The Art of the Layover

En route to Santorini, I had a five-hour layover in Athens.  Used to be, a five-hour layover would aggravate me.  Now it's just bonus time.  45 minutes into center city.  2 hours to walk to the Acropolis and back.  45 minutes back to the airport.  No problem. 

I wasn't exactly sure where I was, ending up in a cute little white-washed neighborhood, but I got the idea several other people had ended up in the same situation.

Emerging onto the hill of the Acropolis, this view of the city greeted me.

The arena

And finally, the Acropolis.  So much more rewarding than trying to sleep on lumpy airport seats.

Betsy's Santorini Journal: Sunrise, Day #1

Sunrise in Santorini and I was the only one watching bright clear light flow across the blues, pinks, and whites of Oia ("eeh-ah"), igniting the reds in the cliffs of our next-door-neighbor island. That fresh pastry smell hung over the only road as I flip-flopped along on the marble, admiring the sheet of silent water to my right. 

A young man popped up onto my path from the Caldera cliffside, carrying four crates of fresh bread, baked in an oven far below, for some restaurant unknown. He smiled his good morning, and let me take his picture.

A dog following me lounged onto a whitewashed roof and looked out over the sea, as intent in his gaze as if waiting to see the love of his life arrive on the next boat. I hope she comes soon. 

I moved on. Tiny flower wreaths hung on doorways, and motor scooters lined up awaiting the next happy tourist butt. I continued through town and into the hills, finally turning up an inviting stairway. From the top, I could see the sun shifting through the clouds onto Oia, tracing its warm way across blue church domes and whitewashed alleys, awakening visitors and locals alike, as the city bells chimed 7 a.m. 

Now I sit overlooking a full right-to-left expanse of blue, with a dachshund-shaped set of cloud puffs hovering above where Fira - the party capital of Santorini - balances on the edge of the island. Fira and Oia are yin and yang, chaos and peace. 

A cat just scooted through the plant next to me, gray fur against salmon and white stucco, then slipped under my legs in search of someone who has NOT yet finished the Melenio Bakery set breakfast #1. What an inspiration to include chocolate cake in the lineup. And such a very fudgy frostingy one. 

My book and leftover napkins are bobbing around in the breeze. It is mostly friendly but a little cold. I have bare feet, but luckily wrapped that oh-so-European accent, the silk scarf, around my neck before leaving my home-away-from-home, Villa Kallisti - the cutest Greek island dwelling ever to resemble a cross between a cave and a treehouse. 

Boy do I have plans for this day. But no rush. I like the way it's starting. 

Blue Jellyfish and Fig Ice cream

Though just as dark as Bulgaria at 7:15 a.m., Greece is considerably warmer. I appreciated the gentle air as I strode out from El Greco hotel for a final lap of Thessalonikki on Friday. One month after our original visit, we were back to pick up our Bulgarian visas from the consulate. I retraced my September steps and saw the same sights - lovely markets, men selling round sesame pretzels, a young couple or two who hadn't yet called it a night. But this time I also saw something new - blue jellyfish. I looked over the edge of the cement walkway along the Aegean and there they were, rolling on the early morning waves like those huge bubbles kids make with special hoops at birthday parties.

By lunch we were official Bulgarian workers, and we had arrived in the small Vineyard town of Melnik, in the Pirin mountains. Tanya, as always, had a special meal planned, complete with a continuous stream of wine. While some wrapped up their lunches with fig ice cream and chocolate crepes, Brett and I went to explore Melnik. We followed a secret path (or at least I'd like to think so) up a hill, hoping for a big view at the top. We passed a beautiful home on the way with red pepper strings hanging from the window, just like I saw last summer in Santa Fe. Of course, the owner stored her shoes on the windowsill below the peppers, which was less common in New Mexico. A little further along, we came to some ruins and the "big deep hole" of my earlier post. I have no idea what made the hole, but I enjoyed pretending to fall down it for the camera. Finally, we emerged on a crest, but the path degenerated like crazy and the view wasn't good, so we came down. Still, it wasn't a total loss. The hole, the peppers, the shoes, it had been fun.

We headed towards the van at a mosey, stopping in at a shop selling painted icons - I would have bought one except religious figures in every icon I've seen look so sad - and admiring the stands scattered everywhere offering Melnik wine, jars of honey with walnuts and hazelnuts suspended thickly in the golden glue, homemade jam and tahini, and glossy pottery in the unique Bulgarian style - in which horizontal stained stripes are dragged in a vertical line to create little flowing arrow patterns spaced around the dish.

We paused at a water fountain where a stray dog was waiting for Brett to turn on the water for him, and next to a grape juicing machine into which a young man was dumping crates of grapes, watching the stems shoot out the far end and the juice pump up a nearby hill in a vacuum tube.

By the time we headed off to Sofia again, most of us had less money and fuller stomachs. While our time in Greece had been brief and harried, our lingering stop in Melnik was restorative.