On to Santorini

Thursday, Aug. 15

I’m up at 5am to have time to shower and get ready. At 7 we’re standing at the hotel reception, where they express regret we won’t have breakfast. Instead our porter disappears for a moment and returns with a bag full of assorted croissants:) We drive our rental car down to a deserted port, where Oswaldo has to unload me as well as the luggage at the mouth of the open car ferry, which we can only enter at 9am, and then go leave the car with Hertz.

I have been warned about rough seas and take a Dramamine while I wait. Oswaldo returns and we’re watching the movement getting more intense, cars and vans arriving, people lining up behind us, when suddenly a brisk man appears from the ferry and wheels me towards an elevator. A Russian man, who’s been waiting behind us with his family, sizes up our situation and helps Oswaldo with the luggage.

Upstairs is a gigantic room with rows of airplane seats, except with more legroom. We have reserved places and are shown to ours, conveniently near the exit row.

As soon as I sit down the Dramamine kicks in and I sleep helplessly, oblivious to the rest of the passengers boarding, the departure, and so on. I wake up when I hear Oswaldo talking to Debra Adams, a nice woman from Mimmeapolis we met at Casa Delfino. She slides in to chat with me and Oswaldo goes off to speak to her husband, Alex. I still feel pretty groggy, but snaps to when she gets me a cappuccino.

And then we’re arriving. We see big grey rocks glide by and passengers crowd at the windows to see the famed black rock sides. A purser comes to get me and speaks loudly for people to get out of the way until we reach the elevator. Then he waits with me at the head of the line while the ferry docks and lowers its huge ramp. Oswaldo is right behind as I’m wheeled across the port area and into the shade. 

There's no-one waiting with a "Chateaubriand" sign that we can see, so Oswaldo goes off in seach of our transfer. He returns with a young woman in shorts, who's obviously surprised to see me in the wheelchair. Turns out the transfer is a minibus, where you have to climb 3 steps to join the rest of the passengers, who must have been waiting for a while. I do these steps nimbly on my butt, and we're off.

The road ascends in dizzying hairspin curves and we're one in a long line of climbing buses. The driver sips a Frappocino from an American style plastic cup, which we've seen all over, as he phlegmatically negotiates the curves.

It's a long ride, through small towns and views to the sea on both sides, and then finally we're here. We stop next to a  lovely yellow and white orthodox church with a bright blue roof, behind which our hotel, Canaves Suites, clinging to the hill. Two young men, dressed in white, come out to lift me up two sets of stairs into a suite on the top level. And there it is: the famous Caldera, right in front of us, which we can see from our terrace with jacuzzi, recliners, wicker chairs and umbrella. There's a complimentary bottle of white wine and a tray of fruits, which we fall upon inside our air-condtioned sitting room. The heat is now blindingly white outside.

After our initial euforia the manager comes to explain the island's main generator exploded 3 days ago. "There was a fire," he says. Hence the electricity goes off and on without warning. He advises us not to use the elevator, which is the only way for me to see the rest of the hotel, which is, due to the steep cliff-side location, accessible only through a maze of stairs.  But we have the view, room service whenever we want, and we're veterans of Sandy - we can handle this! We take a big nap.

I have been waiting for a chance to get into water and realize, due to the disposition of the jacuzzi, that I can actually do this. On goes the bathing suit, as well as two layers of plastic with sealing tape, and I'm in. Ahhhhh

Then we sit on our fancy recliners with a cold beer and feel on top of the world. The view is so magnificent, with two volcano islands right in front of us and a grand circle of dark rocks encircling is all. White-washed luxury hotels climb the hills where they can, which makes one wonder how it would be if Rocinha and Vidigal were white-washed. 

It might just work - in various ways ;).
Unfortunately, the sunset is on the other side of the island, but we love the slow fading of the light and the last sunlight reflected on the high cliffs. We rise to go in to shower and this is when the power goes off. No more shower, light, internet, water.... A generator meant to service the other side of the hotel, where the restaurant is, far beneath us, begins to make a huge racket right outside our room. We retreat to our veranda, order dinner, and dine by candlelight in the now much cooler temperature. Then we go to sleep only to wake up briefly when all the lights blaze on around 2am.
Here are some beautiful photos from our day: http://www.flickr.com/photos/siric/sets/72157635112431574/