Your First Santorini Sunset
This is for my Writers' Workshop Class...enjoy.
You never forget that first sunset. It is magnificent, all encompassing. The entire sky is lit up in a veritable symphony of colours. Even were I to live until my 100th birthday, I am sure that I could recall the absolute glory of that moment - it was as if time itself had slowed to appreciate the wonder of it.
Brad and I taken the ferry from Piraeus, and had stopped in to call at Paros, Naxos, and then finally onto Ios, where we spent 7 alcohol soaked days of pure, wild hedonism. The vibe on that tiny, desertous isle was outstanding. What moments we had...but after 7 days, our minds, if not our livers, told us it was time to go. Other world's awaited us. Boarding the afternoon catamaran to Santorini, we ventured on to a new port of call.
As the ship glides into the Caldera, you really do not know what to think. Here you are, clearly sailing through the mouth of a still active volcano, and you wonder "will it blow again?" But then, you look up, and witness the wonder that is Santorini. Cliffs, thousands of feet high, and clinging to the precipice, houses, thousands of them, the very postcard perfect images that you see scattered all around the tourist shops of Greece. Ahh, the beauty of Man. You sit there as the ferry begins to dock, and you bask in the experience.
As the port thrusters engage, however, the ship rotates, and the perfect view of man's glory is then replaced by the image of natures wonder. The sun is sinking in the West, and the sky is becoming a cauldron of fire, angry, turbulent; a million shades of red and orange dominate the entire horizon, as far as the cliffs will allow you to see in either direction. Forget Monet, this is Realism.
Sadly, it is time to depart the vessel - they do have to push on for Crete - and you run madly down the stairs, eager not to miss a minute of this spectacle. And there on the pier, backpack slung on your back, leaning on a rough concrete embrassure, time ceases to have meaning. The sun has become a disc of molten lava, as red as blood when it first kisses the Aegean. Between you and the heavenly fire there is nothing but a sea as dark as red wine, and a single ship, sails raised, goes West, into this display. Your brain takes a photo for itself. This is a scene perfect in time. The sky directly overhead is slate grey, its lead contrasting mightily with the streamers of colour that are only begining to fade.
The ship is distant now, fading into the coming night. The sun, with one last gasp of life, dips below the horizon, sinking into that timeless sea. You are surprised that tears are in your eyes, that you have been moved, perhaps even changed by the scene that you just witnessed. The colours begin to die, to fade, to be replaced by the onset of the leaden sky. A last streak of yellow, pastel and pure, fights valiantly on, but at last disappears into the coming darkness. With its departure, time returns with a vengeance, and you hear the pension owners hawking their rooms, you smell the petrol of the busses carting people up the cliffs into town. Sighing, you turn your back on the sea and walk towards the din. It is time to get a room.
5 Comments:
Simply lovely.
here's to alcohol soaked days and picturesque sunsets!!!
cheers pal!
- BB
I'm afraid that you have mixed your artistic movements...Monet was an impressionist, not a realist! Ah well, philistines still abide, dude.
WoW! Inspired by your words, I think I'll have to see it for myself sometime.
ooops forgot to sign my name
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