Auzzie Auzzie Auzzie oi oi oi

FYI, Say Auzzies, NOT Aussies. They never drink Fosters beer. When I asked a couple Australians to mimic an American accent and say something they think Americans say a lot, one said (with a Brooklyn accent) “Yo, get me some COFFee, thank you.” The other: “Can you up-size me?’’ Youch.

more from Francesco -- Ios

exchange of the Greece trip: Francesco, owner of pansion in Ios, was lookin mightily stressed as about 20 peeps fresh off the ferry boat were desperately looking for accommodations. I asked him how life was treating him. He paused in the chaos, stepped in close to me, held out a finger, and carefully lectured, accentuated by a thick Italian accent: “let me tell you my friend: every night on this island is Friday night... (wearily) Every morning, however, is Monday.”

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.

arrrgh

During the middle ages the Mediterranean Sea and its islands were ruled by pirates. Sure, officially, you could trace a timeline of which specific lands/peeps ruled each of these islands, ranging from Turkish bandits to Greek overlords to Spanish kings. But in practice, the biggest influence on the lives and habits of the Greeks living around here were pirates. They would jump from island to island, looting, pillaging, you know, doin pirate stuff. But the island peeps got smart: they built castles at the highest part of the islands, for a couple of reasons. One, it would provide a lookout spot so that the villages would have some advance warning before the bandits made a landing. Two, it provided a sanctuary for that entire section of the island to flee to and barricade themselves against the attack. Many of these castles are still standing, including the one in Akrotiri. Mostly they serve as semi-functional warehouses for the villages, but the Greeks take great care in maintaining that reminder of their past, and often keep them as close as possible to the condition they existed way back when. Sometimes they add a Greek flag at the top, or shine a lone blazing light upon the castle at night, appearing as the eternal watchman. Most interesting to me is the ancient method of keeping the pirates away: unsurprisingly, the external walls are constructed at sleek angles and with overhangs to prevent possible climbers. Also, there are strategically placed holes in the overhangs around the front entrance, supposedly because the most frequent method of protecting the entranceway was to pour boiling hot oil on top of whoever was trying to enter. In Akrotiri this castle is surrounded by other abandoned buildings; you can walk directly underneath these imposing holes in complete silence. At night the blazing light illuminates the structure while the wind whistles round the narrow alleyways. During the day you can often walk up within its abandoned structure and look down upon the sea, imagining that the notification of the island’s imminent attack was completely in your hands, studying the shores which brought constant threats to this tiny island.

the story of Pansion Carlos

Time to get you acquainted with the peeps that bring this little corner of the island to life, the people of the fourteen-room Pansion Carlos. Pansion Carlos is located in the tiny village of Akrotiri on the island of Santorini. Main street Akrotiri is made up of about 100 yards of street. There are three restaurants, two mini-marts, an auto-repair shop, a car rental shop (conveniently located next to the auto repair shop). One bus stop, bus comes every 90 minutes or so, from 8am to 9pm.

Eva – mother, owner, cook, greeter, distributor of Santorini magic dust. Abruptly widowed about six years ago, and subsequently wore all black for two years straight. BTW, do you know how hot it gets here? I mentioned to her this trip how that blue fits her well and she smiles: “yes. no more black.” If you need it, she already anticipated it. She misses Carlos everyday, and you feel it. Speaks at least Greek, Italian, German, French, Spanish, and English, all well enough to converse just fine with the native-speaking customers. 99% of her life is spent at Pansion Carlos.

Maria – eldest daughter of Eva, probably late 20s. Asst head, treasurer, the money man, also concierge. She might be serving you moussaka in one hand and making a reservation for you on a lil boat for the next morning with the other hand. Knows what is going on around Santorini that you would like, months in advance. Just married to a man so classically-handsomely Greek I think his mug should be on the Greek wheaties box, if there is one. I need to get a pic of him.

Arsenio(s) – middle child of Eva. 17, tan, strong, wise beyond his years, horned-rimmed glasses, sly smile, knows what you did the previous night in the pub, but don’t worry, isn’t telling. Has a lead-foot but lacks a helmet on his scooter whipping around the winding Santorini roads. As one of the frequent summer visitors said last week, he has a lil’ bit of pirate in him.

Rafael – just turned 13, futball player extraordinaire, spunky, hides his cards well, ready to take you on in any game of skill on the pansion veranda, and doesn’t take losing to 32 year-old men well, when that extremely rare event happens. Would invite you to his birthday party even if he just met you. Five years ago he couldn’t speak a drop of English. Now he can understand just about anything you say. If you try to take a picture of him he’ll shake his head, lower his eyes, and demand with a thick Greek accent “no paparazzi please!”

lil history lesson of the day

This island of Delos was an old sanctuary to Apollo, supposedly b/c he was born there. At one point the residents asked all Athenian cities to provide/build something to show the magnificence of all things Greek. so the folks on Naxos, a couple of whom got to travel a lot, gave these marble lions who would serve as an intimindating greeting to all visitors, mostly because no one had ever heard or seen these animals called lions. Supposedly folks would see them and either start to weep or prostrate themselves in front of them. They look damn cool in person (spoiler: they are copies of the real thing). No one is allowed to be born or die on this island because of its sacred nature. No one can spend the night, either. How they enforce the whole not dying thing Im workin on finding out. Oh, and J, I hadn't seen a bike in a week when I saw a crew of 30 people all outfitted in full gear rollin their way on fat tires through Mykonos Town. I immediately felt very, very fat.

Francesco's in Ios

Francesco is a Greek gentleman who runs a pansion here in Ios. He epitomizes the fun-loving, open nature of Greeks who literally open their homes to travelers. Ok, so his "home" is a 20-room thriving hotel-of-sorts here in Ios, but he's got a brilliant system down which unsurprisingly rules the travelin crowd waitin to spend their paltry euro on reliable accomodation at their next is;and destination. Here's how he does it: he sets up this covered rooftop patio overlooking the harbor for his clients and purposefully (I'm pretty sure, and others have the same theory) announces that the rooms will be delayed for a bit, but....enjoy these cold drinks as part of our "welcome to Ios". So here you have maybe 30 or so wayward souls, barely any of which know each other, and they all sit together chatting for a while as chill music plays and the boats drift lazily by. Francesco makes a big production announcing that the rooms are ready to a huge eruption of applause, and adds that at 10pm everyone should meet back on the rooftop patio to kick off the evening, as the bar will be open (think one of many scenes from 'Cocktail' when someone gets on the bar to make an announcement). So a little after ten those 30 have reunited and are soon fast friends. check out the reviews of his place at http://www.tripadvisor.com/, search francesco's ios. There's a reason he is #1 most popular hotel in Ios according to this site, and we're pretty sure that's why. It ain't for the free exfoliating sandpaper, I mean, towels.