Ciao Ciao, Santorini, Ciao Ciao

Our last Santorini sunrise.

We were leaving Santorini today. The dogs had slept in our room a good part of the night, although they left sometime in the middle of it. Blackie came back later by herself and slept on a rug at the foot of the bed.

We had breakfast on Kris and Nichole’s side of the terrace, pooling our leftover food: eggs scrambled with sausage, plump grapes, bananas, Ana’s bread, orange juice, and of course, yogurt with honey.

We fed Blackie breakfast, as well, having some eggs and sausage leftover. She was happy to hang out with us until it was time to go.

After gathering our things, we took one last, wistful look at the caldera view, taking in our lovely little terrace and Hobbit house before tackling those steep red stairs with our bags.

At the top of the steps, we opened the door to the main pathway. Blackie didn’t want to come out, so we closed the door, knowing she could, and would, simply hop over a ledge and go anywhere she wanted.

Benji was sad last night. This morning, it was Blackie’s turn.

As luck would have it, the musicians that had been outside our door several evenings were walking past with their instruments, on their way to somewhere further down the trail. They greeted us as old friends.

“Where you go? You go back now?” one of them asked.

“No, not home yet. We’re going to Venice,” I answered.

“Oh, Venice!” he said. “Nicer than Santorini!”

“Oh, no!” I exclaimed. “Santorini is beautiful!”

As we parted ways, he said something to us in Greek which sounded to me like, “Have a good trip!”

I looked back to see if I could catch one last glimpse of Blackie. I caught sight of her sitting on the ledge looking in the other direction and barking at something down the path. I wondered who her next adopted family will be.

Martina’s shop wasn’t open yet, so we couldn’t wave a last goodbye. We stopped at the arch that led out to the road and sat on a bench, thinking we’d get coffee at our little café — the one where you can smoke under the No Smoking sign.

I sat with the bags while the others got the coffee.

While I was sitting there, I saw Ana, the sweet young woman who brought our bread every morning. She was carrying a large bag filled with the loaves of bread she was about to deliver. She caught my eye, too, and walked over to where I was sitting.

I told her we had left some food, juice, and wine in the two fridges and to please take them. She said she would. She kissed me European style and we hugged.

“Have a nice trip!” she said, and walked off to make her deliveries.

Before we knew it, we were leaving the trusty Matiz in the designated parking spot at the little Santorini airport. Not long after that, we were airborne, heading back to Athens.

Sadly, we say a final goodbye to Santorini.

Still, we couldn’t stay sad too long. Look at the view from up here!

HEY! That’s Skaros Rock! Remember when we climbed it?

Here comes Athens!

Almost there. Time to change planes.

At the Venizelos Airport in Athens we had a good amount of time before our connecting flight, so Gino and I perused the small gift store. A tiny book caught my eye: “Santorini Caldera.” I bought it.

The light of Greece, and especially of the Aegean, is famous. Many times you will hear people refer to the “magical Greek light.” This little book’s halting English had the perfect thing to say about it:

“…the light of Santorini has its own divine dimension. Does it actually come from the sun or does it spring from every white roof and freshly painted alley? Transparent, salty, piercing and bold, the light nails slender shadows on the visitors that follow them indiscreetly all day, until at dusk, it retires dying the rocks purple.”

My favorite photo of the hundreds I took on Santorini maybe catches a glimpse of the famous Greek light.
I call this photo “Possibilities.”

After running the gauntlet of several passport and boarding pass checks at the Venizelos Airport in Athens, we finally boarded our next plane. During the flight, I amused myself with the flight tracker screen.

Hmmm…so many wonderful places, so little time.

Can you guess where we’re going next?

Greek Delight

After my solitary lunch at Krinaki in Finikia village, the Matiz and I returned to Oia to gather Gino, Kris, and Nichole from the pool. They had had their fill of sun and were ready to call it a day.

We all decided that for our last night on Santorini, there would be no restaurant eating. We’d make a special feast on our private balcony to savor our last hours on this magical island. Besides, Benji and Blackie wanted to hang out with us, especially after their noses alerted them to what was on the menu.

Together, we set out for the little local grocery store.

On the search for dinner fixings.

But before we returned to our houses with our burgeoning bags, I sneaked in a few last shots of this magnificent town.

