Food

Ejo #174 – Drunk In… Barcelona: AKA – A Love Letter To Ben

June 30, 2024Drunk In....., Food, Good Life, Learning About Me, Other Cultures, TravelBarcelona, Food, friendship, spain, Travel, travel writing, wanderlustmisschryss Leave a comment

In 2008 David and I went on an amazing six week driving tour of Europe, staying in Paris, Saint Paul-de-Vence, Puligny-Montrachet, Ludes, Siena, Piemonte, Ancient Korinth, Athens, Huesca, San Sebastian, Hondarribia, Zamora, Badajoz, Marbella, Alicante and Barcelona. This was pre-smartphone days so all our google map directions were printed on reams of A4 paper, which I valiantly tried to keep in some semblance of order. But by the time we reached Barcelona’s ring-road at around midnight I realised that I’d lost the relevant pages somewhere along the way. If you’ve ever driven in Barcelona, you know that the city is a curious mix of perfectly laid out grid-like roads, magically interwoven with streets that wind and curve, in infuriatingly unpredictable ways. And if you’ve ever met me, you might know that being a navigator without a map is one of the most stressful situations you could ever put me in. So yeah, basically I was freaking out. But you know what happened? Navigating around prominent landmarks, doing my best to work from memory, and invoking Saint Jude, the patron saint of lost causes, we somehow, somehow managed to find our accommodation in the dense warren of Barri Gòtic, one of Barcelona’s oldest and most labyrinthine suburbs. It was, ladies and gents, a stone-cold miracle.

We stayed in the city of Barcelona for three days and totally fell in love with it, so we went back for five days in 2011, four more days in 2013, and then another three days in 2014. But for some reason, in the ensuing years, Barcelona sadly fell off the travel radar. Shame on us. So when my old friend Ben told me in December of last year that he and his parents, Ellen and Greg, would be travelling to Barcelona in March 2024, and would we like to join them for a couple of days, the answer was a resounding hell yes!

David and I finished working our night shifts at 6am and, as is our wont, jumped straight on a plane to Barcelona, getting to our cute little apartment at around 3pm. We immediately jumped into bed for a 20 minute coffee nap to perk up before meeting with Ben and Greg for a bite to eat (Ellen was recovering from a painful and, unfortunately timed, foot surgery a couple of days before their trip, and was laid up at their hotel, resting). Naturally I had compiled a map of all the cool restaurants, cafes and bars I wanted to check out while we were in town (as well as a few old favourites that David and I really wanted to return to), but there was nothing in the immediate vicinity and I didn’t want to drag everyone around the city looking for places that fussy little Miss Chryss approved of – I didn’t want to be that person. So instead I dragged everyone around the neighbourhood and did something which I hate doing, which is randomly choose a restaurant that looks like it serves nice, traditional food and just roll the culinary dice. Don’t ever let anyone tell you I don’t live on the edge.

As expected our meal was OK, but nothing special. It might (or might not) shock you to learn that I have a real phobia of eating mediocre meals when I travel. It’s something that I really hate, because when you’re in a new country or a new city, you only have a finite number of meals with which to sample all the delicious and glorious cuisine of that location. And wasting even one of those meals on shitty food is a tragedy of epic proportions. I am not the type of person who eats to live. So I will never be the type of person that just grabs a bite for sustenance. For me, the food is the main event. It is the reason I travel. And after enough bad experiences, I am no longer the type of person who optimistically wanders around town hoping to just serendipitously stumble upon the perfect restaurant. The idea gives me hives. Sure it’s possible, but it’s also possible that you’re going to eat a really shitty meal. Which is what happened to David and me in Madrid, 2013 on our seventh wedding anniversary. We’d booked a fancy dinner, but decided to leave lunch to fate. And fate did not treat us kindly. Lamentably, we ended up at a place that served soggy croquettes, rubbery Jamón and sickly sweet sangria. I got really angry with myself, and then I got really sad that we’d eaten such sub-standard food on such a special day, in a city known for its extraordinary gastronomy. And, with my fist raised towards the sky, I vowed on that day to never let it happen again. Which is why, over the years, I’ve developed a system of google mapping a location, doing a bunch of research and locating some great places to visit. I don’t necessarily make bookings at all the restaurants I like, but if I happen to find myself in an area and feel peckish, I can just open my map, and I have a number of options that I know are going to hit the spot (with recommendations for what to try on the menu and what to avoid). This system works well, and I currently have active maps for 34 cities around the world. Yes, I am a freak!

*^{Plenty of places to eat a good meal in Barcelona}*

So, feeling a little triggered by the fact that I was responsible for our lacklustre snacks the previous day, the next morning I suggested we go to the local market and have an early lunch at El Quim de la Boqueria, an institution in Barcelona despite only being around since 1987. Located smack bang in the middle of a bustling market filled with locals shopping for groceries and meat and fish, I knew right away that it was my kind of place. I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again, any city worth its salt has a great foodie market-hall. It may only have been 10am but, taking our cue from several older Spaniards who were enjoying breakfast beers with their food, we decided to order a bottle of cava to share, coz why not! When in Barcelona, bitches!

*^{The incredible menu, and the irresistible tortilla de patatas (or as they call it in Spain, omelette)}*

*^{Charcoal grilled octopus and sizzling garlic prawns in a cava reduction. Yum!}*

*^{Their house specialty, two fried eggs with assorted wild mushrooms, and butifarra sausage with beans and aioli.}*

After lunch Ellen and Greg headed back to their hotel while David, Ben and I went in search of some culture. Being familiar with Moco Museum in Amsterdam, we decided to check out their new outpost in Barcelona. Specialising in modern and contemporary art, it was fun to spend an hour checking out artworks by prominent masters such as Warhol, Haring, Basquiat and Kusama as well as exciting contemporary street artists like Banksy and KAWS. And they even had a section highlighting NFTs!

*^{Light installations are my favourite, they’re so fun and whimsical!}*

Afterwards we took a walk along the harbour looking for somewhere to quench our thirst, stopping at a couple of places that don’t really warrant mentioning, but I’mma mention them anyway, just for laughs. The first offered a rooftop bar, and we were all keen to check out a nice view of the city so we made our way there and were offered a large table in the shade. Perfect! Two minutes later, an abrasive young server sporting an impertinent ponytail and holding onto a clipboard for dear life strutted over to our table and told us we’d have to move, as it was reserved only for large groups. I asked if there was a large group waiting to be seated and she said no, but one might come along at any moment. I blinked at her and offered to move should that situation eventuate, but she insisted that the table was only for large groups. I pointed out that we hadn’t even chosen to sit there, we’d been offered the table by one of her colleagues. She took a deep breath to argue with me again, which is when Ben picked up what I was throwing down and ran with it, pointedly said to her, “Are you throwing us out?” I stifled a laugh and looked at him in awe. Sassy as fuck!! Flustered, she stormed off, whipping her ponytail into a frenzy behind her, and moments later our drinks were served. We considered hanging around for another round just to piss her off but decided to move on and try one of the places downstairs (which we shouldn’t have, because the cocktails were literally undrinkable).

