Monday, November 18, 2013


Oia is a small town overlooking the caldera of Santorini,

We arrived after sundown, which in itself is an event in this place. Hundreds of people turn out each evening to watch the star sink beneath the sea.

We found our own solace in wine. Like this Santorini Sigalas, which I found more open and immediate than the 2011 of the same.

It went well with our meal.

But I did start to wonder when the same producer's wine turned up twice at the table. It turned out that we were dining at a restaurant owned by a relation of Paris Sigalas.

This particular white, which is a product of mixed varieties grown in a single vineyard, is left on the lees for 18 months, with battonage during that time. It is also  released later than the straight steel raised Sigalas Santorini. The result is more powerful and broad than what you might find from that other wine.

This fish didn't complain about the pairing.

But these berries macerated in honey and served over yogurt were perfect on their own.

Dinner over, we left our table...

...and toured the small pathways of Oia, trying to find the locals.

And a local beer? Why not. This was clean and simple.

While this pair offered more character and also more aromatic hops.

But it is the clear stuff you have to look out for in Greece.

Oia is lighted at night like campfires in a canyon.

But even in the relative gloom, the donkeys seem to have no trouble finding their way. They are relied upon to transport the garbage here.

This being Greece, the small shops are open past midnight. This inscription on the wall of a bookstore reminded me of friends back in America.

But the morning view quickly established that I was still in Greece.

At this hour, things were just getting moving.

And it was a pleasant walk on my own.

Even if the surroundings can be haltingly beautiful.

The blue sky of this kind of day may be the starkest kind of blue sky.

But the deeper blue of the sea brought a more keen sense of warmth.

The castle ruins at the end of this path act like a bruised index finger pointing out the horizon.

How long had these bells rung?

Have many civilizations had felt this wind?

And what answers did they keep to themselves?

I went out to the remains of the castle, to find out what I could for myself.

But I was never alone.

The monuments of culture were not far away.

Made brilliant by the same sky.

And while the corners kept their own shadows.

There was enough beauty in the light everywhere...

...that I knew this rock held raised treasures of all sorts.