Arguably the single island that contributes to the vast majority of wanderlust-infused dreaming around the world isn’t just one island after all, but a archipelago of five islands said to be split up by a volcanic eruption hundreds of years ago. Santorini, a place I’d long dreamt of visiting, came into view from above, on the quickest 40 minute flight of my life departing in Athens, the more expensive and more efficient alternative to a 5.5 hour ferry ride. With just two nights to enjoy on the island, we opted to stay in Thira (or Fira) the main island reminiscent of the catalogue Greek architecture all North Americans are so completely and totally obsessed with. It wasn’t as though I wouldn’t have done anything to stay longer, but our set itinerary sandwiched us between obligations in Amsterdam and, next, Mykonos… so I really couldn’t complain. Luckily, as I suspected from my past 2-day European excursions, the three days we spent in Santorini lasted much, much longer in emotional time. Night one welcomed me with the best Moussaka I’ve ever tasted, followed up with a day at the Black Sandy Beach, the sunset disappearing behind the infamous white and blue houses, and a couple of nights spent on our private terrace, smoking cigarettes, looking out at the night lights of Fira, and talking about life. Making it to Santorini feels a lot like making it in general, I’d assume. It’s the dreamland you’ve always suspected it to be, with the surprise of package mules that go up and down and cats that can be rented at 5 euro a piece.
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