One Summer in Santorini
From my days as a tour manager, I knew not to enter a church in Greece with bare arms, as it’s considered disrespectful. I didn’t have anything with me, so I had to settle for admiring it from the outside. It was impressive, but given that I was in Greece, I was bound to see another hundred churches before I left the country. Time to move on.
Even more spectacular than Fira’s architecture was the view of the caldera. I walked over and cautiously perched on a low, whitewashed stone wall. As I peered out over the town, I marvelled at how it clung fearlessly to the cliff face. It was an exquisite sight.
The town below was dotted with several bright blue pools, each surrounded by beach umbrellas. White-clad waiters were attending to holiday makers on sun-loungers, delivering cocktails. Rich people, I thought.
At the bottom of the cliff, I could make out the old port. From there, a stream of donkeys ferried people back up to the top of the zigzag staircase. For a moment, I considered a donkey ride, but then I looked down at my outfit and decided against it.
‘Where are you from?’ I heard from behind me.
I turned and saw an extremely handsome man in his late forties, sitting on a bench about five metres away. He was wearing beige linen pants and a white linen collared shirt, open to the third button, and he was smoking a slim cigar. His whole look, including his salt and pepper hair and deep tan, was a throwback to a more elegant era. He regarded me while he drew from the cigar, smiling, and for some reason, I felt compelled to answer him. Maybe it was because of his eyes, which crinkled at the corners as he smiled. I like crinkling eyes.
‘Australia – Sydney.’
‘Of Greek ancestry?’ I couldn’t place his accent, and I could always place an accent, but I guessed it was somewhere in Western Europe. His head tilted slightly and I felt a twinge in my stomach – the good kind – as he watched me.
‘No.’ It wasn’t the first time I had been asked that. Greek, Spanish, Italian, Maltese, Lebanese. I took it as a compliment whenever someone asked. I couldn’t imagine anyone asking about my family background to insult me, but rather to pinpoint the origin of my looks. And even though I’m not, I look Mediterranean.
He smiled and the crinkles intensified. So did the twinge.
‘Sorry,’ he said, seeming to laugh at himself, ‘I don’t mean to intrude on your day.’
Intrude away, handsome man. I shrugged as though I was used to good-looking strangers engaging me in conversation. ‘It’s an exquisite view,’ he added, gazing past me.
‘I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything like it,’ I replied.
‘So, not of Greek descent? Do you mind me asking what your heritage is? You’ve piqued my curiosity.’
‘Actually, my dad’s English and I look like him. He says he’s proof that the Romans were in England for hundreds of years.’
He smiled at that. ‘Well, you’re very beautiful,’ he said matter-of-factly.
I tossed my ponytail and allowed a smile to dance across my lips. ‘Thank you,’ I replied, not flinching under his fixed stare. I silently congratulated myself on such advanced flirting skills.
‘Have lunch with me.’ It was a statement, not a question. Smooth.
‘Maybe,’ I said, as though I was actually considering it.
‘I know a very nice place around the corner. Excellent seafood. Ellis, it’s called. We’ll eat, have some wine. And you’ll tell me what brings you to Santorini.’
My mind had a quick-fire discussion with itself. Stay? Go? Skip lunch altogether and spend the afternoon making love with this beautiful stranger? I was flattered – of course I was – I’m a human woman with a pulse and he was gorgeous. Reason won out, however. It would be time to meet my tour group soon. Or maybe I was hiding behind reason, my confidence merely bravado.
I started to walk away, but called over my shoulder, ‘Perhaps.’ I wanted to leave it open in case I got around the corner and changed my mind. He was super sexy.
‘Two o’clock. See you there.’
And then I did something incredibly cool. I faced him and as I walked slowly backwards, I blew him a kiss. Then I turned and walked away. How awesome was that? I’d never done anything like that – well, not for a long time, not since my touring days, but that was a whole different Sarah. It was fun to bust out the sassy girl who once got up to no good. I hoped he had watched me go. There was a little pep in my step as I continued my meandering exploration of the town.
When two o’clock came, I was not having a leisurely seafood lunch with a silver fox dressed in linen – and I wasn’t off somewhere making love with him either. Instead, I was back at Fira’s not-so-charming bus depot. This time, however, I had my backpack as well as my handbag, and no instructions written in Greek. All I knew was that I needed to get to Vlychada Marina within the next couple of hours to meet my sailing group.