We got a text from Greg saying he’d like to join us while Ellen rested, so I suggested we meet at Paradiso, which was about a ten minute walk away. My colleague Mark recommended this place to me, and the fact that it was voted #1 of The World’s 50 Best Bars in 2022 didn’t hurt either! We figured getting there at opening time would help us secure a table, and avoid the long lines that famously snake around the block, and we were in luck. Ushered into a tiny pastrami shop through red velvet ropes, the four of us looked for the entrance to the speakeasy, spinning around and bumping into each other, baffled about where it could possibly be. And then they showed us! And we laughed, and we nodded appreciatively. I may have clapped. Trust me, it’s very cool. You’ve gotta go and check it out for yourself. Once inside we were blown away by the décor, the friendliness of the staff and the delicious, inventive cocktails.

*^{The lovely server explaining David’s choo-choo drink.}*

During our afternoon stroll through the streets of El Born, we came across a great looking seafood restaurant called Cadaqués and spontaneously decided to make a booking for dinner that night (DON’T EVER LET ANYONE TELL YOU I DON’T LIVE ON THE EDGE). I found out later that Cadaqués is a very picturesque fishing village in north-eastern Spain, home to none other than visionary artist Salvador Dalí. And our evening did kind of kick off in a surreal way when our two groups somehow ended up at two restaurants with the same name, and two very different google ratings. Just as David and I were being seated (at the good Cadaqués) we got a few alarmed messages from Ben (whose Uber was taking them to the bad Cadaqués) saying that the reviews were terrible and we should bail and find somewhere else for dinner. Eek! The confusion was quickly cleared up though, and when our friends got to the good Cadaqués we had a wonderful dinner, with delicious Catalan food and wine and dessert. It was a very fun night and I think you should go next time you’re in Barcelona (just make sure you go to the right one).

I’ve mentioned my friend Ben in my essays before, but I’ll give you all a quick recap in case you missed it. We met online in 1996 (pshhh-kkkkkkrrrr-tshchchchchchchch-cheeeeeeeeeeeeee-oooooo-eeeeee), bonding over our shared admiration of Gwyneth Paltrow. After a few months of getting to know each other over dial-up modem, we decided that it would be a fabulous idea to meet in real life. So, at the tender age of 25, I threw all caution to the wind and sparked what would later become an insatiable thirst for travel and adventure. I took two months leave-without-pay from my dead-end government job and (rather insanely) got onto an aeroplane and flew to California to meet my digital pen friend, who could, quite plausibly, have been a psycho serial killer. Fucking wild, right?

In the couple of months I spent squatting in an empty Avery House dorm room at Caltech, Ben and I developed a kind of routine, where he would go to class and I would fill my days exploring and writing, and then at the end of the school day we’d hang out together. My heart fills with fondness when I think of that time, and I have so many fun memories of it.

Since I was an interloper at the university, and had no rights to eat in the school cafeteria, Ben helped himself to extra food for me every night using his meal card, loading his tray with double serves of everything. We’d claim our beanbag spots in front of one of the TVs in the dining hall, hoping to catch the latest episode of The Simpsons (Season 8, bitches) but sometimes having to suffer through Home Improvements instead (the worst!). Sometimes we’d follow dinner with a couple of tablespoons of the coffee flavoured Häagen-Dazs we kept in the dorm freezer, as a treat. One time we found ourselves in possession of a big fat cigar that we shared sitting on the steps near the dorm. I can’t remember where we got the cigar, but I remember it hurting my throat, and becoming lightheaded as I looked up at the twinkling Californian stars.

We went to movies (so many movies) and always sat in the front row, cricking our necks to gaze up at the big screen in unison. Ben introduced me to the music of Tool and Korn, and inspired me to write poetry at the desk underneath his bunk bed while he was in class. We played Quake in the communal computer room (where Molly, a girl that had a crush on Ben would alternately shoot daggers at me or pretend I didn’t exist), and I remember the day some kid burst in with a bootleg copy of the pilot episode of South Park. We stopped shooting each other long enough to gather around one of the computers to watch it, and afterwards the room erupted into an excited frenzy. I remember the sense of it being a profound moment, and I soaked it all in.

We rode around Pasadena on Ben’s bicycle, me dinking a ride on the back wheel pegs, the wind blowing in my hair, feeling carefree and wild, wishing I could stay forever. Wishing I never had to go home. I still get that feeling when I travel. We’d ride to Tower Records down the road to rent videos, and then sneak into a Caltech auditorium to play them on the massive, lecture room projector screen. Nothing beats the feeling of two people sitting in an otherwise empty auditorium, eating popcorn and watching Trainspotting. Nothing.

Ben heroically tried to teach me how to play guitar, and showed me pictures of the girl that he was in love with. I wasn’t to know at the time, but a couple of years later I would meet her, and she would become one of my best friends. One time, riding Ben’s bike at night, I lost my balance and fell into a hedge. I still proudly sport the scar on my finger. We drank gallons of pink grapefruit juice and ate way too much McDonalds. We ate at Burger Continental, a place we decided was run by Greek mobsters, where the salad I ordered was literally the size of a basketball and Ben joked about how I’d better fucken finish it, or Stavros would organise a hit on me. One night we drove a couple of hours south to San Diego to see his parents, and then drove all the way back again when we figured out it was too late to visit. We stopped at Taco Bell for midnight snacks on the way home, and laughed and laughed when the cashier couldn’t understand my Australian accent when I tried ordering a Coke. I just kept saying Coke, Coke, Coke, as the cashier leaned closer and closer towards me looking more and more puzzled, and in the end Ben had to order my drink for me.

Ben took me on an illicit tour of Caltech’s (not so) secret tunnel system to look at some of the haunting 70s era graffiti scrawled on the walls, and I remember feeling pretty scared as we got lost and the tunnels got darker and smaller and more cobwebby, until we were eventually chased out by a grumpy security guard with a flashlight. I still remember the feeling of exhilaration when I took that first, deep breath of fresh air on the outside. Another time we took a road trip to the Anza Borrego desert, spending the night in a motel close to the Mexican border, and eating at a local Mexican restaurant. The place was so jam-packed, that after nearly an hour of trying to pay the bill we just gave up and did a runner. We spent the rest of the sleepless night worrying about Mexican hit men storming our room and demanding retribution. One Saturday night we walked around the Avery House dorm rooms, just saying hi to all these random, drunk kids. We sat chatting with one guy for a little while, but decided to beat it when he casually mentioned that he’d taken a pretty big hit of acid and oh man, was it starting to come on!!! We attended Ben’s step-great-grandmother Frieda’s 100^th birthday party at her nursing home, and stayed at Ben’s parents’ house afterwards. Which gave me a chance to get to know them better. And vice versa.

