apartment. We have a kitchenette and seating area with white flowers
in a vase on the table. Beyond, through an arch is a four-poster bed shrouded in white
chiffon. Alekos is still asleep. I perch on the edge of the bed and stroke the back of his neck.
‘Breakfast is on the table outside,’ I say. He moans and buries his head further into the
pillow.
I’m up early because I want to walk the caldera path to Oia and it takes two hours and is best not
to be attempted in the midday sun.
‘There’s omelette, bread, fruit, coffee and bougatsa , your favourite.’
He rolls over. ‘We could just hire a car and drive,’ he says.
‘Where’s the fun in that? It’s a gorgeous morning. Come on, Aleko, think about lunch at the fish
restaurant.’
‘Five more minutes and I’ll get up.’
…
Even at eight in the morning I can feel the sun beating down on my shoulders. We leave the hotel
apartment, walk past the inviting infinity pool and set off along the stony path on the rim of the
caldera. Far below, a ferry sails across the deep blue water towards the port at Thira. Oia is a long way
off, nearly halfway round the island from our hotel. I trudge along the path feeling only the faintest
hint of a breeze.
‘You’ve got to admit, Aleko, that this is spectacular?’
‘I agree,’ he says, catching my hand in his. ‘I just resent getting up early when we’re on
holiday.’
‘It’ll be worth it.’ I swing our arms as we walk. ‘I feel so free here, spending time outside, instead of
being holed up in the restaurant every day. We work too much.’
‘But working hard is paying for this holiday and our wedding.’
The path follows an incline and we puff our way up as what breeze there was disappears. We round
a corner and reach the summit and suddenly the other side of the island is revealed. The island slopes
down to a flat expanse of patchworked fields and whitewashed buildings ending at the southern side of
the island with beaches and the sea. It’s a dramatic contrast to turn back to the caldera on our left and
the steep drop to the sea crashing against the black rocks below. We start down the winding path that
still clings to the edge of the caldera. Basking lizards scuttle from their sunbathing spots on rocks as we
walk past.
‘Do you remember the evening at the beach on Cephalonia when we cooked the octopus on the fire,’
Alekos says.
‘Do I remember? Are you crazy? Of course I do. It was the best night ever.’
‘I knew that night I wanted to spend my life with you.’
‘Me too.’ These last three days on Santorini have been what we both desperately needed for
months now, time away from O Kipos , work and Despina. ‘I’m not looking forward to leaving
tomorrow.’
With Alekos leading we walk on and concentrate on our footing when the path gets steep and rocky.
The soil changes from a rusty red colour to ash white and charcoal black and clings to our trainers.
We’ve been walking for over an hour and have lost sight of Oia but I can see across to where I think our
hotel is. The ferry we’d seen crossing the caldera earlier is in the port. The whitewashed
buildings of Thira are stacked one on top of each other spreading from the sea to the top of the
cliffs. We walk to the top of the next hill and reach a whitewashed church with a domed
roof and blue bell tower. We sit on a low wall next to the church and share a bottle of
water.
‘I’m not looking forward to going home tomorrow either,’ Alekos says.
‘You’re not?’ I look across the sparkling water to the rim of the volcano in the centre of the
caldera.
He shakes his head. ‘I’ve enjoyed seeing you happy these last few days and I know that’s going to
change as soon as we get home.’
‘Don’t make this all about me. It’s not just me who’s unhappy at home. These last couple of days
I’ve seen a glimpse of how you were on Cephalonia. You need to get back the optimism you
had, that we both had. Were you writing music
in a vase on the table. Beyond, through an arch is a four-poster bed shrouded in white
chiffon. Alekos is still asleep. I perch on the edge of the bed and stroke the back of his neck.
‘Breakfast is on the table outside,’ I say. He moans and buries his head further into the
pillow.
I’m up early because I want to walk the caldera path to Oia and it takes two hours and is best not
to be attempted in the midday sun.
‘There’s omelette, bread, fruit, coffee and bougatsa , your favourite.’
He rolls over. ‘We could just hire a car and drive,’ he says.
‘Where’s the fun in that? It’s a gorgeous morning. Come on, Aleko, think about lunch at the fish
restaurant.’
‘Five more minutes and I’ll get up.’
…
Even at eight in the morning I can feel the sun beating down on my shoulders. We leave the hotel
apartment, walk past the inviting infinity pool and set off along the stony path on the rim of the
caldera. Far below, a ferry sails across the deep blue water towards the port at Thira. Oia is a long way
off, nearly halfway round the island from our hotel. I trudge along the path feeling only the faintest
hint of a breeze.
‘You’ve got to admit, Aleko, that this is spectacular?’
‘I agree,’ he says, catching my hand in his. ‘I just resent getting up early when we’re on
holiday.’
‘It’ll be worth it.’ I swing our arms as we walk. ‘I feel so free here, spending time outside, instead of
being holed up in the restaurant every day. We work too much.’
‘But working hard is paying for this holiday and our wedding.’
The path follows an incline and we puff our way up as what breeze there was disappears. We round
a corner and reach the summit and suddenly the other side of the island is revealed. The island slopes
down to a flat expanse of patchworked fields and whitewashed buildings ending at the southern side of
the island with beaches and the sea. It’s a dramatic contrast to turn back to the caldera on our left and
the steep drop to the sea crashing against the black rocks below. We start down the winding path that
still clings to the edge of the caldera. Basking lizards scuttle from their sunbathing spots on rocks as we
walk past.
‘Do you remember the evening at the beach on Cephalonia when we cooked the octopus on the fire,’
Alekos says.
‘Do I remember? Are you crazy? Of course I do. It was the best night ever.’
‘I knew that night I wanted to spend my life with you.’
‘Me too.’ These last three days on Santorini have been what we both desperately needed for
months now, time away from O Kipos , work and Despina. ‘I’m not looking forward to leaving
tomorrow.’
With Alekos leading we walk on and concentrate on our footing when the path gets steep and rocky.
The soil changes from a rusty red colour to ash white and charcoal black and clings to our trainers.
We’ve been walking for over an hour and have lost sight of Oia but I can see across to where I think our
hotel is. The ferry we’d seen crossing the caldera earlier is in the port. The whitewashed
buildings of Thira are stacked one on top of each other spreading from the sea to the top of the
cliffs. We walk to the top of the next hill and reach a whitewashed church with a domed
roof and blue bell tower. We sit on a low wall next to the church and share a bottle of
water.
‘I’m not looking forward to going home tomorrow either,’ Alekos says.
‘You’re not?’ I look across the sparkling water to the rim of the volcano in the centre of the
caldera.
He shakes his head. ‘I’ve enjoyed seeing you happy these last few days and I know that’s going to
change as soon as we get home.’
‘Don’t make this all about me. It’s not just me who’s unhappy at home. These last couple of days
I’ve seen a glimpse of how you were on Cephalonia. You need to get back the optimism you
had, that we both had. Were you writing music
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