Bits Of Here And There

January 2009

It's been the whole year since I traveled last. I was dreaming about going to Netherlands, Switzerland and Belgium, but my dreams haven't had a chance to come true, yet, and it makes my longing for traveling even more intense. The only thing I came up with to make it easier for me to get through this gloomy time of my involuntary stationary is to travel to places I have already been to before. Places, like say, Fira- a small town on a Greek island of Santorini. I enjoy coming back to this place over and over again for it is made of warm breeze, golden sunshine and sparkling blue sea.

As soon as my plane lands in an airport in Athens, I know that this trip is going to be different from any trip I have taken before. When I finally get to my hotel near Fira, a city on the island of Santorini, seven hours later, I am sure that this trip is going to be far beyond being just different.

On our second day here my co-travelers and I decide to go out for dinner to a restaurant, located up on the top of a hill and overlooking the city. It is well known for stunning views over the island and outstanding cuisine. As I am climbing up cobblestone steps, leading to the upper part of the city, where restaurant is, a fairytale back from my childhood, which, I am sure, is familiar to you, too, comes to mind. It’s all about a brave, young and handsome knight, who has to confront a number of dreadful challenges in order to get to his beloved princess, who is locked up in a room up on the top of a tower. This is exactly how I feel like, stopping at another landing, catching my breath for a minute and looking at all those steps a head of me, which I have to climb, yet.

As I walk, I think about all of those events my day was made of: burning under a bright sun, getting stuck on a bus with no air-conditioning; looking at ruins in a building, which was pretty much a ruin itself. All of those were an adventures all by themselves, and, maybe for this same reason, a fact that I have to share a narrow and steep path with a herd of donkeys right now, doesn’t concern me as much as I would anticipated. I see it, rather, as an additional bonus, another memory I will put in a jar called “Santorini” and seal it for time being to open it and to be taken by memories of it, later. As I press myself into a wall to let another donkey pass, I look down at the city. There are hundreds of lights vibrating in the sea of darkness coming from beyond. I feel its vivid energy, let it in and keep on walking.

Finally, after a good half an hour “promenade”, tired and hungry, we get to the restaurant. At this point, we don’t care that much of a view as of some cold water and something to sit on. These desires get easily satisfied, and, as I get myself comfortable at a table on an open terrace, I look around.

Down below, I see Fira’s blinking lights, narrow streets, white houses under blue roofs nested, as it seems, right on the rocks. On my right, a black silhouette of a volcano-island, coming out of the dark sea, stands out against an orange sunset sky. Sound of waves, slowly breaking onto warm sand, blends with sound of this city made of music, world languages, laughs and donkey’s bleating (local feature!). Fira, what an amazing place it is, in deed. A tiny island, lost in an endless sea. Here, life follows according to its own rules, which seem to be so bazaar to outsides like we. Here, people know how to enjoy life’s little big things such as sunlight, warm sand and each other.

It happens, that whenever I think of Fira, a thought of a woman comes to mind for I award it qualities, which belong to a woman rather than to a place. A woman, whose name is Fira, lives two different lives: one of a day and another one of a night. During a day, she is relaxed, slow and casual. She spends half of it walking around her house half-dressed; smiles to something only she knows of; she looks around with her eyes, under heavy eyelids with long, thick eyelashes, half-closed. She lets her bare body to soak up sunshine and warmth. She is confident in her beauty, self-absorbed and lusty. At night, she puts on make up, sparkling clothes and hi-heels. She gives away smiles and warmth she soaked up during her lazy day. She laughs loudly and draws everyone’s attention to herself. She is sensual and seductive in every singe move she makes. She shines at night and her vibrant energy sweeps ones she passes by off their feet.

This is how I feel about this place, which is made of people who spend their days leisurely and nights passionately; people, who seem not to be able to exist by themselves, for I haven’t seen a person walking around all alone (that would be, except me). Wherever I look, there are people kissing, hugging, and walking around holding hands. I feel very much like a “white crow” in my voluntary state of independence, though I never feel lonely or longing for someone. I am here with my classmates, people whom I feel very comfortable with for it’s as easy to join them at any time as to walk away and spend a whole day on my own. I am free to do whatever I please around them and I am very thankful for it. I look at them now. I love them. I love their smiles, silly jokes, their silence, too. I feel so close to every one of them, even a few I met just a few days ago, at the beginning of this trip.

I look up in the sky, which is getting darker with every minute. In less than an hour, everything around here will be covered with a black and fuzzy blanket of night and this small Greek town will be the only light of life in this endless ocean of darkness. I love this night and I love this island and I don’t want it to end. Ever.

I decide not to set my alarm and rather sleep in the next morning. I sleep with windows open and blinds shut, but some how, my old friend, a playful sunbeam gets into my room. It climbs on my bed, runs to my pillow and jumps all over my face. Finally, it gets my attention and I open my sleepy eyes. “Hi, sleepy head! It’s me! Get up and shine!” I snooze for few more minutes, stretch in my bed, take a quick shower and go out of my little bungalow. I am welcomed by fresh and salty air, bright sunshine and silence. I walk by an empty swimming pool, by a terrace, where lonely and sleepy looking waiter gets tables ready for breakfast, through deserted hall and out of the hotel. I walk a path, which runs parallel to a highway and within next fifteen minutes, time it takes me to get to the nearest 24-hour market to get stamps, there is not a single car to pass me.

I look at the buildings: windows are opened and blinds are closed. People who live in them are sweetly asleep, holding each other, in their beds, in white houses under blue roofs. They will sleep until the time when sun is high in the sky and stay up until the time when it will be drowning in the black and warm sea, to turn this small island into a bright source of light and fill the air with symphony of life.