Greek Snapshots

It’s a bright day, just like Stelio promised.

I’m not used to thinking of my hotel owner on a first name basis, but this isn’t the world of Hiltons and Marriots. In Greece, Stelio’s is a quiet inn where the man himself picks you up from the dock. Smiling, bald and hardly taller than me, he gave my group a room upgrade we never dared ask for.

“Go to Oia tomorrow, when it’s clear,” Stelio told us. “Otherwise, you miss the sunset. You came for the sunset.”

There’s no denying it’s true. I’ve spent days digging through travel sites and they all show photographs of Oia. Can anything sell a holiday better than a coral sunset? Now add white washed buildings, topped with blue domes and orthodox crosses. The postcard stands on Paros carry photos of Oia. Even if you can’t afford to go, you can buy a snapshot for just 20 cents an island away.

On a May afternoon, Oia buzzes with people like us - backpackers who took the bus from cheap hotels on the opposite side of the island. Too late, I realize the smart ones made dinner reservations.

I race from terrace to terrace, desperate to sit down before 7pm. This is supposed to be the most serene night of my life and I’ll run a marathon to make sure it is.

Our party gives up all pretext of eating somewhere affordable. We beg every restaurant in the town to take us.

“We have room indoors,” the hostess says. “Just not on the balcony.”

No chance. Next restaurant.

My buddy, Tyler, pauses to catch his breath. “We have sunsets in California. Is a freaking sunset worth this?”

I consider resting with one of the stray cats we pass. A gray tom lounges in an empty flower pot, relishing the shade it gives him. But my belly rumbles, reminding me I’d set my heart on a terrace dinner. I haven’t eaten all day.

Ten minutes before sunset, the miraculous happens. An Italian place lets us in and we collapse at our table, gulping the complimentary water. I spot the first blood orange hues of the sun slipping into Santorini’s caldera.

All we can afford are appetizers, but the bruschetta is Instagram worthy. We’re quiet as we watch the reds, purples and yellows twist across the sea like spilled paint.

Tyler breaks the silence. “Fine. That is one hell of a sunset.”

I consider buying a postcard, but they’re 50 cents here. I’ll wait until we’re on Naxos and the price goes down.

The colors melt through me, fixing into my memory. When we return to the hotel, Stelio grins, knowing well what we and the postcard designers do.