Europe 2005: Shit Stairway

Santorini is a Greek island. It is one of those world famous, picturesque little places that are immortalized on postage stamps and postcards. It cost me 22 Euros to sail there by ferry, lured by the tourist guidebook on Greece’s advice. I now advise YOU, my friends, to avoid Santorini AT ALL COSTS, unless you are fabulously rich, fabulously stupid, or need to propose to some chick who likes purple sunsets.

There are 3 things of note on Santorini. (1) The volcano. (2) Oia. (3) Shit Stairway.

(1) The Volcano.
Santorini used to be a volcano. Way back in the day, the volcano did one of those things that volcanos are known to do: it blew its load. The entire volcanic isle sank into the sea, leaving a rim of high cliffs surrounding a crystal blue, glassy-surfaced bay. Smack in the centre of that lovely Aegean mirror, like a festering pimple on the surface of the sea, sits the remains of the volcano. It is a big, broad, black, blistered mound of steaming rocks; a pile of molten slag that looks like huge lumps of coal piled on top of each other. The whole volcano (or the remains thereof) looked like the remains of a giant campfire.

I paid 15 euros for a ferry to take me to that smoking hill of gravel, and when I got there, there was a Greek, sitting under a straw umbrella, holding his hand out for more cash so I could gain admission onto the volcano. ADMISSION?!? Admission for WHAT?!? I don’t have a freakin’ PH.D in volcanic geology, do I, Zorba? Why am I being forced to pay good money to ogle at an island covered with black lumps of crud that I could have pulled out of my fireplace back home?

(2) Oia
Oia is a town, perched on a cliff that was created by the volcano sinking. If you have never seen a town hanging, and nearly spilling over, on the edge of a knife-like ridge that overlooks the ocean hundreds of feet below, it is a mighty impressive sight. Oia also has the craziest architecture that I have ever (and I mean EVER) laid eyes upon. They tend to be mostly white, but also PINK, BRIGHT YELLOW, BABY BLUE and TEAL. If you have never seen a baby blue house… Now, in North American, houses are laid out neatly in yards. Your yard and your driveway are obvious and well-defined. You can tell where your private property ends and your neighbour’s begins. Not in Oia.

Houses are tiny and built on top, under, beside, and often overlapping each other. Little domed, white-washed stone huts are nestled cosily into each others’ space; houses’s stairways overlap on the roofs of other houses, and doors and windows often seem randomly injected into the walls. Thin and winding lanes snake through this ridiculous, haphazard labyrinth of ridiculous, haphazard little shacks. The whole thing looks like a big, multicoloured, organic maze that will remind you of the last time you tripped out on mushrooms.

(3) Shit Stairway.
In order to get to the volcano, you have to get to the Old Port, which is at the bottom of the cliff. The Old Port is at the bottom of a long, winding staircase. There are 3 ways to get down: by the cable car, by foot, or by donkey. Kieran and I headed down by foot.

Okaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay. NOw, these donkeys are central to the tale. Greek donkeymasters will accost you at the top, yelling at you to pay 3.50 euros to go donkey-ridin’ to the bottom. You will turn them down, because as a starving student you do NOT have 3.5 fuckin’ euros to throw at Zorba. The Greek donkey master smiles and goes on his way. You don’t understand why.

Yet.

30 metres down the stairway, you realize that the Greeks, or possibly God, has played a cruel joke on you. You see, the DONKEYS that you had earlier rejected have to deposite their dinner somewhere. Yes, my friends. The donkeys shit ALL DOWN THE ENTIRE LENGTH OF THE STAIRWAY. Big, fresh, brown, steaming, fly-infested piles of donkey crap, sitting in your path like pylons on an ice-rink.

Basic lesson in economics: supply and demand. If the people want baseball bats, you build baseball bats. If the people want donkeys, you supply donkeys to carry them. But it is an extremely cruel twist of fate when the SUPPLY creates the DEMAND. You don’t need the donkeys, because as a sprightly youngster, you can walk. But because the donkeys, the unwanted supply, create BIG STEAMING TURDS TO WAYLAY YOU, you do NOT want to walk down. So, this creates DEMAND for the donkeys… demand for the previously unneeded supply. You are willing to shell 3.50 for a donkey to ride… when it was THE CAUSE OF YOUR RELUCTANCE TO WALK.

I went over turds, around turds, winded my way around thick, streaming rivulets of brown donkey piss, and basically swore the entire way down in every language I knew. I was wearing sandals, and if I had slipped and put my foot on the remains of Donkey’s Dinner, I swear that I would have tackled the next Greek I saw off his donkey, ripped his face off and wiped his ass with it.

I have now sworn a Holy Oath to take the next serious chance I have to kill every donkey and every donkey-owning Greek on Santorini. So help me God.

Okay, I’ll be in Turkey tomorrow. I don’t know what Turkey is like, and they may try to turk us. If I don’t arrive back home by June 3rd, that means the Turks have arrested me on false charges of pornography-smuggling, and I have likely died an excruciated death at the hands of big, beefy, sweating brown men. If will then be incumbent upon you, my friends, to avenge my death by killing at least 5 random Turks over the course of your lives. I thank you all.