October 3, 2015 Mykonos / Santorini
M. Gautham Machaiah
One more lazy morning. It was finally beginning to feel like a well deserved holiday. I had nothing to do until afternoon when I had to catch a ferry to the island of Santorini.
I still had a little time and felt Little Venice tugging at my heart strings. It was about 11.30 am and my car was to pick me up only at 1.15 pm. Something at the back of my mind said I might be cutting it a bit too fine. The receptionist too insisted that I be back by at least 1 pm.
I asked the little bird in the mind to shut up and took the bus to Little Venice. I quickly bought some souvenirs and returned on time to catch the bus at 12.30 pm. The owner of Kavos who had given me a high-5 yesterday was surprised to see me again. This time he gave a warm hug and bid me bye.
For some reason, the bus did not turn up at 12.30 pm. I was hoping that it would arrive at least at 1 pm to enable me reach the hotel in the next 15 minutes, but there was no sign of it. When it did not arrive until 1.15 pm, I had to literally make a dash to the hotel, often breaking into small sprint. This was the first time the Universe had failed me. Or had it?
Right from the day I left Bengaluru airport until this moment everything had gone off perfectly. Why did the Universe put me in a situation where I had to walk back all the way that too when I was already running late? It was then that I realised that the little bird had warned me against visiting the town, but I had ignored it.
In situations like this, the Universe always sends us a warning or signal, but we do not listen to it. Usually, the signal comes in the form of a hunch and when we ignore it we receive messages in the physical form. In my case, the voice at the back of my mind had warned me against going to Little Venice. When I ignored it, the Universe sent a message through the receptionist which too I did not heed. I had nobody to blame but myself for this confusion.
Ultimately, I managed to reach the port on time. I was travelling on Champion Jet-1, a super fast ferry that would take me to Santorini. I took the window side in a cluster of six seats facing each other. An Asian family occupied the remaining five seats. They were a family of six and were keen to be seated together, but perhaps thought it impolite to ask me to vacate my window seat. I understood their predicament and moved to another seat. They were so grateful that they all started bowing in gratitude. Sometimes such small gestures can make a big impact.
I moved to the middle section of the ferry and occupied a seat. Soon, two guys took the remaining seats next to me though there were many vacant ones in the ferry. I had read somewhere that Mykonos was the gay capital of Greece and began to feel a bit uncomfortable.
Soon we got talking. They were actually very nice guys and even if they were oriented in a particular way it was none of my business. We humans are always judgmental.
They were from Sao Paulo, one of Brazil's most populous cities. They had begun their holiday in Italy from where they had flown into Greece. "San Paulo is a very big city in Brazil," one of them volunteered.
I am a fan of Brazilian author Paulo Coelho and had come across the city's name in his books.
As I had mentioned in my previous blogs, I was initially very apprehensive of travelling alone. One day when I was reading a book by Paulo Coelho there was a passage on the advantages of solo travel. That in a way inspired me to take up this trip. My fellow travellers had never heard of their most celebrated author.
They also had not heard of Bangalore and when I told them it was the Silicon Valley of India, they were amused.
Done with my small talk, I took a walk down to the cafe where I bought a Latte and a pizza which was square in shape. I was wearing a bright yellow shirt and was wondering if it was a bit too flashy for the day. Just then a lady who was ahead of me in the queue turned back and said, "I love your shirt." I told her what I was just thinking and she said, "This shirt looks beautiful on you. I really love it." She said she was from Melbourne and when I said I was from India she gave me a beaming smile. The word India always evoked a warm response all through Greece.
We reached Santorini in two-and-a half hours. The island was straight out of the movies. Santorini was devastated by a volcano in the 16 century, making the entire landscape rugged. Once you alight at the port, the car takes you up a 300 metre hill through several hairpin bends. The whitewashed houses are perched atop the hill and for a moment you may mistake them for a snow-capped mountain.
My hotel, a 30-minute drive from the port was located in the historical village of Akrotiri. The village which was buried under mountains of volcanic ash was excavated in 1967.
The hotel, Caldera Romantica, was cut-off from the rest of the civilisation and provided a perfect holiday spot. There was a huge gorge just across the hotel and down below was the indigo coloured Aegean Sea. You could just spend hours together just watching the calm waters.
