Words From Adelaide: I Left My Heart In Santorini
John Powell paints an enticing word portrait of a Greek island.
1,475 years before Christ, there was a cataclysmic, volcanic eruption on, what is now, the Greek island of Santorini. The eruption and the resulting tidal waves, caused thousands of deaths and showered Santorini and other islands with volcanic rock. One theory is that they destroyed the City of Atlantis.
Today, Santorini is a seven-hour ferry trip on the dark blue Mediterranean, from Piraeus, the port of Athens, Nearing the island the steep, mountainous cliffs, hundreds of feet high, show red and black volcanic-rock formations. Buildings are sparklingly white, with verandahs, doors, windows and, strikingly, church domes, painted deep blue; all this picturesque scene is capped with a cloudless, blue sky. Magic, and photographed countless times a day by the hordes of camera-clicking tourists.
We dock at the quay of Athinios, below the capital city of Fira. Waiting buses queue to take away the back-packing tourists while the trucks and cars drive off the ferry and wind slowly up the hairpin bend road, hugging the side of the cliffs. The rugged cliffs are breath-taking in their grandeur as they change shape constantly in the upward journey and, looking down, one sees the ferry becoming smaller and smaller to view. The whole of Santorini is fascinating with wonderful views from every vantage point, available to all with the hire of countless motorcycles, mopeds and cars. It only takes an hour or so to drive round the island of which some areas provide, understandingly, the most expensive real estate in Greece.
The capital, Fira, is filled with narrow, winding lanes (always, it seems to my old bones, everlastingly uphill) and filled with souvenir shops, and cafés sometimes seemingly glued to the side of the mountains and giving a vantage point from where one can see the semi-circular shape of Santorini, while the ferries and tourist launches appear far below, leaving white wakes on the blue sea. At the centre of the circle are two small islands, Nea Kameni and Palea Kameni; the latter is the site of the volcanic crater, which can be inspected but calls for a tiring walk on loose soil by young and fit bodies, of which there are plenty on Santorini.
Some people take the cable car ride down the cliff-face and back, for more photos. The foolhardy make the return journey by mule, up a zigzagging, cliff-hugging path. Most riders, with terrified expressions and clenched teeth, are far too busy hanging grimly onto the saddle with both hands to look at the view. I looked three times when my mule lost its footing and stumbled, giving me an unsolicited view down the sheer drop to the rocks below.
At Parissa, there is a popular tourist beach, with umbrellas, and sunbathers with unaccustomed flesh burning pink under the hot sun, together with rows of Tavernas, cafes and restaurants forming a welcome background. The beach has black sand. Inspection shows that, unlike ordinary sand, it does not stick to the skin and a towel; as soft as sand to walk on with bare feet, it is made up of very minute black stones and is known as ‘Black Beach’. Near Akrotiri is the Red Beach, without similar sand, in red, but it is spectacular with overhanging red cliffs of huge boulders and, as always, the dark blue of the Mediterranean for pleasing contrast.
It has been my good fortune to see many wonderous sights: a train ride through the Canadian Rockies; a helicopter flight through the Grand Canyon; another hopping over the snow-covered mountain tops of British Columbia; the Pyramids; the rolling English countryside of the Cotswolds; the red rock city of Petra; Paris, from the highest point on the Eiffel Tower: the twinkling lights of Beirut at night from the Lebanese mountains; the Austrian Tyrol; the Skyrail over rainforests in Queensland; they may all, in their own way, equal the beauty of Santorini, but none of them surpass it.
Our final scene to see at Santorini had to be at Oia, the best vantage point, to watch the wonderful sunset when, as dusk fell, the setting sun flung brilliant colours across the horizon, gently caressing the scattered islands, with blending shades of yellow, orange and gradually deepening shades of red until, finally, the last tip of the deep red sun sank slowly behind the distant island of Folegandros.
Only then did the watching crowd, previously silenced by nature’s wonder, break into spontaneous applause, a fitting tribute to Santorini’s beauty given to us, as a final curtain call, by the Greek Gods.