After a false start – I got on the wrong bus and only realised when I heard all the tourists around me talking about Red Beach – I sat on what I hoped was the right bus, awaiting a departure that would be sometime in the next forty-five minutes. Apparently, in Fira, bus timetables are merely a loose approximation of a schedule, a suggestion. ‘Greek time’, it was called.
While I waited, I thought back over my day. It had already made up for the previous night’s theft. After my encounter with the silver fox, I had walked down the wide zigzag stairs to the old port. It was a tricky exercise, because of the donkeys. When they’re not taking people to the top of the island, they are lined up along the stairs, with their asses out. I don’t trust any equine creatures I don’t know, especially when I have to navigate around their behinds. Fortunately, I made it to the bottom without getting kicked in the ass by an ass with its ass out.
The old port was bustling with activity, and I spent some time watching people arriving on little wave-jumpers from the cruise ships. Right before 1:00pm, I took the funicular to the top of the island and set off for my little taverna. I had a quick lunch, then collected my backpack from the hotel and lugged it to the bus depot.
My attention was drawn back to the bus when a skinny older man wearing a tweed cap climbed into the driver’s seat and started the engine. I heard a cry of ‘Wait!’ and as the bus started pulling away, on jumped the tall, cute American in the baseball cap – out of breath and looking just as frazzled as he’d been the day before.
Chapter Three
As the bus lurched along the dusty, winding roads of Santorini, I watched the cute American with considerable interest from behind my Prada sunglasses. He seemed anxious, as though he might be on the wrong bus or something.
For all I knew, I was on the wrong bus. I realised my usual MO would be to panic all the way to Vlychada – or wherever we were going – but there was something about handling the stolen wallet ordeal that put the whole ‘wrong bus’ thing into a more realistic perspective. And if the bus didn’t go to the marina, I’d ride it back to Fira and start again.
I focused my attention back on the American, who was even better-looking up close than he’d seemed from across the square the day before. He was also far younger than he’d initially seemed – like, maybe twenty-two. Twenty-two was way too young for anyone I would get involved with, or even have a fleeting holiday flirtation with. And besides, I wasn’t looking.
I wondered if the cute American would be joining my sailing trip. We were the only two non-Greek people on the bus, and it didn’t seem as though Vlychada was somewhere frequented by tourists, so it was looking possible, if not likely.
If he was going to be on the trip, that led to an important question. Would we become friends? I decided that if we were sailing together for the next ten days, then yes, there was a good chance we would become friends – unless he was a dickhead. He didn’t look like a dickhead, but you can never be too sure until you actually meet a person. And even if you did meet someone and decided they weren’t a dickhead, they still might be, and it might take you eleven and a half months to figure it out. I knew this from experience. By the way, Neil is the dickhead in this scenario.
I dismissed the thoughts of Neil the fuckhead – I was getting much better at that. Instead, I let it wander to happier places as I imagined a lifetime of friendship with the cute American. After the trip, we would become pen pals writing actual letters back and forth for years. Then we would go to each other’s weddings and, over the next few decades, share all our major life events via letters and phone calls. During our widowed twilight years, we would live in the same city, in side-by-side houses, all the while denying we were more than ‘just friends’.
The bus groaned to a stop at a marina. I stopped daydreaming and looked out the dirty bus window, seeing a sign that made me smile: ‘Vlychada’. I was in the right place. See? No need to worry.
I gathered up my stuff and got off the bus via the back door, and the cute American got off via the front door, swinging his duffel bag over his shoulder. The bus pulled away, and we were the only two people standing on the pier. We looked at each other for a moment, then I walked towards him – awkwardly, because my wretched backpack was swinging heavily against my legs.
‘Hello,’ I said.
‘Hi,’ he replied. So far it was an excellent conversation.
It seemed my witty repartee from a few hours before had completely dried up, so I figured I’d get straight to the point. ‘Are you on the sailing trip?’
‘Oh, thank god, I’m in the right place,’ he blurted. Then he seemed to chastise himself. He walked over to meet me with his hand outstretched. ‘Hi, sorry – I was a little worried I was on the wrong bus.’ I shook his hand. Firm handshake. Nice.
‘No worries. I was too, to be honest,’ I lied. ‘I’m Sarah.’