Everything is so whitewashed, sometimes it looks like snow!

Right?

All of a sudden, it seemed everywhere I looked people were a bit sad.
Were they leaving, too?

This guy just realized he has to leave tomorrow, too.

Melancholy everywhere.

Even Benji was feeling it.

But the kids couldn’t care less. They were playing soccer! (Heartless!)

The sun had set, the candles were lit, and on this side of the ridge there was no wind. Nichole had set the table beautifully.

(You’ll have a chance to see the leftovers at breakfast tomorrow.)

The food was ready: grilled sausage, a salad of chopped tomatoes and cucumber with tzatziki sauce, pasta with chicken and feta cheese, olives, capers, bread, water, and wine.

We shared generously with the dogs and, since they don’t drink wine, set out a large bowl of water for them.

For dessert I pulled out a box of pistachio Loukom that I had purchased at the little grocery store. Loukom is the soft candy that some call Turkish Delight. In Greece, however, it’s called Greek Delight. That would also be a very fitting name for this final day of ours on unsurpassed Santorini.

Jeez, I was sure going to miss this place.

Lunch At Taverna Krinaki

After traversing practically every pathway of Finikia, I had worked up an appetite. I hadn’t really thought about it, though, until I happened upon a taverna. It was the only one I had seen in my wanderings through this little village and it happened to be open.

I stopped to read the menu posted outside its open-air veranda and decided to treat myself to lunch.

The name of this little taverna was Krinaki. In the 1800’s, it was a place where wine was produced and stored. Now it was transformed into a small restaurant.

Except for the waiter, a woman, and one man who were chatting inside, I was the only one there.

The waiter saw me to a table (I had my pick!). It was nice to rest a bit after all that running around.

Shortly after I sat down outside, the man left and I was the only patron in the entire place. The waiter was very sweet and had plenty of time to visit with me.

I asked him if this town ever got very busy. (It was so quiet I couldn’t imagine it teeming with tourists.) He replied that for dinner, yes, it gets busy. But since summer was coming to an end,  in a couple of days the restaurant would no longer be open for lunch. I could understand why.

The food was superb. I had sun-dried cherry tomatoes, a specialty of the island, and capers, also a specialty of the island, along with a dish of white eggplant with a tomato based sauce dabbed on top. Nostimo! (Or, as the Italians say, delizioso!)

Loved these capers!

While I ate, I noticed a pretty display off to the side: an old brick oven with a ceramic tagine sitting inside.

In Greece, carbonated water is called “sparkle water,” which I think is a perfect name – much better than boring “fizzy water” or unimaginative “carbonated water.” I ordered some sparkle water and was delighted when it came in a cute little cobalt blue bottle (which I stashed in my purse after finishing it off).

This little bottle now sits in my bathroom, complementing my other cobalt blue décor, and reminding me every morning of my special solo lunch at Krinaki in the Santorini village of Finikia.

Taverna Krinaki — Finikia Village, Santorini

Last Images of Finikia Village

Although Finikia village was just outside Oia’s door, the two towns were remarkably different. Finikia had its own special charm.

I wouldn’t mind having this in my backyard.

Or this in my front yard!

Finikia had its share of abandoned abodes.

But most were definitely occupied.

I was curious where these steps led. But then I spotted a taverna. It was open. It was lunchtime.

Finikia Village

The slip road was quite narrow and I was glad to come upon a small parking area with a sign indicating, “Finikia Traditional Village.”

Leaving the Matiz in a shady spot, I set off along a foot path that led out across the side of the hill.

Blindly, I followed it, trusting it would lead me into Finikia. It did.

A few minutes later I came upon a small, seemingly deserted village filled with pathways and stairways that jig-jagged up and down, winding around melting marshmallow houses and tiny, picture perfect churches.

“Finikia” means palm tree. I spotted a few of them.

I wandered everywhere. Even so, I met very few people along the way.

Although I did come upon this man and his donkey plodding past.

Some of the paths led up towards the main road on top of the ridge; others ended at remote houses with gardens filled with grapevines and fruit trees.

Fichi d’India plants grew everywhere.

Everything seemed blindingly white.

This is why.

Even rock walls were painted white.

But splashes of color would unexpectedly appear around a corner.

Marie, this one is for you.