The next morning at camp proved to be exactly what you would expect. We ambled out of our room, in search of the camp cafeteria, which also happened to be the pool area, wifi zone, bar, and Oreo's favorite napping spot. Perpetually napping.
I, however was not convinced. How would she remember what we ordered when there were thousands others waiting for their American breakfasts? I wasn't a rocket scientist myself, but Helga was definitely not keeping tabs on the order of orders here.
"You go! I CALL you." Helga pushed.
"But you don't know my name!" I persisted under my breath.
KJ and I plopped down reluctantly to await being called. We took advantage of the tiny paper ticket that promised us a coffee from the bar. YES, COFFEE.
We showed our tickets and the 12 year old bartender with a beard sloshed some questionable looking caffeine our way.
"Can we have two more sugar packets?" I inquired. Though the coffee looked like it needed about 8.
"I have only ONE." he retorted and flung the packet on the bar. Touchy, touchy.
KJ and I waited endlessly for our American breakfasts. If we approached Helga one more time I was sure she wouldn't feed us at all. Finally, standing awkwardly and staring proved to work.
"What is this crap?" I asked KJ. The American breakfast was probably exactly what Helga thought of us.
It was time to venture up the 3 hills of hell to catch the rave bus to Oia, where, we would hike 7 miles back to Fira. Because that's what normal people do the first day of their trip, jetlagged, and in 95 degree heat.
Lucky for us, we arrived just as a bus was departing to Oia. Unlucky for us, it was filled to the brim, so KJ and I had to stand the entire windy, cliff ridden journey.
We opted for the cheap breakfast at the
Camp cafeteria because the sign told us so. Also, it meant we didn't have to
climb the 3 hills of hell until we were ready to hop the bus later on. The
Cafeteria was busy, and we were jetlagged. Which meant little patience.
We approached Helga (the cafeteria lady,
obviously) who bore a striking resemblance to the Trenchbull from Matilda, and
placed our order.
"Two American breakfasts,
please." (Whatever that means)
"You go. I call you." -Helga
This was our dismissal.
I, however was not convinced. How would she remember what we ordered when there were thousands others waiting for their American breakfasts? I wasn't a rocket scientist myself, but Helga was definitely not keeping tabs on the order of orders here.
"You go! I CALL you." Helga pushed.
"But you don't know my name!" I persisted under my breath.
KJ and I plopped down reluctantly to await being called. We took advantage of the tiny paper ticket that promised us a coffee from the bar. YES, COFFEE.
We showed our tickets and the 12 year old bartender with a beard sloshed some questionable looking caffeine our way.
"Can we have two more sugar packets?" I inquired. Though the coffee looked like it needed about 8.
"I have only ONE." he retorted and flung the packet on the bar. Touchy, touchy.
KJ and I waited endlessly for our American breakfasts. If we approached Helga one more time I was sure she wouldn't feed us at all. Finally, standing awkwardly and staring proved to work.
"What is this crap?" I asked KJ. The American breakfast was probably exactly what Helga thought of us.
It was time to venture up the 3 hills of hell to catch the rave bus to Oia, where, we would hike 7 miles back to Fira. Because that's what normal people do the first day of their trip, jetlagged, and in 95 degree heat.
Lucky for us, we arrived just as a bus was departing to Oia. Unlucky for us, it was filled to the brim, so KJ and I had to stand the entire windy, cliff ridden journey.
We fell out of the bus as if it had
birthed us, thankful for a breath of fresh, humid air. We were already dripping
with sweat and hadn’t even started our hike.
But boy, was Oia beautiful.
The trek began with wandering through
the streets of Oia and taking in the views. The contrast of white washed houses
against the sea was breathtaking. I was awestruck and couldn’t stop taking
pictures, obviously.
 |
| KJ on the trail |
Knowing that we were only a very short
way into the hike, and I was already drenched in sweat was slightly alarming.
It was midday, possibly the worst time to be doing this hike, but damnit, we
were going to do it.
We kept on keeping on and encountered
several things.
- A helicopter
taking off mere feet from us.
