The theatre of Greece-7

Santorini, October 4, 2015, Day 6

M. Gautham Machaiah 

I do not remember when I last woke up to the cockerel crowing. My hotel was located in a village called Akrotiri amidst farmland and today nature's alarm had gone off much before the one on my phone did. 

I drew the curtain and looked out of the window, to find a huge group of tourists practicing yoga by the pool side. Yoga, I was told, was very popular among the local Greeks too. Demetra, who I had met on my first day in Athens, had come on a month long visit to India with her yoga guru and a huge group of yoga practitioners. While the world is embracing yoga, many in India deride it by giving it a religious touch. 

My agenda today was a visit the volcano island. The pick-up was down the road from the hotel. The receptionist had me believe that it was a mere five minute stroll, which actually turned out to be a 15 minute walk. I should have known going by my previous experiences on how not to trust Greeks when it comes to distance.

I was picked up at 9.50 am sharp. For some strange reason, the Greeks do not mention time by the clock hour—it is always 1.40, 2.35 or 9.25. It is never rounded off to 1.45, 2.30 or 9.30.

The bus dropped us at the Santorini port where we were bundled into a large traditional wooden boat. Santorini was once a single island which was destroyed by a massive volcanic eruption around 1613  BC. The volcano created several small islands and a lagoon which is surrounded by a 980 feet cliff on which the main town of Santorini is located.  We had just driven down to the port at the bottom of the cliff. The volcanic island is accessible only by boat.

The island resembled the surface of Mars with huge craters and lava rocks. The climb up the hill was an exhilarating experience which was enhanced by the narrative by our guide, who spoke perfect English, French and Greek. The view of the lagoon and the sea from the island was awesome to say the least. 

We were then taken to the hot springs nearby which offers proof of the strong volcanic activity to this day. The hot springs are located in a channel between two volcanic formations. The boat stops about 20 metres away and you will have to swim up to the channel. Since, I was not a very good swimmer, I gave it a miss.

My tour was to end here and I had to shift to another boat to return to the port. But I failed to listen to the instructions and remained on the same boat and landed up in an island called Therasia. Once again the monkey in the mind became hyper-active. At what time will I be dropped back to the port? Will the bus that dropped me be there to pick me up as I had missed the schedule? How will I reach the hotel? I put these doubts to rest and left everything to the Universe. "Enjoy the moment. Everything will take care of itself," I said to myself.

We had some time in Therasia to have lunch and explore the narrow path leading to the town above. There were a number of small restaurants lining the port. I entered the first one in the row and ordered a chicken souvlaki, which was very similar to the Indian kabab. 

You could either walk up the path to the town or hire a donkey. I preferred to walk up. The view of sea and the port from the top was  a treat to the eyes. I spent some time taking photographs and returned to the boat, which as usual left the port at exactly the appointed time.

We then sailed to another neighbouring island Oia, where we had the option of either getting off the boat to watch the sunset or returning to the main port. Since I had had an overdose of sunset yesterday and the day before, I opted to return. The issue of my pick up from the port was still weighing on my mind, when the guide came to me asked about my hotel details and said there would be a vehicle at the port to pick me up. As Mark Twain said, "Ninety per cent of the things we worry about never happen."

I was dropped at the point from where I was picked up in the morning.  With the cool sea breeze blowing it was a very pleasant walk back to the hotel. As I was nearing, I could see somebody frantically waving at me. It was the Indian couple Manoj and Asha. I had not expected to see them again after bidding bye at Mykonos. Coincidentally, they too were staying at the same hotel. They were wondering how to spend the rest of the evening.  

I decided to walk to the other side of the hotel which I had not explored.  A little distance away I found a traditional shop manned by an old man. The shop was full of local jams, marmalades, pickles, chocolates, honey and wine. I ran a decent bill and the owner who could speak only Greek profusely thanked me. In that short while we had developed a happy relationship and he gifted me with a small souvenir, once again reinforcing my belief that the language of the heart has no barriers. 

When I returned to the hotel the couple had decided to visit the neighbouring town of Fira and they very graciously invited me to join them. The receptionist had told them that the bus stop was about one km away. It took us 45 minutes to reach the bus stop, only to realise the next schedule was over half-an-hour away.  This meant we would have very little time at Fira and there was a risk of not getting a bus or taxi back. With no option left, we decided to walk back. Once again, a reminder never to trust the Greeks when it comes to distances.

With no street lights on the entire stretch we had to depend on the torch of our mobile phones. During the walk, I noticed Manoj addressing his wife as Ashundhara, while I was calling her Asha, because that was how she had introduced herself. I felt a bit awkward because I never address a girl by her short name unless I am really familiar with her. However, I heaved a sigh of relief when I later realised her name was indeed Asha. There were a few stray vehicles zipping up and down the narrow meandering road and what Manoj meant was "Asha andher aa" which literally translated to Hindi means "Asha come to the inside of the road". 

After a long walk, we had built up a good appetite and we trooped into a restaurant near our hotel which was overlooking the caldera. Most of the discussion at the dinner table was on Indian politics. Just last night I had gone to bed a bit dejected wondering why India had not progressed as much as smaller countries even after 60 years of Independence. With our politicians failing us, should the people of India revolt? Are we people unfit to live under a democratic rule? Many such questions crossed my mind.

Manoj, who has a business of his own had huge hopes that the economy would get a boost with Narendra Modi becoming the Prime Minister. "Nothing has changed for me. The market is bad as ever," he rued. I agreed with him. "Politicians are all the same. Even if we come here ten years from now and have a discussion, nothing would have changed in India," I added.

It was time to order the main course, and the couple being purely vegetarian was kind enough to allow me to order the food of my choice. I enjoyed the pork souvlaki and a dish with rice stuffed into tomato. 

The couple was also considerate enough to converse among themselves in English considering that I was from Karnataka in the South. Incidentally, though their mother tongue was Gujarati, Asha and Madhu were talking to each other in Hindi, which immediately brought to mind my friend in Bengaluru, Vasant Shetty.

Vasant is among a group of youngsters that has been fighting for the primacy of mother tongue and against the imposing of Hindi.  The Journal of Multilingual and Multicultural Development says, "Although languages have always become extinct throughout human history, they are currently disappearing at an accelerated rate due to the processes of globalisation and neocolonialism, where the economically powerful languages dominate other languages." Manoj and Asha are an example of how a dominant language can cannibalise your mother tongue.

After a stimulating discussion of nearly two hours we decided to call it a day. Like Bengaluru, Greece too sleeps early with all restaurants except those in Athens shutting down at 11 pm.