5. Chapter 5
Chapter five
I t takes me nearly twenty-four hours of travel to arrive in Santorini. The first flight was delayed which meant running through Frankfurt airport yelling “Excuse me!” and “Pardon me!” to a bunch of Germans who either didn’t understand me or just couldn’t be bothered to move out of the way. Despite running circles around other travellers, I do make it on my connecting flight to Athens. Albeit, short of breath, red in the face, and desperate for a drink of water. A few hours and one more flight change later, I finally land in my dream destination: Santorini.
The first thing I notice is the sunshine. Vancouver isn’t exactly cold by Canadian standards, but it’s been a wet spring and the warm sunshine sparkling on the Aegean Sea as we fly over is glorious.
The next thing I notice is the crowd. Santorini Airport is quite small but it is full. There are people everywhere. Couples hold hands as they stand beside the luggage carousel. Groups of young women in strappy sandals holding enormous sunhats, giggling to each other as they scroll through their phones. I even see a few families with young children running around as their parents watch on in exhaustion.
And then there’s me. Alone.
Ignoring the growing anxiety in my stomach, I instead focus my attention on spotting my suitcase. A blue hard-shell case with a pink ribbon tied around the handle. The ribbon was Mel’s idea, promising it would make it stand out and be easier to find. As I scan the baggage carousel, that same bright pink ribbon catches my eye. I smile to myself and make a mental note to thank her for the tip.
Dragging my suitcase off the carousel, I break away from the crowd and eagerly follow the exit sign to the front of the airport where I meet a middle-aged Greek man with my name on a sign. I breathe out another sigh of relief. Apart from losing my luggage, getting lost trying to find my hotel was my second biggest concern so I opted for an airport pickup. Compared to the bus fare, booking a private transfer was a pricey option but I didn’t trust my jet-lagged brain to figure out a foreign bus after a day of no sleep.
“Hello!” I smile as cheerfully as I can. A quick bathroom break told me I have full-blown panda eyes from lack of sleep and my hair is limp and lifeless. At least I can rest easy knowing I reapplied deodorant.
“Ms. Calla Barlowe?” he asks in a heavy accent.
“That’s me!”
With a quick snap, he rips the piece of paper with my name off the clipboard. Tucking the clipboard under his arm he scrunches up my name and tosses it into a nearby garbage can.
“Come!” he says sharply, taking my suitcase from my hands and leading the way, presumably towards his car. With a quick glance at my name crumpled in the trash, I follow behind.
Santorini didn’t seem like a big island from the plane but the drive from the airport to my accommodation in Oia takes longer than I expected. The drive is about thirty minutes but despite the long travel day, I don’t mind. The scenery of the winding roads is mesmerizing and butterflies in my stomach have turned from anxious to excited.
I’m here.
In Greece.
In SANTORINI!
As my driver, who never introduced himself, zips around corners and past busses I look out to the horizon. Eagerly waiting for a glimpse of that famous Santorini view; the white-washed buildings with the beautiful bright blue domes. Instead, I’m a little shocked when the driver pulls into a fairly unassuming parking lot, grunting something in Greek before getting out of the car.
Not wanting to be left behind, I unclasp my seatbelt and follow him.
“Konstantin is coming. He will take you the rest of the way,” my nameless driver tells me as he pulls my suitcase out of the trunk.
“Ok?”
Suitcase beside me, we stand silently in the parking lot. I’m consider trying to strike up a conversation but decide it would likely make the moment even more awkward than it already is. Thankfully, I’m saved from having to make that decision when a wiry young man with curly brown hair comes into sight.
“Konstantin.” The driver confirms, nodding in his direction before getting back into his car and taking off back the way we came.
I head towards the young man who smiles broadly at me.
“Yassou! I am Konstantin! I will take you now to the hotel, ok?”
He doesn’t wait for me to answer before grabbing my suitcase and leading me down a narrow alleyway.
“Oia is very beautiful,” he says as he gestures vaguely to our surroundings. We wind our way around a couple of white-washed buildings, one of which I think might be a church. “But also, very popular. We have three cruise ships here today. Still though, not as busy as in summer.”
The words have barely left his mouth when we enter what appears to be a main square. But instead of the charming benches and flower pots I had expected, I’m met with a crowd of fellow tourists. The men are in stylish linen shorts and aviators while the women wear flowy sundresses and strappy sandals. Some are posing for photos while others seem to be staring at the maps on their phones trying to figure out where to go next. It’s loud. It’s crowded. And it’s overwhelming.
“This way!” I hear Konstantin yell over the din and I see him slipping off to the right.
Grateful that he’s taken charge of my suitcase, I clasp my purse tight to my side and do my best to follow him, getting pushed and shoved by eager tourists in the process.
Thankfully, Konstantin waits for me before he continues down the hill, deeper into the maze of streets. As we descend the steep steps cut into the side of the island, those promised Santorini views come into sight. The white-washed walls and blue domes perched on the cliffs, facing the sea.
Sadly, I’m too busy finding where to place my feet on the stairs to pay much attention to the views. But I can’t complain. Poor Konstantin has my suitcase propped up on his shoulder as he navigates nimbly down the steps. I suddenly understand why the middle-aged driver left me in the parking lot in favour of this young, and clearly very fit, man. I can only hope he’ll carry it back up for me when my stay is over.
After what seems like an eternity, I hear Konstantin announce that we have arrived. Looking up from my feet, I watch as he pushes through a small white gate that leads into a flat sitting area with a couple of lounge chairs and a table.
“Your cave suite, miss.”
Digging into his pocket, he produces a key and proceeds to unlock the door to the beautiful cave suite I had booked online just three days before.
The entryway leads to a small sitting area with a kitchenette to the right and a bedroom to the left. Konstantin rolls my luggage along the floor to the bedroom and stands it up at the foot of the bed before bidding me a good stay and letting me know I can email or call the number on the table if I need any assistance. I nod in thanks and as soon as he closes the door behind him, I race to get out of my grimy plane clothes and into the shower.
The hot water feels glorious and after a satisfying scrub and hair wash with the local olive oil bath products, I feel like an entirely new human being. A human being in desperate need of sleep.
Part of me knows I should force myself to stay awake. To push through the jetlag and go to bed at a normal local time. I should go for a walk. Orient myself. Watch the sunset and grab some dinner. But the more I think of the throngs I had to push through to get here, the more inviting the queen-size bed looks. A quick glance in the kitchen makes my decision for me. My hosts have left me a fruit plate, fresh bread with honey, and a bottle of local wine.
Decision made, I plug my phone in to charge, send a quick message to my parents and Mel that I have arrived safely at the hotel, and crawl under the thick white duvet of the bed where I sink into oblivion.