Santorini Baywatch the Reality Show...

I neglected to mention in my last post that we were only able to secure 4 tickets on the morning flight from Mykonos to Santorini and 2 in the evening, so Olivia and my mom stayed behind to catch the evening plane. Meanwhile David, Chloe, Justin and I settled into our new hotel where David and I had the Honeymoon Suite. We could not detect any reason why our room would be called the Honeymoon Suite as there were exactly zero discernable amenities which one would expect to find in an actual Honeymoon Suite. There was, however, a door separating the bedroom, which was quite literally a room just large enough to contain the bed, from a small area containing a loveseat and a built-in desk. I can only surmise that either: a) we had been duped into paying a heavy premium for the room with the fancy name; or b) the presence of a door separating a room with a bed from an area with a loveseat is referred to in Greek as a Honeymoon. We prefer to think it is the latter. Justin was unimpressed by the private label bath products, delighted by the complimentary mini-bar beverages, and approving of the “chic” hotel décor. Most of the furniture is from Design Within Reach and my friend André would approve entirely of the choices. (see pics)
We were soon reunited with Livvy and my mother, and had a hug fest in the hotel lobby. 8 hours can feel like a lifetime.
The next morning we headed out to one of the volcanic sand beaches and successfully warded off the myriads of Thai masseurs and masseuses aggressively proffering their services. Mom went for a swim and cut her knee on a rock as she was returning to shore. She emerged with some difficulty from the sea and before I could see what had happened, a stout orange bikini-clad male lifeguard was jogging to her rescue. It was like watching a scene from a Baywatch episode that had been gravely miscast. The Greek Hasselhof was quite short with squat legs, and so his jogging was really no more than a quick giggling saunter but quite low to the ground. Although his physique was nothing Germany would love, his deeply concerned gaze was worthy of national cable television. He helped my mother over to his lifeguard tower with much pomp and circumstance, thereby intentionally attracting the attention of onlookers from all over his beach. “Yes,” his gaze seemed to say, “I am zee David Hasselhof of Santorini, and in my tzexy oh-range bee-kini I am tzaving this poor ehwoman frohm a cutz knee. Do noh woorry my frienthz, you are all tzafe undehrr my whatz.” He seated her on a chair while he produced some anti-biotic spray, gauze and iodine which he generously applied to her knee while bending forward so that we could all appreciate his impossibly enormous hamstrings and large bikini clad backside. Unable to resist, David grabbed the camera with the speed of a wild life photographer and headed over to capture the sight on film. Although we were unable to get a full head to toe frontal shot of our Grecian Baywatch star, our Grecian lifeguard proudly posed for some photos with the victim he’d rescued, and David did get some shots that are praise worthy.
Over a sunset dinner that evening the kids killed themselves laughing as we re-enacted the rescue over and over again.