Disclaimer: Not Mine. No Money. Having Fun. Etc.
AN: Alright, so the only person I can blame for this is myself. I wrote it sitting in a hotel room in Santorini having just got back from doing this exact (alright, I only did the short version) tour. The only difference: it rained the day of the tour and was sunny the day before instead. I just couldn't bring myself to do that to the happy couple. I hope my traveling companion forgives me for twisting her words during our conversation about Atlantis.
Laura suggests Santorini. She's never been to Greece and she says the sunsets are beautiful over the caldera. He decides he doesn't care as long as it's a vacation.
He is tired, in a way he has never been tired before. It is exhaustion born from years of constant work; of too many weeks worth of sleep lost; of near constant terror. Laura says she is worried about him. He's worried about himself.
It is overcast and threatening rain when their plane lands. It does not help his mood when the owner of their hotel, El Greco, announces that it has been the rainiest May he can ever remember. He follows this with a broad smile and claps his hands. "No problem," he announces and promises sun the next day.
Laura has told him that Greeks never lie. He can't quite believe her – too many years of deception and secrets has paid its toll – but he allows himself to be pleasantly surprised when the sun streams in the balcony doors when she throws them wide the next morning.
She has allowed him to sleep in until 7am, since they are supposed to be on vacation. He figures he could probably sleep another ten hours without trouble. But Laura has planned the day to the nth degree as soon as they arrived in the hotel the evening before. She is not the pool and beach type; cannot stand to do nothing without doing something. It would be a tragic waste to come all this way without seeing the island, she explains.
He's content to go along with her. He has turned his brain off for seven days and planning anything, even what taverna to eat in, takes too much effort.
The tour bus picks them up at the front door of their hotel. It is already crowed and noisy and he absently wonders when the peace and quiet she promised him is going to start.
They have arrived by plane to the island and so have been spared the harrowing trip up from the port. He thinks the ride down must be worse and tries not to be noticed as he tightens his seatbelt and resolutely stares at the seat ahead. Laura is nearly giggling in delight; happily snapping pictures left, right and centre and he focuses all of his energy on praying they reach the bottom.
When the bus finally stops it is small comfort. Their next ride is waiting for them: an old sailing schooner – sans sails – and an already gathered crowd. Clearly theirs is not the only tour bus.
He looses count at fifty passengers as they wait to board the boat. He has never been a water person, and has decided it is too late in his life for him to learn a new trick. But the trip is mercifully short, and he breathes a sigh of relief as his feet touch solid ground. It lasts for five seconds before he looks up and realizes that he is standing at the base of an actual mountain and Laura is already steps ahead of him.
He has thought he is in shape. The reality is a far cry away, because he's nearly panting by the time the path levels off. The view, however, is worth the climb. He can see all of Santorini from here. He absently listens to their guide talk about the history of the volcano as he watches Laura scramble along the edge of the caldera. He hears someone ask whether this is really the lost island of Atlantis. He can't help the smirk that spreads across his face. There are days, even weeks, when he hates his job, but it is times such as this that he is reminded that he really wouldn't trade it for anything, even if it is halfway across the universe.
Laura is smiling when she returns to him and she sums up what he is feeling perfectly when she says "I think I like our island better."
The walk down is both easier (gravity helps everything) and far more dangerous (except when it doesn't). Twice he nearly turns an ankle on loose stones and once Laura looses her balance and the image of her tumbling down the volcano flashes through his mind.
He is almost relieved to return to the boat because it means they are leaving the island. The schooner veers around the northern slope of the volcano and throws anchor in a small bay between the two centre islands. Laura has told him that she expects him to swim. He has capitulated only so far as to wear swim trunks under his shorts.
His courage is nearly shattered when the guide explains that it is a 300ft swim to the hot springs that bubble up from the volcanic heat beneath the water. He looses it completely when a twenty-something lass takes a jump off the side railing and comes of screaming.
But Laura Cadman has never been afraid of anything or anyone in her life and so she simply smiles at him and makes a perfect swan dive into the ocean below. For a moment he ponders not following, but he knows that if he doesn't he'll hear about it later.
He takes a deep breath, dives, and immediately has the air driven from his lungs as he meets the cold water. She is waiting for him when he surfaces, treading water beside him until he regains his breath and is ready to make the swim.
He has always been a good swimmer, but Laura is at least five strokes ahead of him as the water begins to warm. She guides him to shore and he reaches out to grab at a sharp rock to steady him, which is a good thing because when he puts his feet down they sink into bottomless muck. Laura is laughing and happily scooping up the orange sludge to spread along her arms. He tries not to be too disgusted; he's seen worse.
They have only been given half an hour for their swim and so he has only a few minutes to float in the warmth of the sulphuric water before they have to start back. They have gone no more than a hundred feet when the water temperature drops noticeably and soon enough it is freezing. They swim as fast as they can to the boat and then rush to find a free bathroom to pull on the dry clothes they have brought with them.
Laura finds a place on the bow in the warm sun, and soon enough the cold ocean is no more than a memory. They wait for the rest of the passengers to pulls themselves back on board before they set off for their next destination.
He gazes out at the water and lets his mind drift. There are two young women sitting nearby, both huddled under blankets as they try to warm up. The younger-looking of the two has fair hair, although it is hard to tell with most of it buried under a hat. She turns to her black-haired companion and asks: "Do you remember where it is that Plato mentions Atlantis?"
Black-hair looks partly annoyed. "Right, because my memory is just that good? I thought you were reading Plato yourself? You'll find it."
Fair-hair smiles. "Yeah, I guess I will."
"Do you think this could have been it?" black hair asks.
"No; Akrotiri was a wealthy trading port to be sure, but it wasn't an ancient civilization. It's just another example of reality being blown out of proportion. I mean, look at the story of Arthur."
"Yeah," the other replies.
"Still, I hope someone figures out the mystery in our lifetime. That is a treasure hunt I would kill to be on." They both smile.
For a moment his heart catches in his throat. How he would dearly love to tell them the truth. To explain that Atlantis isn't a lost city after all, at least not anymore, and that it is both as wonderful and as magical as their wildest dreams. But he cannot tell them this; he can only hope that perhaps one day they will learn the truth.
The schooner docks on the island of Theressia. It is nothing more than a collection of fishing villages that have only had electricity for twenty-five years. Laura is ecstatic because the easiest way up to the village is by donkey.
He refuses. In exchange she makes him walk up instead. The village is so small it takes them no more than fifteen minutes to explore it. Finally, hunger gets the best of Laura and they trudge back down to the port to find a taverna for lunch.
He is tired; wants desperately to return to the hotel, but Laura has booked the 'extended' tour and so when the boat reaches the next port they disembark. The majority of the passengers go with them. They are in the northernmost village on Santorini, and this time, the only way up the cliffs is on the back of a donkey.
He gives in, because he knows that he couldn't make the walk even if it were possible. The village of Oia is picturesque. Laura is content to wander the shops for awhile, seeking out gifts to take home to those they have left behind. As the sun begins its final descent into the ocean they find a lookout point with the best view to watch the sunset. He finally agrees with her that it is the most beautiful he has ever seen.
Afterwards they find a quiet taverna and order souvlaki and Greek salad and Atlantis wine and he is happier than he remembers being in a long time. The bus picks them up at the main square to take them back to their hotel. He rolls in to bed as soon as he is through the door and is not conscious of anything until Laura throws the doors wide the next morning and lets the sun stream in.
He thinks he might like it here after all.