18 Apr 2015

Stranded, part III - Look at that water! Look at it!

Easter…Saturday?

The day after all the sparks and stuff was pretty low-key. I recall spending most of the day either reading, eating or napping. Judging from my photographs of that day, I must have spent a good share of the day with a cat sleeping on my chest. A recurring theme: I’m writing these lines with a 6-week old kitten sleeping snuggled in my fleece jacket. Don’t believe me? Joke’s on you!

In the evening we wanted to go see the fireworks. A guy working at the hostel had gotten us all excited about it. He used the words “homemade bombs” and “loud as hell”, so of course we wanted to go. He had even shown us a few videos from his hometown, which really did look like the world was coming to an end in a hurricane of colourful lights and explosions.

So in the evening we gathered the group from the night before (plus a few additions) and sauntered over to the cliff to watch the sunset. It did indeed set, and it was magnificent.

From what I remember - I really need to start writing these articles in a more timely fashion - we went out for a drink afterwards. At midnight - I think - we went up to the biggest church in Fira to see the ceremony. A crowd was already waiting, holding unlit candles.

After a procession exited the curch and sang a song or two, they began lighting candles from a candle brought from the church. No ordinary flame this, but a descendant of the Holy Fire. Yep, brought from the grave of Jesus Christ by the orthodox patriarch himself. A miracle.

“Pilgrims and clergy claim that the Holy Fire does not burn them.” (So quoted on Wikipedia) That’s just asking for it, isn’t it?

I digress. The flame was handed out to the crowd accompanied by cheering, hugging and some more singing. Then the fireworks began: Teenagers began throwing firecrackers into the church yard. Amplified by the building, one loud BANG after another rang out.

And that was it. For a moment we were left wondering when the real fireworks would start. No, that was it. Even without the high expectations after the night before this would have been a let-down.

On this trip I’ve indiscriminately taken pictures of almost everything. Not of this ceremony though, which should tell you something.

Shaking our heads - and in two cases clutching our holy candles - we headed back towards the bars, eventually ending the night in an Irish pub.

Easter Sunday

The next morning the common room was quiet. Most of our group had ended the evening rather late and were still out of commission. The few survivors - the dauntless Finn and his Spanish friend - suggested heading for Oia. We walked around for a spell and I used the opportunity to re-shoot all the rainy pictures I had taken when I was there with my friend Holger.

Somehow we figured it might be fun to take a small boat to the island of Thirasia which was visible in the distance (previous picture, island on the upper right). So we began to look for a path down to the small port. The path we found consisted of a long series of looping, serpentine stairs. Sound familiar?

This descent was a bit more hurried though, as we saw a small boat approaching the port from the direction of Thirasia. This being a public holiday, we figured that missing that particular boat could well mean not getting another chance.

Apart from one local, we were the only passengers as the small boat set off and zipped across the waves to Thirasia.

Upon arrival, Thirasia looked like it had been left there by somebody and then forgotten. The port was somewhat charming with its sleepy looks, but empty.

We had lunch in a restaurant right on the beach. The place was somewhat minimalist (little furniture, fewer guests), and the owner had the dirtiest hands I have ever seen on a human being. He turned out to be incredibly friendly (I think he was - we couldn’t really find a language we shared) and the Easter lamb that was served was delicious.

Exhibit A: Before roast.

Exhibit B: After roast.

After a generous meal and an even more generous helping of various desserts, our host offered to drive us to town. In many ways it seems to be true that the further you get off the mainstream destinations, the more helpful and friendly people become.

After a scenic drive to the centre of the island our host bid us farewell in the middle of what he called “the capital”. Of the 200 people living on that island, we saw maybe six. So we spent around half an hour milling about town until we got bored and decided to hike back to the harbor to catch the boat back to Oia.

We ended up seeing more donkeys than we saw people. Even finding something to drink turned out to be impossible, since the few people we saw insisted their restaurants were closed, and the donkeys had no suggestions either.

Properly roasted by the sun we arrived back at the harbor. The lure of that azure-blue water was just impossible to resist, so Jarno and I decided to go for a quick swim. Just to give you an impression:

The water here must have been around 2-2.5m deep.

Eventually, we made our way back to the pier, where we boarded the boat together with a group of French hikers, most of them quite middle-aged.

Once we reached the port on Oia, this fact would become a bit embarrassing. The group of what should have been grey panthers began to attack the stairs with the dexterity of mountain goats, quickly overtaking us. In our defense: It was really hot, the stairs were steep and…yeah, there is no excuse, really.

We enjoyed the phenomenal view from a cafe over drinks before heading back to Fira. There, we met up with the rest of our group and had a delightful dinner of even more lamb, followed by a few relaxed beers. Around midnight I said my goodbyes before taking a bus to the ferry terminal.

My extended stay on Santorini came to an end as the ferry (once again one of the shiny ones!) docked at the pier just shy of one o’clock. When the storm first screwed up my travel plans, I had been a bit annoyed. Seeing the Easter celebrations and spending the weekend with an amazing group of people changed my attitude considerably. That’s the good thing about poor plans: They can only get better!

Until next time,
Arne