Sun-dried octopus and donkey
I don’t know one person who does not have Santorini on their bucket list. On mine, it’s been there since around mid-2009, when I was fifteen and sick, off from school, reading a stack of library books in bed. The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants. Not exactly rich literature, but just enough for my teenage heart to spark a dream.
Fifteen years later, I was walking the streets of Fira and Oia. The flight from London Stansted came to £30 return (I know, how lucky!). The hostels, on the other hand, were £100 per night. Fira is quite a vibrant place, with nightlife and excellent bus connections to other parts of the island. Safe to say, I didn’t spend much time there. My dream was Oia with endless stairs, white houses with blue-domed roofs, and sunsets so breathtaking they make you want to cry.
When you reach Oia, you are greeted by thousands upon thousands of people who have just arrived on cruises. The narrow streets don’t make it any easier. So, I decided to go where not many people would: the stairs. Approximately 750 steps lead down to the old port. On the way down, I met a few donkeys carrying people back up the hill.
Right at the end of the stairs, you will find plenty of restaurants and little cafés, some pricier than others. If you follow the path on the right, you will see octopuses stretched out on laundry lines, slowly drying under the sun. Some people say it makes them taste more tender. If you want to have dinner in one of those octopus places, with the most breathtaking Santorini sunset, I suggest setting aside at least £300. I opted for a coffee and ice cream for seven euros and found a rock to sit on, watching the sky turn from gold to deep maroon.
In moments like this, I always like to think about how I made it here. Don’t get me wrong, I’m far from where I want to be and still miles from my dream career, but when I look back at what I used to dream about as a teenage girl scribbling in her journal, I realize I’ve already experienced so many things.
After my self-reflection on the rocks, it was time to climb back to the top. There are a few options: you can get a cab, which is pricey and I’m too young for that; take the road and avoid the stairs, which is probably the sensible option for my tarnished meniscus; or take the stairs. If donkeys carrying other humans can do it, so can I.
When I finally reached the top, I was done for the day. I retreated to my hostel room with a pack of tzatziki crisps and a peach iced tea (balanced dinner < girl dinner). I set my alarm for sunrise and went to sleep. Up with the first church bells. The night had been surprisingly quiet. I shared the room with fifteen other people, but somehow it stayed peaceful. The streets were far emptier than the day before, just me and a dozen influencers chasing the perfect shot. The sun slowly rose over the blue rooftops, cats lazily roamed the alleys, and the first cafés began to open…
As I sipped my morning coffee and watched the world (read tourists) wake up, I couldn’t help but think that maybe fifteen-year-old me would be proud. Sure, she might have imagined a love story with Greek God himself, or at least less frizzy hair, but still, I made it here. Alone, happy, and slightly broke, sitting in Santorini with coffee breath and dreams that actually made it off the page.
