Santorini in a Day - Ordeal or Adventure by Doreen Pendgracs


Reg looked into the video camera, speaking in a much more pleasant tone than the day before. "I just want to say that although it was one of the worst ordeals I've ever been through, I wouldn't have missed it for the world." We are on the island of Santorini, and just 12 hours earlier, thought we'd never be able to climb another stair for the rest of our lives.

Eight hours by ferry or a short 45-minute flight from Athens will take you worlds away from the noise, crowds, and traffic found in the Greek capital. The island of Santorini -- or Thira -- as it is called by the locals, is 140 miles southeast of Athens. The most southern of the Cycladic Group of islands in the Aegean Sea, Santorini provides not only dramatic scenery, but an enlightening link to the past.

You've probably seen pictures of it -- brilliantly white churches with sky blue rounded towers overlooking azure waters. Being there will take your breath away, especially when atop the cliffs overlooking the Aegean, in the village of Thira, also known as Fira. The Greeks often have two names for the same place -- this explains why Greek telephone books are the size of a four-door Chevy!

Thira is the island's hub, possessing the most awe inspiring vantage point from which to view the caldera -- an area of the volcanic crater submerged in the sea. It is also Santorini's largest village, possessing the widest range and most modern of services. Many sightseeing, sporting, and cultural tours are available. We chose "Santorini in a Day" which would have been more aptly called the "Iron Man for Travelers!"

Throughout a long 12-hour day, we climbed volcanic craters, swam, climbed some more -- up and down steep cliffs with nothing to break your fall, hiked over jagged rock, and up hundreds of stone steps leading to remote villages. But the resulting sensations made the challenges of the day well worth the effort.

After boarding a comfortable tour bus in Kamari, the quiet village serving as our home-base and that of the company, Kamari Tours, we picked up more tourists at a number of the island's surrounding villages. The real adventure began upon reaching the ancient village of Akrotiri, where roughly 30,000 people lived dating back to 1650 BC.

Akrotiri is to the Greeks, what Pompeii is to the Italians. Ancient Akrotiri was covered in pumice and ash by a devastating volcanic eruption in 1500 BC. Excavations of the site began in 1967, uncovering numerous multi-storied buildings, detailed wall paintings, and lovely Minoan pottery. The findings of this archaeological dig -- most of the original townsite still buried -- have provided historians with invaluable information about the Late Bronze Age.

Next, we boarded a 30-passenger sailing vessel at Athinios, and headed for Nea Kameni (New Burnt Island), home of an active volcano.

After an hour and a half's trek over barely navigable terrain, some of our group made it to the top of the crater. Without any guiding signs or easy pathway over the lava rock, our best bet was to keep walking and hope we didn't lose sight of those ahead. It would have been so easy to stumble or just drop from heat exhaustion. It would have been even easier to stay with the boat and enjoy a six-pack of Amstel beer whilst perusing the Greek telephone book!

On to Palea Kameni (Old Burnt Island) -- which is about how we felt at this point. We had 20 minutes to swim 50 meters to the hot springs and back. The water was rough and five meters deep, so we chose to enjoy the time sunning on the boat. Only those in top condition or a mood to test fate should take the plunge into the 45∞ C water, although it is difficult to resist temptation of the hot springs' therapeutic qualities.

Sailing on to the island of Thirasia we spot the village of Manolas, perched high above us. To get there, you either walk up the centuries old path or you get on a mule. We soon learned that mules stop and go when they want and they sway a lot -- not unlike New York City cabdrivers. A quick peek to my left revealed a number of boats, looking like tiny toys so far below -- and no guard rails to prevent a fall down those steep cliffs. I'm still not sure whether the terror I felt aboard that mule was easier to take than a self-powered hike to the summit might have been. I wonder whether any mules have been convicted of homicide?

At the top, we were welcomed by the aroma of a chef grilling souvlaki, served up with cold Amstel beer, both local favorites. Manolas is small -- only 250 inhabitants -- or 300 if you count the mules, so there's only one full service restaurant. You can't miss it.

A visit to Manolas was well worth the effort, even if the mules retired for the day, heading back up the hill before we finished lunch. That meant the only way to get back to the boat was to walk down. Not easy in the late day heat of the Greek islands. Mules are smarter than we think.

The last stop of our journey took us back to the main island of Santorini, and the village of Oia -- also known as Ia -- renowned for its sunsets. Roughly 300 steep steps lead from the pier straight up to the cliff-top village. After eight hours of hiking and climbing in blazing sun, this venture is unlikely to seem enticing, even to the most adventurous traveler. But alas, it is the only choice for anyone not prepared to fake a heart attack and remain on the boat destined for the port of Athinios.

Onward and upward we tread. Gratefully, the vistas along our rest stops -- and there were many -- provided an inspiration to forge ahead. Knowing that more cold beer and other libations were in wait atop the hill made it easier to persevere.

Most of this village was rebuilt following a massive earthquake that destroyed it in 1956. Yet Oia, Santorini's northernmost village, remains possessed by a sense of eeriness, as you pass skeletons of buildings partially destroyed more than 40 years ago. Some stand vacant; others have new construction built overtop the ruins.

Oia, now filled with tourists from all corners of the world, remains quaint. Its architecture is typical Cycladic, with houses tucked like bird nests into the cliffs for protection.

Slowly, those who have come to watch the sunset line the cliffs on the town's west end, waiting to bear witness to the natural splendor of which they've heard. A minor disappointment -- the sun produced a mere pastel sunset, yet it was a picture-perfect ending to our day-long adventure.

"Yes, adventure, not ordeal," said my husband, Reg -- but only after a good night's sleep had softened the aches and memory of the challenges we'd faced the day before ... continue to page 2