‘Josh.’ I was right, by the way – American. I picked his accent as mid-western, but I didn’t ask. We had ten days to learn about each other. I was sure we’d get there eventually.
‘Shall we try to find the boat?’ he suggested.
‘Good plan.’ My backpack was getting heavier the longer we stood there.
We walked towards the rows of moored boats, discussing how we would know which one was ours, when Josh spotted a flag fluttering from one of the masts and pointed to it. ‘That must be us.’ It had the tour company’s logo on it, so we headed in that direction.
‘Hang on,’ I said, stopping short. ‘There’s two. Look.’ He followed the line of my arm to another of the company’s flags waving at us from a mast.
‘Huh. Well, let’s go to one and if it’s not right, then we’ll go to the other.’
‘Okay.’ By this stage I didn’t care what boat I was on, I wanted to put my cumbersome backpack down – stupid bloody thing.
We came to the first of the two yachts, which was docked parallel to the pier. It was about fifteen metres long and, like most boats, the bulk of it was white. It struck me how little I knew about sailing and boats, as I couldn’t really point out any distinguishing features – it looked like a sailboat.
We both dropped our bags onto the pier, and Josh called out, ‘Hello!’
A head popped out of the hatch, followed by some shoulders, then a torso and the rest of a man’s body. ‘Hello,’ he said back. He was handsome in the way that Harrison Ford was handsome when he played Indiana Jones – the first couple of times. I couldn’t help making a note of how many good-looking men I was running into on Santorini.
‘Hi, I’m Gary.’
‘Hi, Gary. Sarah. And this is Josh.’
Gary turned around and called down into the boat, ‘Duncan. The last two are here!’ To us, he said, ‘I’m not the skipper. I’m on the tour like you – although I do know quite a bit about sailing.’
‘Good to know that if the skipper falls overboard, we can keep on going,’ quipped Josh. Funny.
Gary offered an unsure smile in response and joined us on deck as another head popped up out of the hatch. ‘Josh and Sarah?’ said the head.
‘Yes,’ we said in unison.
‘Great.’ The second man, who I presumed was Duncan, leapt into action. He climbed out of the hatch, jumped off the boat and onto the pier, and grabbed both of our bags as though they weighed nothing. He climbed back onto the boat and said, ‘Come aboard! Oh, and shoes off please.’ Then he disappeared back below deck with our bags.
He was spry, I’d give him that. In fact, the whole exchange happened so quickly I caught myself standing and staring at the black hole where he had disappeared. ‘Well, I guess we found the right boat,’ Josh said to me quietly.
‘Absolutely,’ I replied. I slipped off my sandals and climbed over the railing onto the boat. It was a little trickier than I would have liked because I was wearing a short skirt. I hoped I wasn’t flashing my knickers to all and sundry. I noticed an amused smile on Josh’s face as he reached out to help. Was it smugness or chivalry? I took his hand, regardless. I didn’t want to fall into the water on my first day – or ever, for that matter.
Gary spoke up. ‘There’s actually two boats leaving from here tomorrow morning. That’s the other one, there.’ He pointed to the second boat Josh and I had seen from the end of the pier.
‘Oh, will we be sailing with them?’ I asked.
‘No, not really, but we’ll likely run into them from time to time. All women apparently.’ He laughed to himself. ‘I think our mix of people will be far better, hey Josh?’ He gave Josh what looked like a knowing grin.
What was this? The menfolk conspiring already? And how were Josh and I to know what the mix was? We had only met Gary and Duncan. Oh god, I hope I’m not the only woman! Josh, to his credit, answered Gary with a non-committal shrug.
I went below deck, and Josh followed. It was so dark I couldn’t see anything, and then I remembered I was wearing my sunglasses, so I flipped them on top of my head. I could see better, but only marginally. It was pretty dark below deck.
Duncan emerged from one of the cabins and soon after, two women appeared from two other cabins – I was not the only woman, then. Gary had also climbed down below, so there were six of us standing in the cramped dining nook, looking at each other.
‘Oh!’ said the man, breaking the awkward silence. ‘I didn’t introduce myself. Sorry. I’m Duncan. I’m your skipper.’ Australian – Queenslander.
I waved at him from two metres away. ‘And this is Hannah and Marie. And you’ve met Gary, Marie’s husband.’ So, the Harrison Ford guy was married. I wasn’t particularly disappointed, as he wasn’t really my type – a bit too blokeish – and besides, I wasn’t looking.
