Sunsets in Santorini

A local man, hosepipe and broom in hand, scrubs vainly in an attempt to remove evidence of the donkey train that has recently passed by his employer’s hotel. The tarmac is hot and so is the offending mess that’s been left behind. We share a look and his sense of déjà vu is palpable across the road.

The capital’s narrow alleyways fare no better on the donkeys’ route to the caldera edge where their work begins. Ferrying tourists between the cliff-top town and the old port, a few hundred feet below, the animals feign an air of indifference, but their eyes tell a different story. An overpowering pong of donkey poo hangs thick in the air. The cobbled streets aren’t so easy to clean and their gaps yearn for the fastidious attention of the hotel man.

Still, it’s difficult to find the smell offensive when the landscape is so spectacular.

Santorini – or Thira as it’s also known – is arguably one of Greece’s most stunning sights. This southern most island of the Cyclades acts as a magnet to thousands of visitors each year who arrive in droves to experience its unique charm: traditional Greek buildings dazzling pearlescent against the Aegean Sea, perched atop a dramatic volcanic landscape.

This is Fira, our base for the next few days. Despite it being October, the tourists hum around the jewellery shops and bars that cling to each other so as not to tumble in to the sea below. The crescent shape of the island was caused by major volcanic activity during the Minoan civilisation, although the last eruption occurred in 1950. Either way, you get a sense that such a catastrophe today wouldn’t deter the hordes from their incessant search for a souvenir necklace.

At the northern tip of the island sits the small town of Oia, famous for its sunsets, and we decide to head here to flee the throngs of Fira. Having escaped the warren of streets, we march along the path hugging the cliff-top edge. The views are exquisite. The crowds are nowhere to be seen. We see several other people along the trail, yet I can’t help wondering if this five mile stretch around Mouzaki Bay is one of the most beautiful coastal walks in the world.

We reach our destination just as the sun begins to descend, funnelled along Oia’s white-washed streets amongst everyone else obsequiously following their guidebook or tour operator’s words of wisdom. Hundreds of people patiently wait for photos as the sun’s orange dilutes in to milky hues of red and pink. I ponder thoughts of the photographer’s paradox – do we truly experience the moment when all we consider is capturing the picture?

Two days later we see the same view from the traditional harbour, Ammoudi, at the bottom of the cliff. With local beers in hand and no jostling for vantage points, it’s an entirely different prospect. I don’t think I’d notice the smell of the donkeys, even if there were any…