GREECE DAY 5 – THE FLYING DRESS 

Wake up, make up. Breakfast by the pool at Absolute Bliss, overlooking the caldera, and we appreciate every moment. Then it’s down the road to meet Alex, our flying dress photographer for today.  Some background. Santorini’s architecture is dominated by arching white stone structures, accented with bright blue roofs and domes.  Add a reliable breeze and sapphire blue sea, and the pictures pretty much compose themselves.  At some point someone realized that long dresses flow beautifully in the breeze, and reeeeeeeally long dresses are flat out dramatic. So a cottage industry of “flying dress” photography was born.  Here’s how it works. First, you hire a photographer. Then they help you rent a dress in the size and color of your choice, the dress coming with its own “flyer”, an assistant whose entire job is to send the train into the wind on command.

We meet Alex and his assistant Stephan.  Alex is running late and hurries Mandy into her dress, which at first glance looks like no more then a bolt of shiny fabric.  A few artistic twists and ties and it pulls together into a slinky, spaghetti strap gown.  Mandy gathers up the yards of extra satin and we off to the first site.  It’s chaotic in that typically Greek way, simultaneously rushed and somehow carefree.  There are a eight other photographers, each with an assistant and a couple of models, all crammed on narrow, twisty, uneven staircases and we add ourselves into the fray.  They all know where you can get the best shots and they’re all jockeying for position, pulling their models into place as soon as there’s a moment’s opening.  Alex keeps shhhhhhh-ing the crowd, and eventually tells us why.  This location, and as it turns out most of the best locations, are private property and we’re not supposed to be here.  We carry on anyway, chaotic in that typically Greek way.  It’s just before 10am, and the sun is relentless, the mercury already over 90 degrees, when they take the first clicks of Mandy.  It’s amazing how these things come together, Alex shooting on a professional Sony Alpha mirrorless camera, Stephan staging the model and the dress, Alex giving verbal cues to Mandy.  “Turn your elbow like this!” “We want to see more curves!”  “Pull the dress like this!”  “Look at Jimmy! Look at Jimmy!” (he actually means Stephan, but we’re guessing Jimmy was his last assistant).  All the while I’m taking making-of pix and video to document the frenzied process.  All the sudden, they call for Mandy’s next prop… me.  I’m already sweating in the late summer heat and quickly pull on one of the linen shirts I brought, trying to keep it as dry as possible.  But I’m too slow and another photographer takes the spot.  We wait for 3 or 4 minutes while the other guy does his work, then Alex plugs us back in.  

(click on picture to open full size mage)

We go to four other locations, none any more legal then the first as far as I can tell.  Alex grabs my iPhone to take a couple of preview videos for us as our final products won’t be ready for a week or two in editing.  It’s a harried, frenetic session, and as we are walking back to the starting point, we notice at least 2 dozen sets of photographers with their assistants and models standing, melting in the 1000-degree sun, cued up for the same locations.  Thank goodness Mandy thought to book the early slot. 

Back at the original meeting point, Mandy changes out of the dress, a process not unlike the Cirque de Soleil act where the woman spins herself through the air by her aerial silks.  Alex is already chatting up his next couple, and I get a few minutes to talk with Stephan.  I’m a firm believer that you never know a person from first glance, and Stephan is living proof.  Turns out our tatted flyer is a 27-year-old Romanian national who has worked around Europe since he was 15.  Here’s been a driver, bouncer and done a bunch of other gigs in catering to the tourists.  He’s also done virtually every aspect of construction work and tells me that the construction work he’s done here on the cave houses, like the hotel room we’re staying in, is some of the craziest and most dangerous he’s encountered.  The cave houses are all on the side of steep cliffs, so big machines won’t fit.  Everything has to be dug by hand, using nothing more than electric hammer drills, the rock then removed by donkey.  That’s right, in 2022, donkeys are still a vital tool in Greek construction.  He shows me insane videos and pictures of the work. 

But Stephan is an opportunist, a hard worker who collects trades like baseball cards.  He explains that he’s not just flying the dress, but Alex is teaching him photography, and I have no doubt that Stephan will be doing his own gig in the near future.  We say our goodbyes and wander back into Oia to explore the shops.  They’re more touristy here, and the throngs of cruise ship passengers make navigating the uneven, narrow alleys impossible.  We make our escape and head to the beach road along the eastern shore of the island.  Mandy plugs “winery” into GPS and finds one just a few kilometers away.  We arrive at Domaine Sigalas without a reservation but are welcomed and quickly seated at a table overlooking a small vineyard.  We did not realize that they have a full menu, but are glad they do.  We get a flight of the island whites, plus the cheese and meat plate and the white eggplant tower. Perfect recovery food for this pair of budding supermodels (can guys be supermodels? Name one…). Our hostess is very knowledgeable about the wine, the winemaking and the regional veriatals, taking her time to help us appreciate.  Our biggest surprise is the formation of the vineyards. We know there’s tons of vineyards here, but we’ve not seen the vines. We’re used to traditional fields in California and France, neat lines of vines manicured along two or three rows of string. In Spain, where it’s exceptionally windy, they plant the grapes so the predominant winds travel through the rows. Here they take a different approach. In these fields the vines are “nested”, essentially made into small shrubs to protect against the ceaseless breezes coming off the sea and up the slopes.  The result is Santorini’s signature white wine, served icy cold and bursting with grapefruit and cinnamon notes. 