I smiled at the strangers I would be living with for the next ten days.
‘And these two are Josh and Sarah,’ added Duncan to finish the round of introductions.
‘I’m Sarah, he’s Josh,’ I added, in an attempt to break the ice, and thankfully everyone laughed.
Then the tiny space erupted into activity. Hannah came forward and said hello. ‘You’re sharing with me,’ she said. ‘In there,’ and she pointed to the left rear cabin. ‘Come on, I’ll show you.’ She sounded Canadian – Vancouver, I guessed.
I followed her the extremely short distance to our cabin, and she showed me the highlights. It was a tight space, but at least we had our own bathroom. There were two bunks, one very narrow and about a metre from the ceiling and the lower one, which took up the width of the cabin. Whoever slept on the top bunk would have to climb onto it from the bottom bunk. Some of Hannah’s things were on that bunk, so I guessed the lower one was mine.
We also had a hatch in the ceiling and a porthole for fresh air. The cabin was tiny but clean and it would be fine. I doubted I would be spending much time in there, anyway. It was really just for sleeping and showering, so who cared if it was compact?
‘Sarah, can I ask you a question?’
‘Sure,’ I said as I unzipped my backpack and started pulling stuff out.
‘How come you’re not sleeping with your boyfriend?’
‘What?’ I looked at her in surprise. What on earth was she talking about?
‘Josh. How come you two aren’t sharing a cabin?’
‘Oooh!’ I said, probably too loudly for the confined space of a boat. I’d seen Josh disappear into the cabin next door and realised he could be listening. I lowered my voice. ‘He’s not my boyfriend. I just met him, like, five minutes ago on the pier. We were on the same bus to the marina, that’s all. So, yeah …’ I finished, feebly.
‘Oh. I thought you guys were a couple.’
‘Nope. And believe me, if he was my boyfriend, I would want to sleep with him.’ Great. I sounded desperate, or sex-starved. Or both.
She gave me a funny look, confirming it was both. ‘I’m going to head up top. Duncan’s making another round of cocktails, and then he’s going over the trip information with us. I’ll see you up there.’
What the hell was the thing I’d said about wanting to sleep with Josh? I didn’t want to sleep with him. He was a baby. No, an infant. And I wasn’t going anywhere near him, even if he was cute. I wasn’t going near any men. At most, I might admire them – and only from afar. I had to get it together. I didn’t want Hannah thinking she was sharing a cabin with a nymphomaniac weirdo.
I spent the next few minutes nesting. Whenever I arrive somewhere new, I like to unpack the essentials and stash my luggage. Both tasks were a little awkward in the tiny cabin, but at least I found a nook in the bathroom for my toiletries. Out of necessity, I stuffed my backpack, still full of clothes, at the end of the lower bunk. It would have to do.
‘Hey,’ said a voice behind me as I gave my backpack a final shove. I looked over my shoulder. Wonderful. Josh was standing in the doorway and had an excellent view of my bum sticking up in the air.
I flipped over and scooched off the end of the bed, trying to keep my skirt from riding up my thighs. I was going to need to rethink my wardrobe for this trip. Of course, with the super tight quarters, as soon as I stood up, I was practically on top of the poor guy. He backed up a little. That was when I got a proper look at his eyes without the sunglasses.
They were incredible. Large, almond-shaped dark grey eyes with thick lashes – lashes any woman would kill to have. I wanted him to put his sunglasses back on. Those eyes were far too much power for one man to wield. He was talking, so I told myself to pay attention.
‘So, apparently I’m sharing with a woman called Patricia. She was here, but she went back into town to do something. Duncan says she’ll be back later.’
‘Oh. Are you okay with that, sharing with a woman?’
He shrugged. ‘Sure. It’ll be fine. Want to go up on deck?’
‘Okay.’ I put on my sunglasses and followed him up the ladder. Cute bum. Yeah, I was really going to have to stop that. Nowhere on the boat could be mistaken for ‘afar’.
Josh sat on one side of the boat, and I sat on the other, perhaps more than anything to show Hannah that he and I were definitely not a couple. It was only after I sat down that I realised there was another woman in the group – an incredibly beautiful woman. This must have been the elusive Patricia who Josh was sharing a cabin with.