- Immense thirst
- Me having to pee
- Sahara Desert like
conditions
- Steep hills that
rivaled the 3 hills of hell
- Me tripping over
loose rocks about every 20 minutes or so.
- Two women hiking
in sundresses and Kentucky Derby hats. (what?!)
- DONKEYS.
The donkey encounter produced what has
to be my favorite photograph from the hike:
This is where I met Stavros. Our eyes
locked. Time stood still.
The love of my life? If it’s meant to be
a donkey, then yes.
He was perched off to the side, and
looked how I felt. Hot and tired.
 |
| Stavros |
“Hey buddy, how’s it going?” I offered
him by way of conversation.
He showed me his teeth.
Good talk.
Let’s take a moment to appreciate that
besides the fact that the advertisement for “donkey rides” looked as if it was
written using an oversized sharpie… upon closer inspection, there are actually
bike helmets inside for said donkey rides. Those should help while plunging
down a rocky cliff. At least safety was a priority.
I explained to Stavros that despite my desperate desire to ride a donkey, I wouldn't put him through carrying my ass in this heat. If that's not true love, then I don't know what is.
I didn’t want to leave Stavros and our solid connection, but alas we had more hiking to do. About 4 more miles worth. I waved a sad goodbye.
I didn’t want to leave Stavros and our solid connection, but alas we had more hiking to do. About 4 more miles worth. I waved a sad goodbye.
High above, at the top of one of the
982374987234 hills was a church. It provided the only shade in a vast area of
scorching sun, and we needed some relief. Upon approaching the church I had two
thoughts.
The first, “wow she’s a real beaut!”
The second, “why does it smell like
bologna?”
The culprit sat in the sliver of shade provided
by the side of the church. My nose had not lead me astray. There was in fact a
couple eating bologna sandwiches, because what else would you pack for a hike
in Greece?
We enjoyed the shade for a few and
gathered strength to keep on the trail. But now I had a craving for bologna.
Our water was boiling hot and completely
unsatisfying to drink at this point. We needed to find some cold drinks, and
soon. But first a fork in the trail.
Signs weren’t very well marked, and the
lady we asked where the trail continues gave us these directions:
“Second mouth. Red.”
Got it.
We started down a skinny, steep path
that guaranteed at least one of us falling into the sea as it skirted
dangerously around the cliff. This couldn’t be it, could it? KJ looked as
uncertain as I felt.
“Let’s go back up and see if there’s
another “mouth” further up.”
We passed a small group of hikers
heading down the skinny trail, and told them we weren’t sure if it was the right
way. They decided to take their chances and we wished them luck. As we kept
looking for another trail, we searched for sweaty people wearing backpacks
coming from the opposite direction. It was a good clue that they were hiking as
well. Jackpot. Two hikers going the opposite way on the trail pointed us in the
correct direction and informed us of a café with water on the other
side of the next (big) hill. Awesome, because I needed water, and I was close
to peeing my pants.
They were right! After a few more wrong
turns we found the café and heaven in some ice cold bottled water. I asked
the fully bearded café lady about a bathroom and she pointed around the outside
of the building.
There were no less than five signs
instructing bathroom goers to NOT put toilet paper in the toilet. Did I follow
directions? Oops. I blame the heat.
“We gotta get.” I told KJ in a hurry as
if I committed some sort of heinous crime. It was only a small amount of TP,
but I didn’t want to experience the wrath of the bearded lady.
We scurried along, refreshed from our
water break and ready to take on the rest of the hike. Passing through
Imerovigli proved difficult on account we had to restrain ourselves from
jumping in people’s private pools. They looked super inviting, and We. Were.
So. Hot. Just then we ran into the hikers that took the wrong trail. They were
alive! We rejoiced and congratulated them.
It was a race against heat stroke. We arrived in Fira not a moment too soon and wearily high fived each
other. Camp beckoned us in the form of a cold shower.
We had done it. Drinks of the tall
alcoholic kind were in order...
 |
| Just me in a tree.. nothin to see here. |