I love Ben, and I love Ellen and Greg. When I first met them they were understandably dubious of me. A strange, foreign woman (psycho serial killer?) in her mid-twenties, hanging out with their 19 year old son at his university. What the fuck? But over the years our relationship has blossomed into something special, independent of Ben. So it was truly beautiful to spend a couple of days with all three of them in Barcelona recently. Sadly, it was over way too soon, and after our wonderful dinner at Cadaqués we said our goodbyes, as the three of them were travelling on to Nice, France the following morning.

*^{Breakfast is the most important meal of the day.}*

David and I had another two days of cavorting planned in Barcelona and the next morning we started in earnest by having Bloody Mary’s at Milk Bar & Bistro. So many vitamins and minerals, what a nutritious way to start the day! Afterwards we walked to our favourite tapas bar, the iconic El Xampanyet. The place was, as always, raucously packed full of locals and tourists alike and with no seating available David and I parked ourselves at the stand-up bar (which I actually think is the perfect place from which to enjoy all the tasty morsels on offer). Being in prime position to observe all the amazing array of tapas dishes being prepared, all we had to do was point at something we liked the look of and say, “Esto, por favor!” This worked a treat and we were served plate after plate of incredibly delicious tapas, including chorizo, marinated sardines, tortilla de patatas, Galician pulpo, braised pork with Padron peppers, and stewed snails all washed down with glass after glass of the house cava. I was in heaven.

*^{Tortilla de patatas, Galician pulpo and juicy pork with Padron peppers!}*

*^{We didn’t order this, but we did eat the hell out of it, El Xampanyet’s very special version of Crema Catalan.}*

The next morning, being the culture vultures that we are, David and I just had to squeeze in a visit to another art museum, this time visiting Fundació Joan Miró, a museum established by, and dedicated to, the renowned Catalan artist, to peruse a few of his modern masterpieces. And being the booze hounds that we are, doing so made us extremely thirsty, so afterwards we went off in search of a vermutería, or old-school vermouth bar. We settled on Bodega La Peninsular, an historic wine cellar founded in 1903, known for serving the traditional libation at la hora de vermut, typically between midday and 2pm as an aperitivo before lunch. Vermouth, a fortified wine infused with spirits and spices, has recently experienced a resurgence in popularity and I can totally understand why. I don’t know what I was expecting, but I found the drink to be very light and refreshing, and perfectly accompanied by a plate of fresh razor clams. We would have stuck around for a few more rounds but we had lunch plans and had to get a move on.

*^{David contemplating Fireworks (1974)}*

*^{Absolutely superb, and we will definitely return for a full meal}*

Passadis del Pep is another of our old favourite restaurants that we absolutely had to book when we found out we were returning to Barcelona. We used to love their welcoming ritual of seating us at the table and immediately popping a bottle of cava and pouring two glasses of their house bubbly! The deal was that if you didn’t like it, those first two glasses were free, and if you did like it, the bottle was yours. Of course we liked it. We liked it so much, that the first time we went we had three bottles!! Unfortunately this custom is no longer offered, which kind of took the shine off the experience for us a little bit. What was still amazing, however, was the procession of super fresh seafood that they bring out when you choose their chef’s menu. Plate after plate of glorious, plump, juicy, delicious seafood. And of course you can still buy as much cava as you like!

Two of our favourite new bars that we discovered on this trip couldn’t be more different. The first, Bar Sincopa is a very cool, gritty, old-school dive bar. Nothing fancy about the place, but the vibe is awesome. Great rock and roll played loud, and free-poured margaritas. What’s not to love. The other cool place is called The Box. The owner and bartender is a super nice French guy called Matthias and he makes dozens of infusions of rum and vodka and tequila, so the place looks like some kind of apothecary. His margaritas are also strong, but they are very meticulously assembled, like something in a laboratory. I’ve never tasted a crisper, more clean tasting margarita in my life. Day after day after day, it was consistently good. Which is why we kept going back, day after day after day.

*^{Bar Sincopa, where the spirits are strong, and the music is louder!}*

*^{Cutie pie Matthias makes extraordinary cocktails (and apparently a very good hotdog!!)}*

You all know I love travelling. It feeds an insatiable wanderlust to explore the diverse ways in which other lives are lived, to eat food my tastebuds have never sampled, to see the iconic landmarks and buildings and landscapes of the world with my own eyes. I want to touch everything. I want to breathe in the air at the top of that hill, and I want to splish-splash in the waters of that sea. I want to be Drunk In… Reykjavík and São Paulo and Mexico City and Wellington and Prague and Vancouver and Cape Town and The Trossachs and Zagreb and Essaouira. We all have this one wild and precious life, and I really like to think that I first plugged into mine when I took that leap of faith as a brave, young woman and travelled halfway around the world to California for what was probably an ill-advised adventure. But not only did I have a life-changing experience there, I made three lifelong friends. I learned that the world was bigger than my little corner of it, and I wanted more. Fifteen months later, driven by itchy feet, I left Australia again, this time to spend a year as an au pair in Connecticut. A whole other odyssey. And the snowball kept rolling, kept on growing bigger, projecting me on the journey that I find myself on now towards an extraordinary life. A life outside the box. A life dedicated to seeing it all, and to experiencing it all. That first trip to Pasadena to hang out with Ben at Caltech, that’s my origin story.

*^{Me and Ben in Rosarito, Mexico 2006, nine years after we’d first met}*

*^{Visiting Ben and his family in Portland, Oregon 2023 (we’ve come a long way, baby)}*

Ejo #146 – Drunk In….. Milos and Sifnos

February 28, 2022Drunk In....., Food, Good Life, Greece, Other Cultures, Photographs, TravelFood, Greece, milos, Sifnos, Travel, travel blog, travel writing, wanderlustmisschryss Leave a comment

After coming back from Santorini, David and I were hooked on Greece. We had some more leave coming up, so I immediately started researching some more Greek islands that we could explore. I’d read great things about Milos, and did a deep dive on Airbnb, looking for an amazing villa to be our home base. Perhaps because Greece had just come out of an extended lockdown, I really struggled to find any properties on Milos that ticked all my boxes. Don’t get me wrong, there were some really nice places. But mama wanted a pool, and mama was gonna have a pool. It’s me, I’m mama. Airbnb tried to be helpful by offering up pool villas on neighbouring islands, but I wasn’t interested as I was super keen to stay on Milos. But no, Airbnb belligerently insisted that I just take a look at this one place called Asteria on Sifnos, the island next door. Fine, I said, stop hassling me already, I’ll take a look. And the rest is history because the villa was absolutely perfect, ticking all my boxes, and then some. And that’s how it was decided that we would do a double feature and get drunk in….. Milos and Sifnos!

