We are heading out to explore the island. Our friendly car-rental guy on Santorini is named Tony. Dan is sure he's Italian. ("How do you know?" I ask. He replies with a straight face. "All Tonys are Italian.") The fact that Tony actually speaks Italian weighs in Dan's favor, despite evidence uncovered in the archaelogical site of Tony's desk that his full name is Antonis.
Click here to follow our trip on a map of the island.
Our first stop is straight east across the island at a beachside outdoor café in the town of Kamari, famous for its wide black-sand beaches. These beaches, it turns out, are not so much black sand beaches as beaches of small black pebbles, wave-polished and beautiful. As I gather a handful of the best pebbles ("These will be great in vases, Dan!"), I remember why I have voluntarily exiled myself from the stone beaches on Block Island. I escape Kamari with only weighed-down pocket. We find the one seaside place that is open before noon and enjoy a cappucino. Two weeks into our vacation, and we are finally no longer hurrying.
The modern town of Kamari is located on the site of the port for the ancient Greek town of Kamari, which was located on the top of the neighboring mountain. And so we head on up. The road, wide enough in spots for only one car, follows a long series of switchbacks until, at the top, we reach the parking area for the ancient site. The ruins are extensive; clearly the city had once been prosperous.
We head next for the beach area north of the mountain, where, we had been told, the fish is the freshest in all Santorini. In theory (that is, according to our map), we could follow the road down to the north. But this was one of those cases where theory and practice are different. In practice, the only way down the mountain is back whence we came.
We decide to skip the monastery of Profitis Elias (Prophet Elijah), the highest spot on the island, since it is now close to lunchtime. But the road signs on the island decide differently. It's not that the signs are wrong so much as that there are not enough of them. It appears that, in the Greek Department of Highways Road Sign Lottery, Santorini did not place highly. So they are making do with only about a third of the necessary signage. As the road we are following peters out once again, we find ourselves in the parking area of the monastery, with stunning island views in every direction.
We stop at a winery. In order to earn a wine-tasting, we are required to tour the wine museum, which graphically lays out the history of the family that owns the winery. The wine has a flinty taste under all the other fruits and spices and vegetables that we might describe wines with. Dan and I are sure it's the taste of the voilcanic soil.
We have to hustle to make it to Oia (pronounced, by the way, "EE-ah") by sunset. Oia is at the far north end of the caldera. All the guidebooks say that the very best sunset of all good island sunsets may be seen at the north point of Oia. This is a guarantee that all the tourists on the island will end up in Oia in the late afternoon to evening. And so the town has become a tourist magnet, full of clubs and restaurants and boutiques. It is clean and charming, possibly the most adorable little town on the planet.
The view across the caldera is dramatic.
The crowds are gathering thickly to watch the sunset. Everyone is staking out a personal "best" position. And we suddenly realize that we have a personal best position, too. At this time of year the sun is setting farther south than it does during the high tourist season. It will be better from our hotel. We race home and make it in time.
