GREECE DAY 7 - LOTS MORE OF SANTORINI TO SEE

There’s a walkway that goes from Fira, in the central part of the island all the way to Oia on the northernmost tip.  The walkway bisects our hotel vertically through the center, half the rooms above and half below, with our pool deck looking down on it. Walkway may be a generous use of the term, as the path is part sidewalk, part uneven cobblestone, part dirt road and part steep hiking trail.  We’re out early to beat the heat and make it to the church about half an hour to our north. 

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The churches here are everywhere. You can usually see at least three of the distinct blue domed roofs no matter where you are standing on the island. It took us a while to realize that most of these are shrines, not active churches, built in thanks for a significant event in the builders life. We saw one such shrine in a little cove from the boat a few days ago, built 100+ years ago as a father’s thanks for all of his five children surviving a shipwreck and being rescued from the cove three days later.  Hard to tell which type today’s destination is. It’s big, and sits atop one of the most visible hills on the island, so if it’s a shrine, our builder must be extra thankful.

We turn right and we’re off. Oh, this is easier then I thought, smooth and downhill.  Not for long. Even the downhill is tough once the pavement ends and we’re at the lowest point. Looking ahead, and by this point even looking back, it’s uphill both ways, just like my dad walking to school in the snow as a kid.  We pass the Nobu Hotel, one of the few recognizable marquees we have seen here, and it’s nothing but hiking trail to the church.   It’s not even 8am and the sun is already blazing, reminding us that we didn’t have coffee yet.   

Despite the conditions, we’re loving the walk. The landscape to our right, the sea to our left, Mandy’s hand in mine. It’s just 30 minutes till we reach the top, and we’re treated to stunning views of the caldera to the north and the Aegean to the south. We ohhhh and ahhhh and click pix and kiss.

 

The hike back is quieter, as they usually are. We arrive just in time for breakfast delivery, our bodies thankfully sucking up a big bottle of water and strong Greek coffee. We are really getting used to this.

The day is for exploring the beaches, and we head to Santorini’s famous Red Beach first.  It’s a fun drive, up and over the mountain, parking behind a rocky bluff at the end of a peninsula. We follow the narrow, improvised trail up and around the bluff, dropping down into Red Beach. It’s rustic, undeveloped, the “sand” red from the iron ore in the cliff beside the beach. People are strewn about, tour boats coming and going. Worth it if you’re out anyway, but probably not a special trip.

Perivolus Beach, our next stop, is most definitely worth a special trip. It’s a mile long stretch of beach bars, separated by a small road from their respective beach lounger areas. We like JoJo, a mellow spot with some thumpy house EDM, fresh seafood, and a happy vibe.  We pick a daybed by the water, the rhythmic bass lulling us into deep sleeps between swims. Hours pass in minutes as they tend to do on the beach.

 

A bit more exploring to do, so we drive to Emporio, one of the work-a-day villages where the average Santorinian raises their family.  It’s inland as much as a place can be on an island, the centuries old white stone structures place haphazardly as the land allows, and connected at strange angles and elevations. In the center is The Castle, and we know so because we see this sign. 

It’s the strangest castle you can imagine. Hundreds of small apartments joined by Dr. Suess stairs that randomly twist then end.  Clearly this place was the inspiration for building codes. And probably the Escher’s Relativity stairs. In the center is an active church with a high steeple and small front courtyard.  We run into other confound travelers, laughing in wonderment as much as us, like an adult size McDonalds Playland. 

 

We wander the alleys of the town, somehow passing our parked car three different times from three different directions. We follow hand painted signs to a small house with a shop in the compact courtyard. The woman is the resident and maker, showing her brightly colored wares, and speaking kindly to our sweaty selves, and giving each of us a handful of nuts rolled in honey snd sesame seeds. Mandy and I exchange nonverbal, knowing we’re going to buy something, anything to support this lovely person.  Once we really look at the merch, we’re excited we found her. Jars of Tomato jam and caper jam, each with hand crocheted toppers, a small ornament as a gift, and a bag of those yummy nuts later, and we’re on our way, hoping to find the car one last time.

If you ask enough people enough times, they’ll finally tell you the best local restaurant. The one they go to on some random Thursday.  In Santorini, the answer is Kali Kardia, which translates to Good Heart.  Set high on the side of a windy, dusty road high on a hill on the southern cleft of the island, It’s in the middle of nowhere, overlooking somewhere very special, with sweeping views of the entire curve of the island.  The entire dining room features huge windows opened to take advantage of natural air conditioning. 

 

We get seated, look at the menu and order, then I excuse myself to wash the top layer of dust off before we eat.  I wander downstairs in search of the water closet, past the immaculate kitchen, then get shooed away by a pair of YaYa’s, dutifully peeling a huge pile of potatoes and gossiping away.  It’s rare to see squash blossoms on a menu, and we always order them when we do.  Normal preparation is lightly flowered and pan fried, sometimes stuffed with soft cheese.  Our waiter drops off a huge plate, but a very different concept.  These are stuffed with rice and herbs, with plenty of olive oil and lemon in the mix.  “Send everything else back, and bring me these until I explode” I think but don’t say. 

Next is the falafel. Mandy, well versed in the falafelisht arts, takes one bite and looks at me with loving eyes. “Best fa-las-fulll eva!”, the food equivalent to “I love you man!” and high praise indeed.  The mussels and Santorini salad follow, and we dig into the dishes while we go to work on our liter of house white, poured from what can best be described as a mason jar with a handle and spout into 4 ounce juice glasses.  By the time the whole grilled sea bream arrives, we can barely move, much less eat more. But this is Greece, and Greek mythology tells us that heroes are made when mortals are faced with adversity, so we take up what weapons we can gather and attack the most succulent fish with everything we can muster. As with every good myth, our story ends with the heroes standing high atop some mountain, staring off into the distant sunset, hair blowing magesticly in the wind. Ok, ok, 88 steps down from high atop…