Rude awakenings

After a somewhat bumpy ride from Koufonisia, we've finally arrived at Santorini - the most famous of the Greek islands. A little greener than before perhaps, but alive. No vomiting incidents on the ferry - a real feat considering how low our expectations were. Jordan held up better than most of us, which is surprising seeing as he woke up yesterday with the scopolamine patch - used to forestall such boating mishaps - firmly attached to his thumb after it mysteriously migrated from just below his ear.

Disembarking, we were quickly surrounded by hotel reps bearing signs and shouting Greek at us. Already I can tell this is going to suck. Don't get me wrong. It terms of awe factor this place has Koufonisia (and really, any other place I've ever been) beat. Formed by a massive volcanic eruption nearly 3,500 years ago, it looks from the inside like a string of islands organized in circular fashion forming a kind of cove around the largest section, resembling a kind of half crescent. This geological formation, known as a caldera, apparently boasts one of the prettiest (and priciest) views in all of Greece. Apart from its natural beauty, however, little else stands out. The island has become increasingly commercialized over the years - something I'm sure Mamma Mia! didn't help. Almost every inch of usable land has a hotel or gift shop on it and I feel more on edge than I have before, like I'm about to get robbed in broad daylight or hustled by some smart-talking street peddler.

Oia is the town for which Santorini rightly wins so much praise. If you've seen a postcard of the island, dollars to donuts Oia's where it comes from. It has the classically stark blue-and-white motif, but stretched out along the entire hillside and at a steep pitch, which makes you wonder how they built anything up here to begin with. Admittedly, this area is gorgeous, if totally overrun by tourists. The sunsets here are legendary, with people lining the walls hours in advance to catch a glimpse. But I can't help but feel like a nuisance as I do in most foreign cities. The English that seemed so elusive before, suddenly surrounds us. Americans are everywhere. I can only imagine what this must be like for residents - ATVs and scooters zipping by, droves of the octogenarian, cruise-bound set wondering out loud about the "tomatoes and MAH-ZAH-RELLA."

Proving we're no better than the rest of them, however, we too elected to rent ATVs (and Tom a scooter). Sure, they might suck for people who actually live here year-round, but hot damn are they fun. The Albanian guys we rented them from were a real piece of work. Predictably, they assured us they'd "make good price for you nice boys." We also bought gas from them. It came bottled in a Tide container. Wondering if we'd just been shaken down but deciding we didn't care, we proceeded to the light house at the southern-most tip of the island. Despite feeling (pleasantly) alone for the first time, surrounded by nothing but miles of deep, blue ocean, sensing what one could only describe as the awesome grandeur of this place, I couldn't help but miss what we'd left behind.