Rooftops of Santorini

September 2003, town of Fira, island of Santorini, Greece. After a wonderful traditional dinner, accompanied with a refreshing white wine (perfect to deal with the heat), and shared with the sound of a guitar and a bouzouki (a kind of greek mandolin), the night was promising another stroll, in search of the fun that most of the younger tourists find in the several bars and clubs that claim the narrow streets of the small town.

We were four: me, Ana, Tom, Belinda. Ana is a good friend that convinced me to go to Greece with her and go island hopping. The last two, australian, respectively from Melbourne and Sydney, were two of those random friendships one can make in trips like this. One minute we are perfect strangers staying in the same hostel, the next minute we are talking about our lives. It was our last night on the island, we already knew some of the bars and clubs from the previous night, and quickly we concluded that we did not want to go to a place where we felt like canned sardines, because even at night there was some heat. "What if we go grab some beers and go out somewhere ?" Tom's idea, a typically australian one, immediately deserved everyone's agreement. We entered a store and picked up some Heinekens (the only brand available), and some Baccardi Breezers (for the ladies), but we quickly understood it wouldn't be easy to find a place we could be comfortable, due to the night buzz of the town.

It was then that, turning a corner, in a poorly lit and somewhat faraway street we found the perfect place: the roof of an abandoned house. And all we had to do to get there was cross a small wall. Most of the towns in the island of Santorini are white spots, built in levels in big black cliffs overlooking the Mediterranean. From any street it is easy to see the houses in the level below (and reach their roofs, with some luck). The cliff, shaped like a crescent, and the crater it is facing, in the middle of the ocean, keeps in our minds that the land we step on was formed by a cataclysm, an eruption of a volcano that is still active today.

At night, though, we could not see the crater, we could not see the ocean. We knew they were there but the only landscape we could see was a black abyss, occasionally painted by the lights of a passing ship down below. It was like the roof was hanging in the middle of nothing. At our side, the town lights were lighting up part of the cliff and hiding the stars from our view, even though there was not a single cloud in the sky. A fresh breeze was blowing, surely a gift of the gods, to help us deal with the heat. If what we wanted was some isolation from the town's night life, we could not have made a better choice.

For hours, I can't remember how many, we talked, we laughed, we shared some of our stories and experiences. I vaguely remember Tom and Belinda saying they were physiotherapists, and Tom mentioning he was working in London. I mentioned my work as an engineer and the passion for photography. Ana mentioned she was an english teacher. I can't recall much more of our conversation, but it was not important. The important thing was that one night, four strangers from opposite sides of the world, joined together on a roof hanging in the middle of nothing and, detached from reality, forgot their worries and stopped being strangers for some time.