What we're left with is one of the most supreme landscapes imaginable. The inner rim of the outer islands are up to 1000 foot sheer cliff faces, sloping slightly toward the top. Into this precarious slope, towns have been built, each building seeming to rest on the one below it. Looking at the island, I get the impression that one slip and it will all slide cleanly into the sea, another victim of the island's unforgiving geography. We stayed in the main town, Fira, during our 2 night stay.
The highlight of the trip, for me, was the hike on day 2. After resting the first afternoon and evening, we got up bright an early for a hike from Fira all the way to Oia (pronounced ee-uh). If you've seen one of those movies I mentioned earlier, you'll recognize that name. Oia is located on the far Northwest side of Thera (the biggest island), only a few km from Fira. Those few kilometers, however, hold some of the most incredible views I've been privileged enough to see. I'll let the photos do most of the talking – but the depth of caldera leaves the water a deep azure, darker than the water immediately surrounding most of the other Cycladic islands. Combined with the inescapable but pleasant sea breeze and the views of both Thera's cliffs and Nea Kameni (the volcano), and the word 'sublime' suddenly seems appropriate.
In Oia we took a massive flight of stairs down to the waterfront (not really a beach – it's all stone and no sand). On the way down, Kara and I discovered a huge abandoned house just off the trail. The volcano here hasn't been dormant very long – the last major activity was a series of huge earthquakes in the 1950s, which led to the temporary evacuation of the entire island and the permanent exodus of thousands of residents. Despite the unimaginably beautiful scenery, many still haven't returned, and their former homes lie dormant, mouldering and collapsing on themselves. Nea Kameni, in full view of many of them, seems to have gotten the last laugh. The home we explored was 3 stories, and must have been quite a sight in its heyday. Along the ceiling were intricate dental and decorative moldings, with some evidence of colorful paint in the areas less exposed to weather. The plaster that used to cover the walls has slowly snowed down onto the floor, coating it in up to 3” of extremely fine dust, the consistency and color of powdered sugar (and what I imagine the surface of the moon is like). Many of the walls are slowly falling down, and there is even what remains of some abandoned furniture in the basement.
The waterfront itself proved to be almost as exciting as the journey to reach it. After a short walk along the sea, there is a collection of large boulders sitting near the water's edge. Perhaps 50 meters into the caldera is a tiny island, taller than it is wide, home only to a small chapel and a dock to facilitate visits. In front of the chapel is a perfect platform, perhaps 15-20 feet up, for jumping. The water beneath is 25-30' deep and crystal clear – absolutely perfect conditions for jumping. I jumped perhaps 7-8 times over the course of the afternoon, and everyone who climbed up to the platform was eventually coaxed into taking the plunge.
Our final day in Santorini was much more low key – we visited the archaeological museum and caught the ferry home. In the museum were several examples of the famous Cycladic figurines (famous in this area – I had never seen them prior to coming to Greece). These marble figures are peculiar little representations of people, mostly women, whose significance isn't well understood. The faces are very simple, the only obvious feature is the nose. There are depressions for eyes but no attempt at detail – and no mouth at all on most. They all carry the same haunting, empty faces and odd gestures. All that I have seen in museums are the color of worn marble, but most of the museum placards seem to agree that many would have been intricately painted. It seems almost symbolic of history in general, and Cycladic history in particular – where there used to be very individual, unique faces 2500 years ago, we now see only outlines, all of which look strikingly similar, just like the people who created them. Where there were very unique and individual people living here, we now see them all as the same, 'Ancient Greeks' or 'Early Cycladic peoples.' Very poetic – and depending on your outlook, either very depressing or very uplifting.
Santorini might be on the most geographically striking places I've ever seen (and I've seen a few beautiful places since I left home!). Despite the fact that the architecture there is incredible, I had a hard time appreciating it, because nothing humans can do can even pale in comparison to the natural beauty of it. Being so close to what is obviously such a powerful force (the volcano in the center annihilated the island and its civilization during the Bronze age, and it is still active) is truly humbling. Nothing anyone on that island does can have pretensions of permanence, the volcano could wipe it all out tomorrow and not a shred of evidence would remain.
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