‘Sarah, Josh, this is Geraldine – Gerry – my girlfriend.’ Wait. What? Our skipper had brought his girlfriend on the trip? Was he even allowed to do that? Before I could list all the reasons why it was a terrible idea, she turned to me with the biggest smile and said, ‘Sarah, so nice to meet you. Your hair is beautiful! I love it!’ There was no sarcasm or cattiness in her voice. In a whisper of a moment, she had disarmed me, my reticence at her very existence on the boat vanishing in the glow of her compliment.
‘That is so sweet, Gerry. Thank you. It’s lovely to meet you too.’ She went on to greet Josh in an equally enthusiastic and authentic way. Had he not already put his sunglasses back on, I am sure I would have seen his gorgeous eyes light up. At least she wasn’t Patricia, and he would not be sharing a cabin with the beautiful buxom woman. Not that I actually cared who he shared a cabin with.
Her accent stumped me – the second time that day. Was I losing my gift? Gerry’s was from somewhere in South America, but where? ‘Sarah, you need a drink!’ Duncan declared. Truer words had never been spoken, and I was grateful when Duncan poured me a generous serving from a pitcher. He passed the plastic cup across the circle and then poured one for Josh. I sniffed it. Definitely rum, but I couldn’t make out what else.
‘So, now we’ve all met – first names, at least – I’d like to propose a toast.’ I was really starting to like this Duncan chap. ‘To new adventures with new friends.’ Good toast. Yep, I liked Duncan.
We all tapped our plastic cups against each other’s and took sips of his concoction. Holy crap. My throat was on fire. ‘Uh, Duncan, what’s in this?’ I asked, my voice straining.
‘What’s not in it is more to the point,’ replied Gary. I looked at Duncan, who was smiling mysteriously and then back to Gary. ‘We got here about two hours ago. This is our third. You’ll get used to it.’ I nodded and took another cautious sip. And then another.
As I moved closer and closer to inebriation, Duncan pulled out a large nautical map and pointed to a crescent-shaped blob somewhere in the middle. ‘We’re here,’ he said. ‘Santorini.’ He pointed to a cornflake-shaped blob north of Santorini. ‘We’re going here – Mykonos – and it takes about twelve hours to sail there.’ He paused, probably for effect. Duncan seemed like a pro. ‘We’re going to take ten days to sail there.’
I found myself breathing out a deep sigh of pure pleasure.
‘So, I’ll pick the islands we’ll go to, ’cause I know this part of the world really well. I’ll also keep an eye on the sea and the weather, that sort of thing. When we get somewhere, if we all like it and want to stay another night, we’ll decide together. Sound good?’ Five of us nodded our responses, and I noticed mine wasn’t the only peaceful smile in the group. I also saw Gerry grinning proudly at Duncan. Cute couple.
That was the moment Patricia decided to make her entrance.
‘Welll, helllooo, everyone. Isn’t this cosy?’ We all looked up at the woman standing on the pier next to our boat. She had close-cropped red hair and wore layers and layers of flowing batik cloth. She also wore big Jackie O-style sunglasses.
Duncan, possibly the most gracious host ever, leapt up and offered her a hand so she could climb aboard. She seemed drunk. I caught myself frowning at her and consciously set my expression to a more welcoming one. ‘Everyone, this is Patricia.’ The hellos from the group were far less effusive than the ones Josh and I had received.
Duncan did a whip-around of everyone’s names and we lifted our hands unenthusiastically in response. She didn’t seem to absorb them anyway. She pushed in next to Josh and turned to Duncan. ‘What does a woman have to do to get a drink around here?’ she said. Perhaps it was an attempt to be funny. It wasn’t.
‘Right, yes,’ said Duncan as he looked around for a clean cup. Gerry handed one over, and he poured a drink and handed it to Patricia. She grabbed it and took a loud gulp. I tried to catch Josh’s eye, but as we were both still wearing sunglasses, that was a little tricky.
‘Anyway, Patricia, I was just going through a few things about our trip.’
‘Don’t mind me.’ She waved her hand as though she didn’t want to be a bother. Yeah, right. As quickly as I had decided I liked Duncan, I decided I did not care for Patricia.
Duncan moved on to formal introductions. He asked us to go around the circle and tell each other a little bit about ourselves. I always hate this part; I’ve never liked giving a dust-cover blurb about myself. I worry too much about how I’ll come across. As a result, I get all self-conscious, and then I end up sounding like an idiot.
