Santorini cruising, sunset dinner in Oia, Athens grande luxe

After the underwhelming success of the volcanic beach visit and our encounter with Bay Watch Santorini, David booked us the following day on a private catamaran cruise of the island. We had an amazing day with our Aussie captain and New Zealand crew, returning to shore in time to drive over to Oia for a sunset dinner (see pics).

En route to the restaurant through the pedestrian terraced stairs, the kids were treated to a typical Santorini sight; an inebriated (presumably British) tourist passing out and falling off his seated perch like a tweety bird, and crashing down onto the cement level below with a dull thud. The surrounding masses of tourists all elbowing in for a better view of the magnificent sunset barely took notice. The man closest to him did appear to stop just to confirm the man was breathing before taking his place on the stoop. The unfortunate unconscious fellow did not appear to register any pain whatsoever, which Justin found quite odd, and so I had to spend the next 15 minutes explaining the numbing effects of heavy drinking, as well as the inevitable and far more painful process of sobering up after a nasty drunken accident. For no part of this explanation did I employ personal anecdotes.

The next morning a very sad David left for the airport all alone, as his holiday had come to an end. We will miss him a ton, especially his enthusiastic appreciation for every sunset, his undying love of tzatziki, and his willingness to accompany us through every shopping spree. We will miss his driving somewhat less.

The rest of the gang flew to Athens and checked into the sumptuous Grande Bretagne Hotel, which can be best summed up in Livvy’s words, “When there are little chocolates on the pillows and fluffy slippers by the bed, it’s always a good sign! There’s even one of those little white mats by each side of the bed so you don’t need to even step on the carpet, classy I tell ya class-y.” Justin is fully approving of the bath products and has instructed me to put all unused bath products at the end of each day in a laundry bag which he will collect. I have reminded him of the weight limit for baggage on the flight home but he assures me he has taken that into account and if there is a penalty to be paid it will come out of his budget as the penalty will cost less than what he believes he can sell the products for back home. He has already inquired as to the cost of a license for the Sunday Farmers Market, and believes $5 a bottle or 2 for $8 would be a fair price. These instructions have had a rather dire impact on me, as I know find myself using miserly amounts of showergel in order to maximize my deliveries to Justin each day. A sort of odd luxury bath product Pavlovian response I suppose. I must even confess to having taken more than a few wanton glances at the maid cart as I pass by the hallway, and must sternly tell myself not to swipe extra bottles off the cart.

The hotel boasts the most astounding view from the roof garden restaurant. We enjoyed dinner as well as breakfast the following morning at this open air roof garden restaurant which has an astonishingly beautiful view of the Parthenon atop the Acropolis. With David no longer on the trip, it has fallen to my mother to call out the beauty of the view at regular intervals.

Our Athens guide and driver met us at the hotel shortly after breakfast, and introduced themselves brightly. Niko is the name of our driver and Evgen-something else no one quite caught is our guide. I asked politely if she could repeat her name, which she gladly did and at that point I thought I heard Evgeniphelpipoliosa, but could not be sure. Somewhat stymied by the unknown name of our guide, and far too polite to request a repeat repetition, the kids and I decide to make due and invent numerous clever tricks to pose questions without it being apparent that we still had absolutely no idea what our guide’s name actually was. My strategy was to simply call out her first syllable loudly and with confidence, “Evgen,” and then mumbled the rest of her name quickly, and this seemed to work quite well. My mother on the other hand opted for a more assertive approach and fearlessly mangled her name in various different ways all day long. Fortunately Evgen-iphelpipoliosa didn’t seem to mind in the least and was a fabulous tour guide. She did have a rather odd sense of fashion and sported a revealing turquoise halter mini-dress with a white undershirt and pocahontas moccasin-booties whose fringes jingled as she walked like a Greek Sacajawea guiding us through the Acropolis.

We toured the Acropolis, which the kids will proudly tell you is the name of the hill upon which the Parthenon sits. It was hot and so we bought plenty of bottled water which the kids tried to later employ in a makeshift photo shoot in front of Poseidon's temple, where Justin was posing as Poseidon, and Chloe tossed water at him from beyond the camera’s view in an attempt to make it appear as though Justin/Poseidon had summoned water from the skies. Unfortunately Chloe had not taken the wind into account and was standing down wind, thereby ending up soaked on the first attempt while Justin remained bone dry. (see pics)

We then visited the Olympic Stadium from the 1896 Olympics which is the only stadium in the world made all out of marble. We visited the Temple of Zeus, caught the view of Athens from the highest hilltop peak, and enjoyed numerous other sites from the comfort of Niko’s van. We returned to the hotel and were treated to high tea in the Winter Garden, which the kids were delighted to see is open in summer.

We then grabbed our swim suits and headed for the outdoor pool. Justin and Livvy were unimpressed by the rather small, by Four Seasons Istanbul standards, pool. They decided to make for the indoor pool and spa, and delighted in the scented waterfall showers where you push a button to get a soapy spray of your favorite scent. Justin enjoyed “Tropical” the best, although he did give them all a try. There were no complimentary nuts, however, much to Livvy’s chagrin.

We walked to the Plaka, the oldest and chicest neighborhood in Athens, and bought some souvenirs. The kids reveled in watching their grandmother haggle with a street vendor selling imitation Louis Vuitton wallets. First dear reader, please be reminded that my mother is French and can speak with a very special tone that effortlessly conveys pure disgust. In short, her approach is to handle the merchandise gruffly, articulate a few chosen disapproving grunts and then toss the goods in disgust at the merchant before picking up another. After adequately disabusing the street vendor of any notion that may have had him believing he was dealing with an inexperienced mark, she then demands the price and without hesitation offers exactly half while simultaneously walking away in the direction of the next street vendor. Invariably the street vendor chases her down and agrees to her price, whereupon the deal is consummated and she walks away victorious, although she does not allow herself to smile at all as she wishes the vendor to feel as though she believes that in fact she overpaid. This last part is meant purely to preserve what little pride the street vendor has remaining. This is a tried and true method passed down from my grandmother to my mother and which I firmly believe Justin will adopt. I cannot pull this off as my love of a bargain brings me just too much joy to enable me to suppress a smile or hug, if the personal hygiene of the vendor is not in question.

And so we walked back to the hotel for a cozy night's sleep in our cushy beds where the foot mats and pillow chocolates were awaiting.