It’s All Greek To Me
Ever since we’d mentioned coming to Santorini, Sam had had his heart set on quad biking. It just so happened, I’d read lots of horror stories on Trip Advisor about how dangerous they were and 20 out of 23 reviews I read said ‘Don’t do it!’ The cliffside roads are so windy and crazy and people come off these things on a daily basis. I expressed my concerns and the boys read the reviews but were determined, assuring me they’d wear helmets (not mandatory in Santorini!) and promising they’d drive safely. Toby doesn’t have his licence yet so Ross doubled him on the back of his bike. They had a fun ride down the other side of the island and swam at a beautiful beach before returning to the bikes to find the pod on the back of Sam’s bike had been jemmied open, somebody pinching his t-shirt! He’d been so close to leaving his camera, phone and wallet in there but had decided against it at the last minute. Phew! Thankfully no one came a cropper and they said, “See Mum, nothing at all to worry about.”
While the boys were off expending some testosterone, Maisy and I enjoyed a totally relaxing morning, reading and chilling out in Oia. We had a wander around the village and pottered in the cute little shops, full of hand-made ceramics, arty jewellery, silk scarves and a plethora of photographs and paintings of Santorini. Had we been craving a little feline company, we’d have been able to rent a cat. Nothing like a strange cat to cuddle up to when you’re away from home. Surprisingly, it seemed that many of our fellow travellers had availed themselves of this service with furry friends poking their whiskered faces from doorways all over town. A group of Aussie girls staying just near us had seemingly rented a whole cat family. Who’d have thought?
Another picture perfect day – the bright blue skies perfectly coordinating with those famous Santorini domes – meant it was time for a swim. From Oia, the closest (and best) swimming is at Amoudi Bay, the beach we visited on our first day with the killer walk back up the hill. There are plenty of other great swimming spots on the island, though they’d all require a bus trip and Amoudi Bay did look so inviting down there, with its sparkling blue, rippling water. Even though I had vowed to never to put myself through that torturous climb again (at least until I’d done intensive training for a couple of years minimum) before I knew it, we had towels in hand and were on our way down. What goes down, must come up (or something like that) and with every step down the hot, spiralling path, I was secretly dreading the return trip. The exhausted faces of those making the ascent, heaving and willing their reluctant bodies in an upward motion, didn’t instil confidence in my ability to make it back. Maybe I’d just stay down there – build a bamboo shelter; forge a new life for myself. I could catch fish, light a fire…
Diving into the sensationally clear, cool water of the magnificent bay was such a relief from the heat and there were jump rocks of varying sizes to keep the whole family happy and splashing. It was fairly crowded but not unbearably so. Maisy struck up a conversation with a nice couple from Maroubra who had left their four kids behind and were having a romantic trip away to celebrate their anniversary. We were in mid conversation when they looked heavenward and mentioned the thing on everyone’s mind: how the heck are we going to get back up there? We discussed the possibility of going up via donkey but agreed it was so hard on the poor things. Suddenly, out of nowhere, I heard the magic words come out of my new Australian friend’s mouth…”I heard you can get a taxi back up”.
What did she say? A TAXI! Yes! Hallelujah! We could walk around a corner to an actual road and the restaurant could call us a cab. Best news I’d had all day.
Sure enough, after a long swim and fun at Amoudi, the very accommodating lady in the fish shop dialled us a cab. I could have kissed her. Toby and Ross actually wanted to walk up (?) so we met them at the crest of the hill. After complaining about how dangerous and worrying quad bikes were, with accidents EVERY day -“People die on them” – (Sam was happy that taxi trip hadn’t been earlier in the day) the taxi driver undoubtedly ripped us off, charging us €15 for a trip that lasted 5 minutes if it was lucky. It was worth every cent and he knew it; cheeky bugger.
Toby and Sam made friends early on with our cliffside neighbours who happened to have a very large roof, complete with beanbag lounges and that insane view. They very generously offered that the boys could use it whenever they liked. Toby and I actually watched the sunrise, in all its pink and purple glory, this morning from this beautiful panoramic vantage point. Every now and then throughout the day Toby would disappear and we’d know he was back up on the roof, in his beanbag chair, in his happy place. This afternoon Sam joined him and they took some music. As they looked around, people were dancing on their balconies with cries of “turn it up!” echoing around the cliff.
Being such a tourist-friendly area, most people in Santorini actually speak English, so much so that I’m the only member of my family to have even had a crack at speaking the local lingo. Yep, not a ‘yassouh’ or an ‘efkharisto’ has so much as left the lips of the other Joneses here with me. Having said that, though I’m giving it a crack, it often elicits a laugh from the recipient of my attempt and they rarely understand me so that I have to repeat myself in English anyway. At least I’m having a go, right?
As I said, most people here speak English but not all. The maid who came to empty the bathroom bins (what a job – given the no flush rule!) had NO idea what I was trying to say when I was asking where the plug for the kitchen sink was. After jamming my hand into the sink hole and shrugging wildly, eventually she understood and simply shook her head and said “kaput!” The universal language of mime strikes again.
The supermarket cashier was also devoid of any English and holding up a bottle before him, I enquired: “red wine?” to which he nodded in assent. When we poured ourselves a fairly generous glass of ‘red’ to have with tonight’s dinner, our first gulp revealed it was not red wine at all and was actually port. Close enough.
The first time I’ve actually cooked since we left the Land Abounding In Nature’s Gifts, I chose to do it tonight, in the 200 year-old cave house that has a portable hot plate, one saucepan and not much else. It was just like camping. I couldn’t find a butcher on Santorini so we had a weird hybrid of salami, pasta and tomato sauce with some hand-grated cheese. Not one of my most gourmet creations but no one complained (or fell drastically ill) so that was a bonus.
After dinner, Toby and Sam went ‘upstairs’ to find us some dessert and brought back some delectable looking chocolatey treats. The taste completely defied its glossy, fudgy, gooey, delicious appearance and after tasting it, we agreed unanimously it was the most disgusting thing we’d ever tasted! Tasting more like Pine-o-Clean than chocolate it was almost too bad to even swallow. Toby described it as tasting like “the forest”. I think the French may just edge out the Greeks in the cake department.
The alarm is set for the obscene time of 5am. It’s certainly going to be hard leaving this paradise.
