Somewhere in the middle of the Aegean Sea south of Greece mainland there is a little group of islands, you have probably heard about it: Santorini. These are not real islands, rather just peaks of a vulcan which had erupted then sunk few thousand years ago.
Since that time the belly of the mountain went cold so you the prospective visitor of the site should be concerned only of the outside temperature, which is defined by the heat coming down explicitly onto you from the Sun especially in July… and the other eleven months.
From Crete this tiny neighborhood is just a five-ten hour cruising depending how big the boat you boarded. After the first half an hour of your trip when you have already filled up by the azure and emerald waves you go downstairs to the crowded cafeteria and try to figure it out who is who, coming from where and what kind of language they are speaking. And just when you start to regret the whole idea of visiting Greece, suddenly on the horizon turns up a little dark spot half way between the emerald water and the deep blue sky: Santorini.
As you approach the islands you loose sense of reality and gain something dreamy and infinite. On the the ascent of the mighty rock emerging from the unbelievable blue sea, tiny houses are sitting on each other like white fluffs panting in the midday heat wave and forgetting to put down their little blue caps.
When the crew berth the ship and you land onto the small port and look around you can not see anything but the enormous rock zooming right in front of you. A narrow path leads up to the tip of the rock, but it does not seem convenient to climb and crawl up to the next shady spot. Your tour guide informs you, that you have two more options: hit the peak by riding a donkey or the tour bus. The latter seems the most reasonable solution until you realize that how uniform the human thinking is.
Lets hit the top by riding a donkey - you tell yourself - it is going to be fun, but the grim sight of the overused animals turned to the rocky wall and being fed up with the whole tourist business gives you second thoughts. You were right. Along the one hour walk up to the top you pass several Don Quixotes and Dulcineas balancing on the back of the exhausted and sad looking donkeys.
If you reach the top alive, your first thought is going to be like: it was worth it. It was worth it hopping over from America to Europe, pushing into the Aegean Sea and walking up on one of the hottest and bluff path in the world. Deep under your feet the ship you just left, like a white lily rolling calmly on the surface of the big water. You feel as you are on the top of the world and you are able to conquer anything.
Then you scroll around the tiny white painted, blue-capped houses, panting for cool breeze breaks forth from the small doors left open accidentally. You feel like you are lost not just in space but in time too. The islanders who had lived here for thousands of years overcoming the elements, heat, storms, earthquakes etc. but could not tolerate the tourists - escaped long time ago. But they left behind their precious homes which reminds the history lessons you had been taught.
After a cool beverage and a little cold-water splash, you hear the horn reminding you it is time to descend back to the port. You take a final look from the deck and sense a void in your heart which has been there from the beginning of times, but you have just realized it.