So, you know how I just said I couldn’t find the perfect place to stay in Milos? I’mma backpedal on that, because I did find somewhere that was absolutely breathtaking. OK, so it didn’t have a pool, but when you see it, you’ll understand how truly special it was. It was a tiny house, called a syrma, dug into the rockface right on a secluded beach. Traditionally, syrmas were built to protect fishing boats from the wild Milos winter winds, and were later adapted to provide housing and shelter for the fishermen themselves; or turned into small summer houses for locals.

^{Our syrma is located at the other side of this super private beach.}

^{A close up of our studio, dug into the rockface.}

^{Inside the beautifully renovated syrma, looking out at the sunset and the exclusive beach.}

The syrma that we stayed in had been beautifully renovated by the most welcoming hosts we’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting on Airbnb. Giannis and Anna, treated us like family right from the beginning. Giannis met us at the beach and carried my ridiculously heavy suitcase 130m across the sand from the carpark to our little house. They regularly kept us topped up with fresh water bottles and provided us with eggs and olive oil from their farm. Even though we were there for just four days, I totally fell in love with Anna, who reminded me of my beautiful aunt Toula. Her visits totally made my day, watching her wave and call out to us as she jogged across the sand with various local delicacies that she’d made for us. One day it was a delicious halva cake, another it was watermelon pie. I was avoiding carbohydrates but still tried all her offerings because it felt like they were made with love. And I would do it again. I choose to eat the way I do because it makes me feel better, and because I know it’s healthy. But food still has a special way of connecting people, and of transcending nutrition. Food is a means of communication, of showing emotion and of bridging gaps. If someone offers me something that they made for me, I will eat it. Firstly as a show of respect, but secondly because I choose to partake in the ritual which is being performed. I want to be involved, and I choose to be open to new experiences. I want to experience it all. It’s one of the reasons I love to travel so much.

^{My new BFF Anna. One of the warmest, most loving humans I’ve ever had the pleasure of being hosted by.}

^{The delicious semolina halva that Anna made for us. ♥}

Giannis and Anna’s syrma was absolutely gorgeous. It was small, but perfectly formed, and more than spacious enough for the two of us. And the best thing about it by far was that it was literally right on the beach. We slept with the doors open every night, falling asleep to the sibilant sound of the waves lapping on the shore. I feel so lucky that we had the opportunity to stay in such a beautiful place. We swam in the crystal clear waters of the private cove several times a day. We were in heaven.

^{Right outside our door.}

Our first (and last) dinner in Milos was at a seafood restaurant called Astakas, located right on the beach. I remember the first dinner far more clearly than I remember the last, but more on that later. I might have already mentioned that when you go to a taverna in Greece, you can get some pretty good house wine, which is normally ordered by the kilo (or half kilo). I really love this concept because it totally smashes the illusion of wine snobbery. Wine ordered by weight. What’s not to love about drinking wine from a barrel. It’s what I grew up with, and (after dipping my toes into some wine snobbery myself) it’s a philosophy I’ve come to fully embrace. And when you’re in the right place, a place like Astakas, you can actually get some incredible local wine by the kilo, and that includes Assyrtiko, our favourite Greek grape. After our Santorini trip David and I learned the trick of ordering a bottle of sparkling water, two glasses of ouzo and half a kilo of white wine as soon as we sat down at any restaurant. Boom! Take note and make sure you do the same next time you happen to find yourself on a Greek island. The few times we were told (down a waiter’s nose) that wine wasn’t served by the kilo and that we had to order a bottle of wine instead, we knew we were in the wrong place. Greek food isn’t fancy, it’s not supposed to be fancy. It’s simple. It’s delicious. It’s food for the people. And the people want wine by the kilo.

After a blissful night’s sleep, we awoke to the sound of the waves at our front door. Serenely beholding the beach that we had all to ourselves, we waded into the sea for a swim. And it was glorious. The syrma was truly one of the best places we’ve ever stayed. It was simple, but still so special. Honestly, money can’t buy that kind of exclusivity. We spent the morning on our deck, overlooking the water, soaking it all in and taking it easy. For lunch we headed to Medusa taverna, a short, ten minute drive away, where we were treated to a fantastic meal overlooking some of the clearest and bluest waters I’ve ever seen in my life. Once again the taverna was a simple, family run affair but they served what I think is the best food on the island. We indulged in fava, a Santorini classic dish of mashed yellow split peas, drizzled with a phenomenal olive oil and served with onion slices, fried local goat’s cheese smothered in the lightest honey and sprinkled with sesame seeds, freshly caught mackerel cooked on a charcoal grill and drenched in lemon juice and spectacular grilled eel and octopus. We ate to bursting, kicking back and enjoying the vibe of sitting at a beach taverna with nowhere to be and nothing to do. And then, when we asked for the bill, they brought us a generous serving of loukoumades, a Greek dessert which is basically deep fried dough soaked in honey syrup. Can you believe I managed to refrain from eating these tasty treats the first two times we came to this fabulous restaurant, allowing David to demolish them all himself. I am happy to admit that I did try them on our third visit, and OH MY FUCKING GOD!!! They were scrumptious.

^{Beautiful Medusa restaurant, our favourite taverna on Milos.}

^{Tender and delicious grilled octopus.}

^{Local grilled goat’s cheese, and split pea fava (bottom left)}

^{Complimentary loukoumades. Eight of them, 😉}

After lunch at Medusa, we walked down a dirt track to what I think is perhaps one of the most beautiful beaches I’ve ever seen in my life, Tourkothalassa beach (which translates to Turkish beach). There was hardly anyone there, so we stripped off (as we are wont to do) and waded into the spectacularly clear water. I remember treading water and looking around me and thinking that I was in the most beautiful place on earth. And I became emotional. About being in Greece, and loving it as hard as I did. About finally connecting with my heritage in a way that I’d never been able to do while my parents were still alive. About losing both of my parents. I ached for them to see me there, to know how much I loved their birthplace. I ached for them to be there with me, floating in paradise.

^{The view from Medusa’s carpark – you can see Tourkothalassa beach on the far left.}

^{The number of deserted, essentially private beaches in Greece is what converted me from being someone who was never really into beach life (ugh, I hated sand) into a real beach bunny. When the beaches are like this, how on earth could you possibly resist?}

One of the most famous of Milos’ beaches is Sarakiniko, a whitewashed rocky beach resembling a desolate lunar landscape that was formed by strong winds and waves sculpting Milos’ unique white volcanic rock. We swam in the deep, frigidly cold channel but didn’t stick around for too long. Being such a stunning spot, the beach was overrun with couples and groups taking videos and photos of themselves, and each other, to post on social media. It lent the place a kind of circusy vibe which was at odds with how beautiful it was. Don’t get me wrong, we took plenty of photos of ourselves. To be honest, I probably would have stuck around if there had been a tavern at the beach, but since there wasn’t and since I was getting hungry (and thirsty) we decided to take off and head back to our fave taverna, Medusa for some more delicious food and wine.