The food is equally as good, and the chef comes out to talk about the local cheeses.  Niotiko, semi soft, crystalline, mildly salty and popping with lemon will go in heavy rotation at home if we can find it. 

Down the road to Fira, the island-state’s capitol.  From the minute we hit the towns main square, it’s a riot of people. This is the shoulder season, so we can’t imagine the height of the summer rush.  It’s more narrow cliff side alleys, more shops, more and more people and, ultimately, more of the same.  There are way better things to do on this volcano than this, and most of them involve our pool. 

Dinner tonight at the Tirana Tavern just up 25^th March Street (Greek version of Independence Day Drive) from our hotel. It’s a more local place just outside the craziness of Fira’s tourist area, simple, fresh, with mostly Greek speaking clientele.  We order the little-bit-of-everything appetizer, plated artfully on a raised wood plank.  More souvlaki for me, simply grilled sea bream for Mandy. The dining rhythm is different here than anywhere else we’ve been. America is efficient... Seated-drinks delivered-order-served.  France is seated, no one makes eye contact for 20 minutes, begrudgingly take drink orders then disappear again, finally take your order. It’s because you’re supposed to be there all night, and it’s cool once you understand. Here is seated, drinks quickly and take order.  Appts and entrees as Americans expect. Then nothing. They just leave you alone. Poof. Gone.  It would be considered rude to rush you out, and they don’t really want to see you go.  So much do that when we eventually ask for the check, instead they bring our third-night-in-a-row complimentary dessert as a way to extend the enjoyment of the day just a bit more. 

It's a party island, so tonight we’re going to check out the night scene.  With an astounding number of choices and limited time, best to enlist the help of a professional.  We find Edison, a party host, on Airbnb experiences.  Edison is a local who will pick us up at 10:00 and take us to the hotspots of the night.  Finding the hotspots is a moving target, and sometimes even finding the bar you are looking for can be a challenge, so we’re happy for the sherpa.  We’re picked up in a big Mercedes SUV with Edison’s only other guest for tonight, who we’ll call “J” because that’s his name, a young Korean guy bravely traveling alone for a few weeks.  We drive into Fira and are waved into a private lot by a friend of Edison’s.  We walk a few blocks uphill (it’s always uphill) to Two Brothers, are greeted at the door by another of Edison’s friends and are immediately seated at a reserved table.  If it was in Happy Valley, this would be a top five college party bar, great DJ, happy throngs constantly flowing in and out, two-for-one drinks.  I try to strike up a conversation with J, but he’s not much of a conversationalist, so Mandy and I engage with Edison while all four of us sip on our cocktails.  The people watching is great, mature drunken revelers from around the world, groups of 20 somethings and everything in between all singing along to the DJ’s party mix.

We’re doing the whiskey flight of bars tonight, a sampler of the different clubs in town, so next is Town Club, a hipper, place, slightly larger than Two Brothers with a more super-club DJ.  We walk into a wall of pulsating bass and a sea of bodies, every inch of the place covered by happy, springy dancing people.  Yet another friend of Edison’s leads us through the crowd to the VIP area, up a half a flight of stairs and overlooking the madness.  I’m really loving the private party guide idea already.  A server and private bartender up here make it very nice, and we have plenty of room to dance.  Walking out, I do a quick stint of dancing in the birdcage, but Mandy is consumed by the mob and can’t get a picture.  

For a change of scenery, next is Argo, calm, adult, with beautiful views, beautiful staff and a house music soundtrack.  Once again greeted as friends and shown to a great table.  It’s quieter here and we get a chance to really talk with our host.  Edison was last in Stockholm when he had the idea for the party host gig.  Surprisingly few others are doing this and he has dreams of expanding into other cities with additional hosts.  It’s admittedly a great idea, especially given the rise in destination bachelor/bachelorette parties and the huge surge in experiential travel.

Last stop of the night is the Koo Club, a legit super-club and the largest one in Fira.  It’s a multi-terraced outdoor space suitable for thousands of people. It’s September, shoulder season, so the club is about half capacity, perfect for us insomuch as it still vibey but with plenty of space to breathe and dance.  J, who’s barely said a word all night, becomes enamored with a group of scantily clad bachelorettes, and surprisingly wants to stay when we call it after 2.  With no Uber and only 40 cabs on the island, having our own driver for the way home feels like an absolute luxury.