I start to wonder if the locals here ever get tired of the weather. As far as I can tell it's about 27 degrees every day, with virtually no clouds, and the only thing that changes slightly is the wind speed. I'm not sure how the people here would cope with the four seasons in one day we get back in Melbourne.
Issy says she is starting to feel a bit better. She says this is the best she's felt since we left home, although that said none of the other days have been anything to write home about. We have breakfast and then walk up the hill to the village of Imerovigli. It is very windy. We stop at the church on the point to take photos of Skaros Rock. Issy struggles to keep her hair in place, but I have no such problem. The view is stunning. We see a restaurant called La Maltese and are reminded that Kostas told us about a Maltese connection here.
On the way back we count the stairs from the footpath down to our room. There are 92, but it always feels closer to 192.
We have an early lunch
and catch a local bus to the village of Oia. The bus is unexpectedly modern and air-conditioned, and is also dirt cheap. We get good views of the east coast on the way and catch the occasional glimpse of the caldera. We pass a donkey farm. Most of the donkeys we've seen in other places here seem to spend their days carting overweight tourists up and down the cliff around the edge of the caldera. The donkeys at the farm just seem to be grazing in a paddock. I think I know what I'd prefer if I was a donkey.
Oia is stunning, and it looks a bit newer than Fira. The footpaths are granite slabs rather than small cobblestones; at least we think they're granite slabs. There are some traditional Greek windmills out on the point, although the sails are missing which is not too surprising given the wind. We walk to the old castle overlooking the port. There is a sign saying to keep out because of landslides, but absolutely no one takes any notice of this. We stop for a drink and then wander around a bit more before stopping again for dinner. Our restaurant overlooks
the main square, with the village church on one side. We think about staying for the sunset, but then worry that maybe the buses will all fill up later, and we’d then have to walk five kilometres along the edge of the sheer cliffs on the rim of the caldera, in the dark. We wimp out and take the early bus, and get back to Homeric Poems in time for yet another stunning sunset.
Issy says my blogging is too sarcastic and that I need to stop hanging it on everything and everyone. Today I practice boring blogging. I ask her who can read the blog. She says that she thinks only people we know, but I'm not so sure. I live in fear of a nasty phone call from Gavin from Bangalore, and I really don't want to inadvertently offend half the population of Malta and get ejected from the family. I Google "Gavin from Bangalore". Our blog doesn't come up, so I relax, but only slightly.
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