The receptionist at the hotel was a very passionate lady. Before showing me to the room, she insisted on giving a lecture on Santorini and the places to be seen. On her recommendation I decided to explore the Red Beach.
I am a formal dresser and the maximum informality that I allow myself is a pair of jeans and T-shirt. Today, I had decided to become a bit adventurous. I wore a pair of shorts and slippers for the first time in my life. Since I had not spent any time in the beaches of Mykonos, I thought this would be an opportunity to get my feet wet.
The receptionist had arranged a taxi to take me to Red Beach. The driver with a handlebar moustache resembled a Coorg. Though the only language he spoke was Greek, we managed to strike a happy conversation. The language of the heart has no barriers.
I got off the car all set to plunge into the water, only to realise Red Beach was not actually a beach. It was a rocky, rugged surface with no access to the water! Thus, ended my first experiment with shorts and slippers, in a fiasco.
The sunset, however, was a consolation. I spent some time taking photographs and returned to the hotel.
The hotel had a cute restaurant overlooking the sea and I decided to spend the rest of the evening there. The steward introduced himself as Andrew, quickly adding, "In English it is Andrew, but in Greek it is Andreas." I made a mental note of this, but did not venture with my comments as there were customers on the other tables.
Once the restaurant was relatively empty I called Andreas and asked him why he had changed his name to Andrew. "For the sake of the English speaking people," he said.
This shifted my memory to India where the names of Indian cities were anglicised by the British. "You should be proud of your name and not change it for the sake of others. You belong to the land of Alexander the Great," I told him as I tried to pump in some nationalism into him.
Andreas appeared convinced. "There is a point in what you say," he admitted. The next day when I went to the restaurant, I could see him proudly introducing himself to everybody as Andreas, not Andrew.
On Andreas' recommendation, I treated myself to some more authentic Greek food. This time it was Fava cream with smoked pork, Bon bon smoked salmon and tuna, and halva with chocolate ice cream and sauce. Thankfully, the long walks would take care of my calories.
Thus, ended my first day in Santorini and the fifth in Greece.
M. Gautham Machaiah
One more lazy morning. It was finally beginning to feel like a well deserved holiday. I had nothing to do until afternoon when I had to catch a ferry to the island of Santorini.
I still had a little time and felt Little Venice tugging at my heart strings. It was about 11.30 am and my car was to pick me up only at 1.15 pm. Something at the back of my mind said I might be cutting it a bit too fine. The receptionist too insisted that I be back by at least 1 pm.
I asked the little bird in the mind to shut up and took the bus to Little Venice. I quickly bought some souvenirs and returned on time to catch the bus at 12.30 pm. The owner of Kavos who had given me a high-5 yesterday was surprised to see me again. This time he gave a warm hug and bid me bye.
For some reason, the bus did not turn up at 12.30 pm. I was hoping that it would arrive at least at 1 pm to enable me reach the hotel in the next 15 minutes, but there was no sign of it. When it did not arrive until 1.15 pm, I had to literally make a dash to the hotel, often breaking into small sprint. This was the first time the Universe had failed me. Or had it?
Right from the day I left Bengaluru airport until this moment everything had gone off perfectly. Why did the Universe put me in a situation where I had to walk back all the way that too when I was already running late? It was then that I realised that the little bird had warned me against visiting the town, but I had ignored it.
In situations like this, the Universe always sends us a warning or signal, but we do not listen to it. Usually, the signal comes in the form of a hunch and when we ignore it we receive messages in the physical form. In my case, the voice at the back of my mind had warned me against going to Little Venice. When I ignored it, the Universe sent a message through the receptionist which too I did not heed. I had nobody to blame but myself for this confusion.
Ultimately, I managed to reach the port on time. I was travelling on Champion Jet-1, a super fast ferry that would take me to Santorini. I took the window side in a cluster of six seats facing each other. An Asian family occupied the remaining five seats. They were a family of six and were keen to be seated together, but perhaps thought it impolite to ask me to vacate my window seat. I understood their predicament and moved to another seat. They were so grateful that they all started bowing in gratitude. Sometimes such small gestures can make a big impact.
