do this often. Sprinkle in some tiny, salty Greek olives, top with a giganto brick (literally) of seasoned feta cheese, and you end up with what has to be the freshest, most addictive salad your taste buds have ever conquered. Oh, and one more thing. There is no dressing, just a little vinegar and lots and lots of extra-virgin olive oil, the very stuff that has become like crack to me during this extended European run. I could easily drink it from a cup and probably would too, if that didn't make me such a weirdo. Instead, my Grecian cups are usually filled with espresso freddo, which includes a couple of potent shots of rich, dark coffee laced with enough sugar to satisfy even the biggest sweet tooth (like all the ones in the mouth of yours truly), perfectly blended together with just the right amount of ice. Italy may serve the best coffee I've ever tasted, but I certainly wouldn't mind drinking these babies every day for the rest of my life, either.
Yes, Greece is full of discoveries, and I have two weeks to sort through the multitude of choices that these unique islands present to an overwhelmed tourist like myself. But one day at at time. Tonight, I sat watching the sun set over Thira, its fading rays washing over the stark white facades of the many buildings dotting the cliffs, all perched perilously high above the sea. I wondered quietly how any of this happened, and I'm not simply referring to the beauty of this particular island, or Greece, or any other country in the world for that matter. I mean all of this. Nature. Humans. Creation. Life. The world. My existence. I had no answers. But for one magnificent moment, I didn't need them. I was perfectly content to just sit there, still as can be, immersed in a place of absolute wonder--alive, dreamy, and thoroughly zapped by the splendor that is Santorini.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad
But not the side of the island that I'm staying on, mind you. My hostel located in the hot, deserty town of Perivolos is merely a 15-minute bus ride away, but it's a world apart. There are no cliffs on this side, no magnificent vistas to take your breath away. A half-empty black sand beach is all there is to boast about over here--not as if that is anything to sneeze at--and it's the volcanic kind that I have seen during my years of living in Hawaii, but never quite like this. The dark gray sand stretches for miles, as far as the eyes can see. It may go all the way to Athens, I don't know. Point is, I'm hardly slumming it by keeping my distance from the main attractions of Santorini. The hostel is running me $18/night, there is a pool and tasty, cheap food here (as there seems to be all over Greece so far), and an arctic air-conditioned bus to shuttle the throngs over to the cliffs and wonders that this particular Greek island is known for. Works for me. And who knows, maybe this setting somehow rendered me completely unprepared to lay eyes on Thira, the very city which stars in the millions of pictures that everyone in the free world has seen from the island of Santorini, and probably the most popular visible representation of the Greek islands in general. Once I departed that crowded bus and headed for the cliffs, even after having seen album after album of gaudily gorgeous shots of the place during my lifetime, I still couldn't believe my eyes.
I took note of my physical reactions during that first sighting. My heart skipped a beat. I swear I had to catch my breath. And those tears I already mentioned came accompanied by the chills, causing me to shiver in spite of the searing 100-degree heat of late summer. It seems that some places just zap you on impact, providing a direct hit to the senses that screams out "I'm ALIVE!" while at the same time projecting you into a dreamlike, almost catatonic state of blissful appreciation, quite hazy around the edges as even the most vivid dreams can be, but utterly crystal clear at the heart. Santorini is exactly such a place. It was a good ten, maybe fifteen minutes before I came to, camera in hand, snapping picture after picture and stumbling around in my worn-down flip flops, zigzagging my way up the slippery stone stairs that wind all along the remarkable coastline here. What's more, all of this was happening before sunset, which is known to be the best time of day to watch the island's glittery magic show unfold. I couldn't wait for that. For me, it was too late.
It already happened. I got zapped, Santorini-style.
Indeed, these past few days in Greece have been quite a sumptuous feast for all the senses. It started in Athens, where regular, modern-day life blends fascinatingly well with ancient ruins. Taken alone, the city itself is not much to behold. But...Those temples! That marble! Those Statues! Oh, Those Crazy Gods! At nearly every turn in Athens, history slaps you in the face with a column instead of a two by four. At times it is almost comical, like when you are sitting on top of a five-story building sipping Greek wine, nibbling on a sesame-crusted breadstick dipped in some kind of creamy cheese dip, when you notice some old buildings in an old town high up on the hill due north of your table. But that isn't any old town sitting up there, watching like Big Brother over the rest of the capital city. And that's most definitely not just any old building, either. Um, how do I put this calmly? It's the Acropolis!!! And that's the Parthenon!!! Can I get an OPA?!!!
And that breadstick you are eating is just the tip of Greece's culinary iceberg. But wait--speaking of iceberg, there is none of that green lettuce filler in any of the native Greek salads found in their homeland. Nope. There are only tomatoes, cucumbers, onions and green peppers, all chopped and slapped together right before your eyes and in record time. You can tell they do this often. Sprinkle in some tiny, salty Greek olives, top with a giganto brick (literally) of seasoned feta cheese, and you end up with what has to be the freshest, most addictive salad your taste buds have ever conquered. Oh, and one more thing. There is no dressing, just a little vinegar and lots and lots of extra-virgin olive oil, the very stuff that has become like crack to me during this extended European run. I could easily drink it from a cup and probably would too, if that didn't make me such a weirdo. Instead, my Grecian cups are usually filled with espresso freddo, which includes a couple of potent shots of rich, dark coffee laced with enough sugar to satisfy even the biggest sweet tooth (like all the ones in the mouth of yours truly), perfectly blended together with just the right amount of ice. Italy may serve the best coffee I've ever tasted, but I certainly wouldn't mind drinking these babies every day for the rest of my life, either.
Yes, Greece is full of discoveries, and I have two weeks to sort through the multitude of choices that these unique islands present to an overwhelmed tourist like myself. But one day at at time. Tonight, I sat watching the sun set over Thira, its fading rays washing over the stark white facades of the many buildings dotting the cliffs, all perched perilously high above the sea. I wondered quietly how any of this happened, and I'm not simply referring to the beauty of this particular island, or Greece, or any other country in the world for that matter. I mean all of this. Nature. Humans. Creation. Life. The world. My existence. I had no answers. But for one magnificent moment, I didn't need them. I was perfectly content to just sit there, still as can be, immersed in a place of absolute wonder--alive, dreamy, and thoroughly zapped by the splendor that is Santorini.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad
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