Since we were in Milos for only four days we didn’t really get to explore the whole island, especially as we spent so much time at our syrma, chilling on our own beach. I’d definitely love to go back to the island sometime and get to know it better. I’m almost ashamed to admit that we only went to one bar on Milos, and that bar was Yankos. Oh my god, Yankos was nearly the end of me. It’s not a fancy cocktail bar at all, more like an all day dining joint that has a very dangerously strong cocktail happy hour. At €6 a pop, we sat down for drinks one afternoon, and when I got up several margaritas later I could barely walk. I don’t remember much of what happened after that but I do know that we walked up the road to one of the best seafood tavernas in town for dinner, Mikros Apoplous. I’m not super proud of what happened next, but in the interests of transparency I’ll recount it as best I can. We sat down and ordered a few small dishes and a whole grilled fish. I was pretty drunk, but I’ve been drunk before and I know how to comport myself when I’m in that state. Usually. This time, however, I was not able to comport myself, and the world just kept on spinning, very dangerously. I guess I decided that the best course of action for me to take was to leave, because I just got up and took off down the road, shouting something about having to go home. I have no idea where I was going, I just knew that I had to go, selfishly leaving David to deal with the aftermath. He graciously explained to the concerned waiter that I wasn’t feeling well and that of course we would pay for the meal but we had to go. They told him that the fish was nearly ready to serve and would we like to take it home with us. And so we ended up back in our syrma, me feeling much better, standing over the kitchen bench and absolutely devouring the magnificent grilled fish with our hands. Not a bad end to the night, all things considered.

The next day I woke up, appropriately feeling like arse. There’s always a price to pay. I know that, I’m not an amateur. I sucked it up as we packed up, checked out and headed into town to pick up our ferry tickets to Sifnos, the next destination on our adventure. When we arrived at the ticket office we were told that the only ferry of the day to Sifnos had been cancelled. WHAT??? Ferry schedules are notoriously unreliable in the Greek islands, and we’d known that when we booked. But Sifnos doesn’t have an airport, so ferry was the only way of getting there. Feeling pretty dejected we sat under a tree in the town square trying to figure out the best course of action. We needed to find another place to stay for the night in Milos as the syrma wasn’t available. And we’d have to ask the car rental company to extend our rental by another day. I also had to contact Philippos, the host of the gorgeous villa in Sifnos, to let him know that we wouldn’t be there until the next day. It was all a little stressful. I am not the most spontaneous traveller in the world. I schedule a lot of time for spontaneity, but the framework of my holidays need to be in place well in advance. I’m talking about tickets, and I’m talking about accommodation. Of course I can handle a minor glitch like a cancelled ferry, but it does stress me out.

David had the wonderful idea of going to Medusa taverna for lunch, making it our third visit! And it was perfect. We ordered our favourite dishes and plenty of wine and, feeling more relaxed, I set about trying to find a solution to our problem. It was actually Philippos who offered to get in touch with a friend of his who owned a speedboat to come and pick us up from Milos and take us to Sifnos later that day. The cost of this private charter was an extortionate €300. David and I debated it for about two minutes and quickly decided, fuck it, let’s do it. I mean yeah, we could have saved some dough and caught the ferry the next day, but that option felt lame. Catching a ridiculously expensive speedboat was way more badass and when faced with the option of doing something the lame way or the badass way, you can bet I’mma pick the badass way.

^{Happy badasses. Bye-bye Milos, hello Sifnos!}

So, we arrived in Sifnos, rented a four wheel drive and made our way to our very secluded villa, in the middle of nowhere. Oh my god guys, this place was just astounding. We were staying in a five star property in one of the most barren, wild, isolated places I’ve ever been to. I’m not sure if it was because of covid, or because it was the end of the tourist season. Or maybe it was just Sifnos. But I think that for the entire ten days we were there we spoke to only a dozen people. It was serene, it was peaceful, it was quiet (oh, so quiet). It was magnificent. And I wish we were still there now. David loved it so much that he seriously contemplated buying the adjacent villa that was for sale next door. Sadly we didn’t have a spare €700,000 lying around. Oh well, it’s nice to have dreams.

^{Desolate, but beautiful. You can see our villa (and the one next door) at the top of the olive tree on the right hand side.}

^{The stunning Asteria (which means stars, in Greek).}

^{The view from the pool, which we spent hours and hours swimming in, often accompanied by an ice-cold bottle of mastiha.}

Because of all the reasons I already mentioned, we didn’t go out to eat that much. Most restaurants had either not opened at all, because of covid, or had already closed for winter. So we ate at home a lot. We picked up some portable, single-use BBQs at the general store and we’d grill some local pork, eating it with some homemade tzatziki and locally grown tomatoes. I was in my culinary element. And we drank our body weight in mastiha, a specialty Greek liqueur seasoned with mastic resin, giving it a unique flavour. Mastiha, glorious mastiha. So much mastiha. Mastiha for breakfast, mastiha for lunch and mastiha for dinner. That’s how we do!

^{The ubiquitous mastiha shot glasses by the side of the pool.}

We made the trek to our local beach a few times during our stay. Unlike Milos, where we could step onto the beach directly from our accommodation, the beach in Sifnos was a 20 minute steep walk from our villa. Totally worth the sweat. Normally there are two tavernas that operate on the beach, but they were both closed for the season so most of the time we had the entire place to ourselves, which allowed us to indulge in some skinny dipping (coz you know how much I love to take my kit off!!). There’s truly nothing like feeling that somewhere as special as Vroulidia Beach is exclusively yours. And it’s completely free. A billionaire might spend a shitload of money trying to achieve the same level of privacy and exclusiveness and never find anywhere near as exceptional or unique. We were living large.

^{Swanning around in my canary yellow kaftan. Told you we were living large.}

^{A hard earned thirst deserves a refreshing Greek beer.}

There was a small fishing village about a ten minute drive from the villa that had two seafood tavernas still operating late into the season, and we tried them both during our stay. Both sourced their seafood from the daily catch brought in by the local fishermen. On our first night in Sifnos we tried H Ammoudia, and had a fantastic meal, complemented by super friendly service. We ate at Cheronissos Fish Tavern a few days later, trying the home made fish soup (just like my Mum used to make!!!). It was divine. So comforting and delicious. It made me so happy to be sitting on the shore’s edge, eating food from my childhood. Sadly, at each restaurant we were the only customers on the night, and I felt so sorry for the owners who must have really suffered during the covid lockdowns. I know that a lot of places never re-opened. It felt good to know that we were doing our part to help the economy by eating and drinking and being merry in Greece. We were always welcomed with open arms and treated to the warm and generous Greek hospitality that I grew up with and which David has come to love and embrace.