I moved to the middle section of the ferry and occupied a seat. Soon, two guys took the remaining seats next to me though there were many vacant ones in the ferry. I had read somewhere that Mykonos was the gay capital of Greece and began to feel a bit uncomfortable.
Soon we got talking. They were actually very nice guys and even if they were oriented in a particular way it was none of my business. We humans are always judgmental.
They were from Sao Paulo, one of Brazil's most populous cities. They had begun their holiday in Italy from where they had flown into Greece. "San Paulo is a very big city in Brazil," one of them volunteered.
I am a fan of Brazilian author Paulo Coelho and had come across the city's name in his books.
As I had mentioned in my previous blogs, I was initially very apprehensive of travelling alone. One day when I was reading a book by Paulo Coelho there was a passage on the advantages of solo travel. That in a way inspired me to take up this trip. My fellow travellers had never heard of their most celebrated author.
They also had not heard of Bangalore and when I told them it was the Silicon Valley of India, they were amused.
Done with my small talk, I took a walk down to the cafe where I bought a Latte and a pizza which was square in shape. I was wearing a bright yellow shirt and was wondering if it was a bit too flashy for the day. Just then a lady who was ahead of me in the queue turned back and said, "I love your shirt." I told her what I was just thinking and she said, "This shirt looks beautiful on you. I really love it." She said she was from Melbourne and when I said I was from India she gave me a beaming smile. The word India always evoked a warm response all through Greece.
We reached Santorini in two-and-a half hours. The island was straight out of the movies. Santorini was devastated by a volcano in the 16 century, making the entire landscape rugged. Once you alight at the port, the car takes you up a 300 metre hill through several hairpin bends. The whitewashed houses are perched atop the hill and for a moment you may mistake them for a snow-capped mountain.
My hotel, a 30-minute drive from the port was located in the historical village of Akrotiri. The village which was buried under mountains of volcanic ash was excavated in 1967.
The hotel, Caldera Romantica, was cut-off from the rest of the civilisation and provided a perfect holiday spot. There was a huge gorge just across the hotel and down below was the indigo coloured Aegean Sea. You could just spend hours together just watching the calm waters.
The receptionist at the hotel was a very passionate lady. Before showing me to the room, she insisted on giving a lecture on Santorini and the places to be seen. On her recommendation I decided to explore the Red Beach.
I am a formal dresser and the maximum informality that I allow myself is a pair of jeans and T-shirt. Today, I had decided to become a bit adventurous. I wore a pair of shorts and slippers for the first time in my life. Since I had not spent any time in the beaches of Mykonos, I thought this would be an opportunity to get my feet wet.
The receptionist had arranged a taxi to take me to Red Beach. The driver with a handlebar moustache resembled a Coorg. Though the only language he spoke was Greek, we managed to strike a happy conversation. The language of the heart has no barriers.
I got off the car all set to plunge into the water, only to realise Red Beach was not actually a beach. It was a rocky, rugged surface with no access to the water! Thus, ended my first experiment with shorts and slippers, in a fiasco.
The sunset, however, was a consolation. I spent some time taking photographs and returned to the hotel.
The hotel had a cute restaurant overlooking the sea and I decided to spend the rest of the evening there. The steward introduced himself as Andrew, quickly adding, "In English it is Andrew, but in Greek it is Andreas." I made a mental note of this, but did not venture with my comments as there were customers on the other tables.
Once the restaurant was relatively empty I called Andreas and asked him why he had changed his name to Andrew. "For the sake of the English speaking people," he said.
This shifted my memory to India where the names of Indian cities were anglicised by the British. "You should be proud of your name and not change it for the sake of others. You belong to the land of Alexander the Great," I told him as I tried to pump in some nationalism into him.
Andreas appeared convinced. "There is a point in what you say," he admitted. The next day when I went to the restaurant, I could see him proudly introducing himself to everybody as Andreas, not Andrew.
On Andreas' recommendation, I treated myself to some more authentic Greek food. This time it was Fava cream with smoked pork, Bon bon smoked salmon and tuna, and halva with chocolate ice cream and sauce. Thankfully, the long walks would take care of my calories.
Thus, ended my first day in Santorini and the fifth in Greece.
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