One Summer in Santorini. Sandy Barker

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СКАЧАТЬ was standing in the heart of Fira, Santorini’s main town. With the amount of whitewash and brilliant blue I could see, there was no mistaking I was in Greece. Despite the shared taxi and the fact that my backpack was sitting in the dirt, joy bubbled up inside me. Around me people ambled along the road, stopping to have leisurely and lively conversations with their neighbours. Scooters, trucks and cars whizzed past, stirring up dust. The air was hot and dry and smelled of petrol fumes mixed with something herbaceous.

      Across the road from my hotel were congregations of people – mostly locals – at a handful of tavernas, each indistinguishable from the next to my uneducated eye. They sat at tables playing chess or cards – many of them smoking. Some drank coffee, some sipped clear liquid from tiny glasses. Ouzo, most likely. Laughter and chatter filled the air around me.

      It occurred to me that it was a Thursday afternoon, which took some realising given my jet lag. Didn’t these people have jobs? Maybe the whole town was on holiday. Like I was. I was on holiday! The realisation hit me again in a wave of wonderfulness. Greece!

      I picked up my backpack from the dusty kerb and walked up the path of my hotel. Inside, the small lobby was cool, and the scent of bougainvillaea wafted in from an open window. A lovely woman, who spoke little English and had a warm smile, greeted me at the front desk. After a simple check-in – I showed her my passport, and she gave me a room key – she led me to my small, neat room. It was basic, but I didn’t need anything more. I was only staying for one night.

      It did smell slightly, but I’d travelled to Greece enough times to expect it. The Greeks don’t flush toilet paper; it goes into the little bin next to the toilet. I know what you’re thinking – I’m thinking it too – the Greeks invented civilisation, but they haven’t worked out how to make a sewerage system that can handle toilet paper. It meant that many hotel rooms smelled just like mine did. It was a minor blip. I’d survive.

      I wouldn’t, however, survive much longer if I didn’t eat; two packets of airline biscuits, a muesli bar I’d discovered at the bottom of my handbag, and a gallon of tea did not a balanced diet make. And especially not when there was Greek food all around me waiting to be eaten. I decided that sleep could wait.

      I stashed some valuables in my room safe and packed my handbag for an early dinner followed by an evening of exploring. Leaving the hotel, I eyed the tavernas I’d seen across the road on arrival. The crowds in two of them were thinning out, as though the jobless folks suddenly had somewhere to be. At the third one, chess sets and ashtrays were being replaced with platters of food, and it looked like it was filling up with local diners. I consider this a good sign whenever I travel, because locals tend not to go out for crappy food.

      I crossed the road and took a seat in the taverna at a table for two near the kitchen, where the aromas were unbelievable. My stomach grumbled with appreciation. A waiter appeared and stood patiently while I tortured him with my terrible Greek. I started with, ‘Kalimera’ – good morning – before correcting myself. ‘No, sorry, kalispera.’ He smiled and spoke to me in English.

      ‘Good evening. I am Demetri.’

      ‘Hello, Demetri. I need horiatiki,’ I said, not even looking at the menu. I knew it would be on there, because it’s what we non-Greeks call a Greek salad. ‘And lamb, do you have lamb?’ He gave me a funny look. Of course they had lamb. ‘And giant beans.’ I love giant beans. It’s a dish, by the way. I mean, the beans are big, but it’s essentially a stew made with beans. It’s the second-best thing in the world after horiatiki.

      Demetri gave me a smile and a nod, and then he offered me some retsina to go with my dinner. It’s Greek wine, of sorts. I declined. I am what you might call a wine lover and as a wine lover, I can’t really abide retsina. ‘I’ll have a Mythos, parakalo.’ Greek beer – much more drinkable.

      The salad came to the table within minutes and it was a thing of beauty. It looked like it belonged on the cover of a foodie magazine and it smelled incredible. I piled up my fork with the optimal first bite. As soon as it hit my mouth I groaned with pleasure, half-expecting to hear, ‘I’ll have what she’s having,’ from the next table.

      I need to explain something important.

      The Greeks grow the best tomatoes in the world. And I know I exaggerate sometimes, but I mean IN THE WORLD. Add to the best tomatoes in the world some freshly made feta, Greek-grown and pressed extra virgin olive oil, fresh fragrant oregano, Kalamata olives grown in luscious Greek sunshine, and all the other bits of goodness that go into a horiatiki, and you have the one thing I could eat every day for the rest of eternity.

      The lamb and beans arrived next, and the lamb was so tender I could have cut it just by staring at it. The giant beans were particularly huge and the sauce was rich and tangy. I glanced around me as I finished off all three plates. The taverna was now full – I spotted a few travellers like me, but it was mostly locals who obviously knew where the good stuff was.

      When the bill arrived, I thought it was wrong, but Demetri assured me that eighteen euros was correct – for three plates of food and a beer. I wished I was staying on Santorini longer; I’d have happily eaten at that taverna every night for weeks.

      When I’d planned the trip, everything I read about Santorini mentioned the sunset to end all sunsets at Oia, which is a tiny town perched on the northern point of Santorini’s crescent. With only twenty-four hours on the island, I’d added the Oia sunset to my list, and when I mentioned it to Demetri, he kindly wrote down directions – in Greek and English. Smart.

      Armed with my mud map and a full belly, I set off from the taverna to find the local bus station and the bus to Oia. It wasn’t difficult – Demetri’s instructions were spot-on – but to call it a bus station would have been generous. It was basically a square filled with dusty buses.

      I bought a ticket – by holding up one finger and saying ‘Oia’ – from a man who sat inside a grubby booth. He had a cigarette dangling precariously from his mouth, which he managed to inhale from without using his hands. Talented. I picked my bus out of the line-up – using Demetri’s directions again – and climbed aboard.

      As I waited for the bus to leave, I watched the stream of people passing through the square. I noticed a tall guy in a baseball cap hefting a large duffel bag and trying to get directions from the passing locals. American. I could pick an American out at a hundred paces. He was a pretty cute American too.

      He was tall – over six foot, I guessed – and dressed in long shorts and a T-shirt. The T-shirt was fitted just enough that I could see he had a lean, muscular body. Dark brown curls peeked out from the cap, and although he was wearing sunglasses and I couldn’t see his eyes, he had a general ‘good-looking’ thing going on. I would have stepped off the bus to help him, but I’d already bought a bus ticket to take in the sunset to end all sunsets. Not that I knew my way around any better than he seemed to, but he looked like he could use a friendly face. No one was stopping, and he seemed to be getting increasingly frustrated.

      As I was contemplating my next move, the bus lurched forward – I hadn’t even noticed the driver get on – and my last glimpse of the tall, cute American was him throwing his duffel on the ground and sitting on it dejectedly. Poor guy. I promised myself that if he was still there when I got back, I’d go talk to him.

      The bus stopped in the centre of Oia, where the smooth, curved walls of whitewashed houses contrasted with the rugged stone walls of others. Walkways and steps separated the homes, and the yards were marked with either rock walls or white picket fences. In the warm milky light, whitewash took on the colour of cream. It was a quaint and quintessentially Greek town.

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