Every morning at around 8am, David and I would be woken up by the sound of bells ringing near our bedroom window. It was the local goatherd, a wizened old man in his eighties, leaning on his crook and guiding his beautiful goats up the mountain for them to graze. It was a beautiful way to wake up and start the day. A couple of times we caught him on his way back in the afternoon, and we would have stilted conversations about the old days and how much things have changed in his lifetime. It was wonderful to be able to interact with him, despite not having possession of all the words that I wished I could use. That was the beginning of my desire to better learn my mother-tongue. What cemented that desire was our wonderful housekeeper Sofia, who was tasked with coming to the villa three times a week to clean up after us and to keep the place tidy. I don’t know why, but Sofia appeared to fall in love with me instantly. Perhaps it was because I was Greek-Australian. Perhaps it was because I could speak a few words of Greek to her. Perhaps it was because I am pretty loveable. I don’t know. But she really took to me and I really took to her, and we got into the habit of sitting down for a coffee and a chat for half an hour before she did her chores. I say a chat because, even though we were communicating, I found it really difficult. I KNEW the words I wanted to say, but oftentimes I just couldn’t find them. Sofia didn’t know any English, but between the two of us we still managed to understand each other, with her offering suggestions when I would get stuck halfway through a sentence. I resolved then to re-learn Greek so that I would never again feel so helpless when trying to speak my first language. I’m grateful to Sofia for being so friendly and loving, so generous with her time (and with her freshly laid eggs, honey and home made yoghurt). I feel so lucky that my heritage offers me the opportunity to experience things in a way that other tourists in Greece never can. I’m seriously #fuckingblessed, and I know it.

^{Hello goats!!!}

We ate some tasty food in Sifnos, but if you were to ask any local what dish the island is famous for, they wouldn’t hesitate to say that it’s the revithada. It’s a really simple chickpea dish that requires the investment of quality ingredients, time and love. Traditionally it was made by the women of the island who would fill clay pots with chickpeas, olive oil, onions, garlic and lemon, allowing it to slow cook overnight in a wood oven so that the dish would be ready to eat on Sunday after church. I know you’ve had chickpeas. Everyone has, right? But you have NO FUCKING IDEA how good revithada is. Stop arguing. You don’t. Not until you go to Margarita restaurant in Artemonas and try their revithada. The end. No more discussion. Oh, and don’t forget to have a cheeky ouzaki before you order the main course. It helps to whet the appetite.

^{And once you’re suitably hydrated: the revithada.}

^{David and I usually order the same roster of dishes at tavernas, but we thought we’d try something different at Margarita,}
^{ordering this beetroot dish which just blew me away with it’s fresh, zesty flavours. It pays to live on the edge kids.}

I want to make a special mention of a very idiosyncratic bar on Sifnos. A place that I would say is my favourite bar in the entire world. I’m talking about Bar Kavos Sunrise. One evening we headed to Kastro, where the Church of the Seven Martyrs is located, hoping to find a restaurant open for dinner. We were disappointed. Everything was closed and the town was deserted. But I’d read about a bar in the area and thought it would be worth a shot to see if it might be open. We walked up many stairs, dodging multiple cats trying to trip us up, and eventually we came upon a tiny terrace overlooking the sea with a spectacular view of the lightning and thunderstorm brewing offshore. We shooed some cats off a table and sat down figuring that since the lights were out, we must be out of luck. But astonishingly, after a few minutes a 200 year old man wearing tiny jean cutoffs and exuding a helluva cool vibe sauntered out and asked us if we wanted drinks. Did we ever!!! He told us we could order mojitos or mojitos. So we ordered mojitos. He went back inside, turned on some lights, and five minutes later we were presented with the strongest mojitos we’ve ever had. Plus an extra 60ml each of rum in large shot glasses. I’m not a huge mojito fan, but these were the strongest, tastiest mojitos I’ve ever been served. I instantly fell in love with this bar, but going to the toilet was what clinched the deal for me. There were seven or eight cats roaming around in the loo. There was no lock on the door and there was no toilet paper. I had to stretch my legs over two or three kitty litter boxes full of shit, and the toilet itself was nestled between four or five cat boxes (some of them occupied). It was horrendous. But SO GODDAMN CHARMING!!! I am so here for places that do their own thing, and do it well. Our Cubaphile owner/bartender doesn’t give a shit about anything except serving good, strong cocktails. He doesn’t give a flying fuck what anyone thinks, and in the process he’s created exactly the kind of place that stands out in a world full of cookie cutter blandness. When we paid the bill we tried to give him a tip, but he vehemently rejected the extra money, murmuring “Capitalista” under his breath. He did, however, accept our offer of buying a round of rum for him and his friend, who’d turned up with some food for the old man. The four or us did shots together, clapped each other on the back and vowed to meet again. I intend to keep that promise. I just need the old dude to stay alive.

^{The bar goes through a lotta rum!! Pictured here is the good Samaritan who brought the owner some food for dinner. What a great guy.}

Most of the people we saw in Sifnos were at the harbour, at the restaurants and bars we frequented there. We went to Meropi right on the water, a couple of times, and had some good food, good wine and good vibes. We also went next door to O Simos for a frappé fix and a chance to catch up on our epic, trans-continental backgammon competition, the winner of which is known as Master Of The Universe (I’m winning).

^{Patates tiganites (aka hand-cut, fried potatoes), bamyes (aka okra stew), kolokithokeftedes (aka zucchini fritters) and some fried anchovies at the back. All delicious.}

We also dropped in at Old Captain bar a few times, where the hospitality and the liquor were both free flowing. One of the owners, Yiannis, took a liking to us, free pouring us drinks and insisting that we try his White Russians, which we initially declined, not being great fans of the drink, but then eventually agreed to. Which is fantastic, because I have never had a White Russian so tasty. It pays to be open to everything. Good times were had at this bar, but because we usually had to drive home we could never really let loose. That is, until the last day when we dropped the car rental off around the corner, plonked ourselves, and our suitcases, under a beach umbrella and told Yiannis to keep the White Russians coming until our ferry showed up. It’s no stretch to say that we were completely fucked up on that ferry ride back to Milos.

^{Our last day, waiting for the ferry. Two hours later we were three sheets to the wind.}

Which brings me back to Astakas restaurant, and the final dinner of our island holiday. I remember none of it. All I remember is the tiny little kitten that attached itself to me. I don’t normally fuck around with stray cats but this little guy was so cute, and so small I couldn’t resist. He literally fit into the palm of my hand, and I spent most of dinner cooing and playing with him while he sat in my lap. David was not impressed. And I was not impressed with the nasty case of ringworm that the little fucker gave me. Lesson learned. Another lesson learned? Don’t take your shoes off and wade into the water outside your accommodation when you’re off your face. Coz bitch, you’re gonna fall in and get wet. Good times, drunk in!

