Letters from Santorini (1)

Dear Littlest Sister,

I don’t know if I have ever told you this but I always carry you with me, on my shoulder, when I’m traveling. (It’s a metaphor… go with it!) The entire time I was on the Greek island of Santorini, I thought of you. You would have loved the town of Oia. You would have loved it so much you would have found a way to stay… I can imagine you selling cool jewelry at a little shop on the main street.

As usual, I’ve gotten ahead of myself. We three travelers met in Athens on Saturday afternoon. CJ had flown all night from Canada, DP had flown in from Barcelona and I arrived from London. This was a crazy schedule of international arrivals even for us and we promised that we’d find each other at the McDonalds at 2:00 p.m. In the end, we need not have worried. DP found me at my gate… he’d arrived in Athens in the middle of the night and taken the most expensive taxi ride in (our) European history to a Holiday Inn where he managed to get a few hours of sleep. We had not seen each other for a week so we sat down where he found me and we talked and talked and talked. An hour and a half later, we moved to the international gate where CJ emerged like (magical international travel) clockwork and then the three of us headed upstairs to eat and tell each other our most recent stories.

Later we took this tiny plane from Athens to Santorini. The Aegean sparkled like diamonds in the late afternoon sun and, for the first time in months, the tension I’d been holding in my body began to dissipate. It wasn’t a soul-cleaning whoooosh exactly… more like a little sigh. Ahhhh. Lovely!

A driver picked us up at the airport. You would have loved this part… he actually held up a sign with my name on it. (It was so cool!) We piled into this van with some other vacation-people; the driver left the city of Thira, and began speeding along the winding road to the town of Oia (pronounced Ee-a). The way he was driving reminded me of Colombia and Mexico. A porter, a young man who worked at the hotel, carried our luggage down the 122 (soul-crushing) steps to our cave. He was moving so quickly that I kept losing sight of him which was not so great since it was dark and we had no idea where we were going. Our cave, the traditional type of housing in Oia, was perfect. DP and I shared a big bedroom and CJ was kind enough to take the loft.

Then the rain began. It rained off and on for much of Sunday, Monday and Tuesday. While it rained, I slept the sleep of angels in this bed…

And then the sun came out. And it looked like this…

There’s so much more… I’ll write soon.



  1. It's no wonder we haven't heard from you in a while. It looks so blissfully relaxing and wonderful. Had I been there I don't think I would have returned!

  2. @LaurieIt was definitely blissful. So relaxing. I recommend it!@MaraWe stayed at a place called Aris Caves in the centre of Oia. I promise you a LOT more pictures.

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