Sostis

Sostis is the ‘man of the volcano’ in Santorini. If you look out from the caldera upon the dormant but still threatening volcano you would describe, in essence, just a large pile of black rocks, mildly steaming with volcanic activity from assorted openings about the size of basketballs. You would be hard-pressed to find a more inhospitable place. But take a ride around it and you will notice in one easily missed nook a tiny white hut, carved out of the volcanic rock and painted to match the Santorinian style. A bright orange boat docked outside brings your attention to what this place might actually be. Sostis lives here, and has for over 25 years. Look more closely and you will see a laundry line, a finely-smoothed-out dockslip, and 40 feet away a tiny white church with blue-topped dome, probably five feet tall and wide enough for two people to cram together within. Sostis’ dog Socrates might also make an appearance if you get too close. Ive been told there is a herd of goats somewhere amidst the rocks near Sostis’ house, but haven’t seen them.

But even entrepreneurism flourishes on this desolate place. Sostis runs a healthy business shuttling around small groups (six people max) to see the volcano, swim in the hot springs, and feel the hospitality at the edge of his house. Sostis incorporates a bit of massage therapy into the day as you lounge on your back within the murky-brown hot springs and volcanic mud. Supposedly there is a book coming out soon on Sostis’s life. It would be easy to make parallels to the myriad of American sensationalist stories about people who reject the common world to retreat to their own world of existence. But no anti-governmental thread exists in Sostis’ rationale for moving to the volcano. Rumor has it, a broken heart is the reason for Sostis’ self-imposed exile. And oh yeah, I’ve also heard he has a cell phone. How ‘bout them apples.