^{Yes, I am crazy. I did lug a 3kg Sifnos rock back to Dubai in my luggage, starting a trend that would result in a beautiful collection of boulders from Sifnos, Skiathos, Zakynthos and Naxos.}

Ejo #145 – Drunk In….. Greece (Santorini Edition)

January 30, 2022Drunk In....., Food, Good Life, Greece, Other Cultures, Photographs, TravelFood, Greece, Santorini, Travel, wanderlustmisschryss Leave a comment

Can you believe that even after we had to quarantine for three weeks after returning from Japan in March 2020, I still didn’t really comprehend how serious covid would turn out to be? I just thought woohoo, another three weeks off!! I didn’t realise that the whole world would come to a grinding halt. Or that so much would change. Did you? When it became crystal clear that it might be a while before things would get back to normal (a very long time, in fact), I was surprisingly stoic about what that meant for my travel plans. I usually have at least a couple of holidays in the planning pipeline, which is how I keep sane – I always have something to look forward to. For instance, my sisters and I had planned a big fat Greek family reunion for June 2020. We planned to visit relatives that we hadn’t seen for years (and which my youngest sister Pieta has never met, except as a toddler). It was to be an opportunity to grieve our Mum’s death with our aunt and other extended family, and to scatter her ashes into the sea. And it was an excuse for my sisters and I to holiday together in Europe, which is something we’ve never done before.

Guess how that went. Yep, cancelled. We were, of course, all very upset about it but obviously we were let off lightly in the greater scheme of things. My heart breaks to think of everyone who has missed their loved ones’ funerals, or had to cancel wedding plans or missed the birth of their own children. People have really suffered. We’re lucky. We just rescheduled. For later this year. Tentatively. Coz that’s what you’ve gotta do these days, am I right? You simply cannot make firm plans for anything anymore. But at least we’re back to being able to make plans now, even tentative ones. In April of 2020 when there appeared to be no end in sight to the grounding of international flights I was faced with an interminably empty travel calendar spreading out before me, with no end in sight. No plans to travel. Everything cancelled. Stuck, in Dubai. I mean you all know that I’m not in Dubai because I like being there. I’m there because I like travelling. Since our first holiday to Turkey in May 2009, David and I have never spent more than four straight months in Dubai (hey, don’t hate me coz you ain’t me). So would it shock you to learn that I actually handled the mental abyss of no travel prospects surprisingly well. It’s not as if I had a choice. It’s not as if ranting and raving and crying and losing my mind would change anything. I was bravely chilled out and quietly zen in the face of my own personal worst case scenario.

Six months after covid made its global debut, in a wonderful twist, the universe suddenly rewarded me by offering up the generous hospitality of my grandmotherland. You see, Greece is almost solely dependent on tourist dollars for its survival. Six months of global lockdowns caused a lot of economic grief for Greece. So it made sense that they were one of the first destinations to reopen their borders to tourists in August of 2020. As soon as Emirates started flying to Greece again, David and I jumped on a plane and embarked on a pandemic pilgrimage to the country of my ancestry. I was so happy to be travelling again but I did feel super guilty about being able to travel while my sisters were trapped in an endless lockdown loop back in Melbourne. And I felt guilty because I was specifically going to Greece without them, when we had all planned on going together. And then I also felt guilty because I wasn’t going to visit my relatives in Korinthos, choosing instead to go to Santorini. What I’m saying is that there was some guilt. But guilt is a wasted emotion, so I explained the situation to my rellies and made sure that my sisters were cool with it, and off we went.

The flight out of Dubai was virtually empty, and the attendants were all decked out in PPE gear that made them look like they were serving food at a diner in Chernobyl. Being on an aeroplane again after so long felt a little weird, but it felt so right at the same time. I was so happy. We flew straight into Santorini, picked up a car rental at the airport and drove to the tiny town of Finikia. Two tanned and muscle-bound young men met us in the carpark and, quite impressively, hoisted our extremely heavy suitcases onto their shoulders, briskly marching us through a whitewashed labyrinth of twisting, cobbled paths until we eventually reached our beautiful villa, home for the next ten days. Moments later, Marilena, the eccentric manager of the hotel group exploded on the scene in wafting chiffon, jangling bracelets and squeals of “Dahhhling”. She was a little bit crazy, very extra and an absolute delight. The location of Finikia was perfect for us because the madness of Oia, where all the action takes place, was a very calm 20 minute walk away. We could walk to town whenever we felt like it, but our villa was in a super quiet and very secluded part of the island.

Santorini has always been on my list of places to visit because all my Greek aunts and uncles and cousins have, at one point or another, swooned over what a beautiful island it is, insisting that I must see it with my own eyes. However it was never super high on that list because of the famous summer tourist swell. For instance, in 2019 Santorini’s population of 10,000 grew to over three million people. Eww, gross. David and I saw the pandemic as an opportunity to visit a gorgeous Greek island when most other travellers were still stuck at home baking bread and learning how to use Zoom. And it was perfect!

Despite the island being relatively quiet due to covid, Oia still got extremely crowded, particularly in the evenings when shoulder-to-shoulder crowds would throng the streets trying to secure the best vantage point for the extraordinary sunset display over the caldera. Sadly, we were often the only ones wearing masks, and to be honest, the cavalier attitude of the other tourists towards the pandemic made us feel quite uncomfortable being amongst the crowds so we didn’t spend a lot of time in Oia. Finikia had a much more relaxed vibe and we enjoyed many dinners at the local taverna Santorini Mou, which translates as My Santorini. The homemade food was delicious and the hospitality warm and welcoming. It was frequented by many tourists, but unlike some restaurants in Oia the quality and authenticity of the food didn’t feel dumbed down for international tastes. One of the highlights of the restaurant was the live music they played every night, accompanied occasionally by some dancing. It was such a treat to listen to the music of my childhood, and the entire family running the taverna were super sweet to us when they found out that I was Greek-Australian. The singer would often sing out my name in the middle of a song, winking at me with a smile, which was a little embarrassing but also really lovely. Every time we ate there they would greet us by name, as if we were old friends. It was hospitality like this that made me fall in love with Santorini.

^{The deserted, stark road from our villa to the restaurant.}

^{They were delighted when they found out I was Greek-Australian.}

^{The delicious food. Hand-cut chips, octopus, tzatziki and taramosalata (which is fish-roe dip). YUM!!!}

When Marilena checked us into our villa on the first day, she went through all the different experiences and packages on offer to us as guests of the hotel. We decided to do two of them. A sunset luxury catamaran cruise and an island winery tour. The catamaran tour was awesome. We were greeted at the port at around 3.30pm and escorted onto our vessel with only three other couples, which was great because some of the other cruises departing that day were really overcrowded. The crew were super friendly and very keen to make the trip as fun as possible for us, handing out snacks and glasses of champagne straight out of the port. We sailed around for a while, checking out parts of the island that are only accessible by boat, and we also stopped at a few different spots so that we could swim, snorkel and explore. It was a lot of fun and I’d definitely recommend it to anyone visiting Santorini.

