I have identified my annoying wifi problem searching the Mac forums on Oswaldo's computer. It is referred to as "the dreaded self-imposed IP address". While we wait for breakfast I find a helpful YouTube video http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DHCBRsSvFwA, and get my wifi going. I can't believe it, I'm so proud. This is when George enters with the breakfast tray and I share my good news with him, then flippantly add that he needn't bother the manager anymore (this was his Plan B), and he says, "No, I will tell him to refer technical questions to you!" Those Greeks are very nice :)
As promised Stella comes with her parents around noon. We meet her mother, Asimina (Stella named her company Asimina Tours after her) and her dad, Peter Gressis, who is a mathematician. Stella has a little car - by necessity all cars on the island are small - I have to occupy the front seat with my leg, Stella takes the wheel and the other three manage as best they can in sudden intimacy on the back seat. We take off in the crazy traffic, a mix of cars like ours, many hesitant rentals, other exasperated locals, tour buses and vans, and a host of those 4-wheeled motorbikes, driven by scantily dressed young people with sun-bleached hair, only a few of whom are wearing helmets. A survival of the fittest scene.
It's a surprisingly long drive to the furthermost other point of the island, and we break the trip with a visit to a local winery where Oswaldo and I sample 4 local wines and buy a bottle of the one we like best.
Asimina, who owns and runs a couple of Greek restaurants in Maryland, where the travel company is based, explains that the island is famed for its cherry tomatoes, capers, and fava beans, all of which grow without water - they absorb the ample evening dew and use their leaves to hide from the daytime sun - and have an incredibly intense flavor. Although we have become enamored of the fabulous local fresh feta cheese - not unlike our own queijo Minas - we have still not opened our hearts to tomatoes, cucumbers and olives at breakfast, and this is something that Greeks (and Turks) don't understand, "What, no vegetables?" They should try a Norwegian breakfast, which in my experience, is a hefty lunch-like meal replete with coldcuts and hard cheeses - and certainly no vegetables.
In the photo above we're now behind the volcanoes right in front of our hotel room and very close to a lighthouse - which of course is not wheelchair-accesible. Then we ride back past fields full of ripe grapes, used for Vinsanto, the trademark Santorini wine, and through busy little towns, until we reach the red rock, around which one must hike to get to the red beach
It becomes clear why August is perhaps not the best month to go. This is like Grumari on a summer weekend
Stella starts driving downhill, now on the other, flatter side of the island and we pass rock formations very similar to those found in Capadoccia. And then we reach a beautiful little harbor
where the Gressis family's favorite restaurant is Psaraki
and where we have the most fabulous food, plates of pureed Fava beans with capers and their leaves, fluffy to-die-for taramasalata, and the traditional boiled greens, all served with huge slices of yellow cornbread,
We make a heroic effort to eat some more and take breaks to photograph each other
When a pear poached in local white wine and sprinkled with chopped almonds we can only take weak dabs at it, we are so satisfied. What a lovely and special place and fun to experience it with local people that are as multi-lingual and multicultural as ourselves
Stella has given hours and hours of her time to us and we should head home. She drops her parents at a supermarket and drives us all the way home, making sure we manage to get up those steps!
Back home a raucaus party of Russians (?) are drinking champagne and gambolling in the pool
and beyond is a scene reminiscent of Lagoa Azul
A cruiseship toots its horn as it leaves the Caldera
and then the light really begins to fade.
We have arranged for the Adams' to come over for what Victor might call a pre-game on our veranda, but we are assailed by a sudden flurry of calls from the insurance company, which has now woken up to the fact that a decision must be made. This takes several hours of waiting by Oswaldo's phone, while I chat with Victor on mine. We realize then it's long past the time that the Adams should have come, and conclude something must have come up. We share our chilled Santorini wine and slices of a succulent nectarine and call it a night, happy to finally know we'll fly home together on business class.
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