^{Chilling in the deep blue sea of the southern Aegean Sea.}

^{I made sure to chill only in the shade of the catamaran as I was severely sunburnt.}

^{This is what we came for. A beautiful sunset and free-flowing champagne)}

The winery tour was also really fun. A lady picked us up near our villa and drove us around to three different wineries where we did tours of the vineyards and saw how the wine was bottled. It was fascinating. Greek wine has always had a really bad rap thanks to retsina, the resinated white or rosé wine that has been made in Greece for at least 2000 years. It’s an acquired taste, to say the least. In contrast, wine from Santorini is actually world class. The rocky, bone-dry volcanic soil of the island is uniquely conducive to producing incredibly structured, mineral forward wines, and in particular whites. When you think about how hot (scorching) and how windy (gale force) Santorini gets it’s not surprising to learn that in order to produce fruit that can be made into wine, the vines must be trained into characteristic kouloura shapes, like wreaths laid out on the ground. This offers them some protection from the elements and produces marvelous varietals such as our absolute favourite Assyrtiko. If you ever have the chance to try an Assyrtiko, I would definitely go for it, and please let me know what you think. I was blown away that Greece, the place where wine is sold by the kilo at tavernas, could produce such superlative wine.

^{Some Santorini kouloura vines are centuries old.}

^{At the Argyros winery tasting we tried a rosé, a basic Assyrtiko and also a very special Assyrtiko made from at least 200 year old vines (amazing!!!) and the wonderful Vinsanto.}

Another wine that is a specialty of the island is the Protected Designation of Origin dessert wine called Vinsanto, and oh my god it’s so good. It’s produced by taking overripe white grapes (at least 51% Assyrtiko) and laying them out in the hot sun to dry for about a week. Absolutely no sugar at all is added during the maturation process resulting in a naturally sweet wine bursting with the flavour of raisins, figs, honey, coffee and nuts. The wine is matured in oak barrels producing a delectable drop which I just couldn’t get enough of. Of the three wineries we visited, Argyros was our favourite, and in addition to all their wonderful wines, they also sold a block of chocolate filled with a ridiculously delicious, oozing Vinsanto centre. To die for. We ate WAY too many of these but I have zero regrets and I’d do it again in a heartbeat. Argyros also produced our favourite Assyrtiko and we bought several bottles from them during the winery tour. In fact, we liked it so much that we went back to the winery two more times on our own to restock.

^{Vinsanto chocolate accompanied by a very fine Vinsanto.}

We certainly drank a lot of great wine on Santorini, and we also ate a lot of good food. My favourite thing about Greek food is its simplicity. I used to be a really big fan of fancy food. Smears, spherification, Michelin stars. Blah, blah, blah. In the end, the theatre of the food becomes more important than the taste of it. Which is how the fancy food movement lost me. Over the years I have gravitated back towards the basic and unfussy food of my childhood. The food my parents fed me. The meals that I grew up with. Simple, tasty, honest food. And so, some of my favourite meals on the island were the ones that we put together ourselves at our villa. Yes, we had a kitchen, but we didn’t do a lot of cooking. When you’re hungry, there’s not a lot that can beat a simple table of local cheese, olives meats, tomatoes, feta, homemade tzatziki (David makes a mean version), bread and olive oil. Accompanied, of course, by a locally made bottle of white wine or dry rosé. A perfect meal. And so, we ate a lot at home, chilling out by the pool or whiling away the afternoon, reading under the sunshade.

It was on one of those afternoons that I got severely sunburnt. I honestly can’t remember how it happened, but I do remember we had eaten a lovely lunch, similar to that pictured above. I do know that a bottle of wine had definitely been consumed, maybe even two. After lunch we’d retired up to the pool area to swim and have a bit of a lie down. I must have fallen asleep in the sun because when I woke up I was burned on the entire upper half of my body (front and back, somehow). I woke up feeling a little sore, but it was only the next day that the extent of the damage became clear. I was in excruciating pain for the next ten days. I don’t want to say that it completely fucked up our holiday, but it’s certainly not much fun being in so much pain that showering or changing clothes or even sleeping is difficult.

^{This was taken the day of the burn. The redness intensified over the next couple of days and I definitely resembled a stupid lobster. Lesson learned.}

We lay low for a day or two after the sunburn because I literally couldn’t do anything without it hurting like a motherfucker. I’m pretty sure I cried. But a couple of days later, we decided to walk to Oia to experience the famous sunset and have a nice seafood dinner by the water. Ouch! Walking into the sun for 20 minutes, even with a hat covering my face and a shawl over my shoulders was one of the worst experiences I’ve ever had on vacation. Every step felt like I was being splattered with burning lava. Waaaaaaaaaaa!!!!! But, we made it and we took some beautiful photos of the caldera and the town, stopping off for a glass of wine at Fino Wine Bar to refresh ourselves after the hot walk. After our quick wine break, we decided to keep walking to the restaurant rather than stop and take more photos of the sunset because it felt like 100,000 people had suddenly all turned up at the same time and we just wanted to get away from them. So we took the rocky road made of about 300 steep stone steps down the side of the cliff face to Ammoudi Fish Tavern at the bottom. The taverna is accessible only by those rocky steps, or by boat. It was a little touristic, which is to be expected, but we had some nice food in a gorgeous setting before making the (way more difficult) trek back up the steps.

^{A well earned glass of chilled white wine.}

^{The stunning caldera of Santorini. Also the brutally fierce sun. Ouch.}

^{The restaurant is on the right, and you can see the ancient stone steps cut into the mountain face. The colour of the mountain is due to rich deposits of iron.}

^{The gorgeous seaside setting. And yes, that really is the colour of the water.}

One of the most delicious meals we had on the island was another simple, traditional Greek dish of souvlaki. There are loads of souvlaki joints on the island, but the one with the best reviews, the one that everyone raved about was Pitogyros. So we went along one evening after a day of pretty hard drinking to see what all the fuss was about. After all, everyone knows that souvlaki is one of the best foods to eat when you’re off your face. Apparently many other people were also off their faces because when we arrived there was a long line of people in front of us. I really don’t mind waiting when the reward is a taste of something amazing, and we were not disappointed. Our pork souvlakia came out absolutely perfect, accompanied by salad and chips (which I tried not to eat, but failed miserably). We washed it all down with half a kilo of very delicious white wine.

There were a few more places we ate and drank but because of all the eating and drinking I don’t remember the details. Here are a couple more pics from our pandemic tour of Santorini.

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Ejo #146 – Drunk In….. Milos and Sifnos

Ejo #145 – Drunk In….. Greece (Santorini Edition)