It was a different type of paradise. Unique among the 20 odd tropical islands I have visited in the past year, the Greek islands were a new kind of experience.

Built upon elaborate cultural roots that reach deep into past millennia and an advanced civilized foundation, these islands have ancient mystique. You can feel it everywhere. Particularly on Santorini, where extraordinary cliff-top towns perch more than 300 meters above sea level, looking out at the vast expanse of true blue.

Without a fringe of tropical vegetation (or any vegetation for that matter), the mountains meet the sky in hard, clean lines. And in the absence of clouds, I swear the sky looks more like a richly painted background than an infinite universe. On several occasions, I even imagined that the whole scene could be a giant cutout, set against an enormous blue screen. I’ve never seen the sky so flawlessly blue.

I think, in some ways, I was expecting to be disappointed, convinced that I’d already seen the best paradises in the Caribbean, French Polynesia, Australia and Thailand. While I expected beautiful architecture, pretty beaches and deep blue seas, I didn’t expect to find a new piece of heaven on earth in Greece. It’s simply breathtaking.

After so much time in paradise, I admit that I’m a little jaded. These days, I find myself staring at a perfect beach or an incredible waterfall, and just think “cool, another beach” …or “yeah, that’s nice.” I was even starting to get lazy on taking photos. It’s easy to loose the awe and wonder when you see such incredible dreamscapes almost every day. But I have to admit, the awe was back in full force once I got to the Greek Islands.

As we moved north across the Aegean, Santorini was our first stop after Crete. I’d heard plenty of times that famous Santorini was the most spectacular, but nothing prepares you for how spectacular it really is.

Arriving at the old harbor of Fira is inspiring enough, to see the buildings spilling down the cliff edge above and watch donkeys hauling tourists up the cliff side along the ancient zigzag trail that probably first brought supplies to the top. Lucky for us, we arrived via superfast catamaran so we arrived at a newer dock, complete with road and complimentary shuttle bus to our hostel.

It’s pretty funny to think of Amy and I riding up the cliff on a donkey with all our packs on. That would have been ugly. Trust me, riding a donkey up a steep incline is hard enough with just the clothes on your back. It’s hilarious for the light-spirited but involves a bit of work and maneuvering that is anything but graceful. During our memorable donkey ride up the cliff to Oia, Amy even took to copying the farting sound that the donkey driver was making to keep the donkeys moving on up. Poor Amy – she ended up riding a panicky donkey that was obsessed with keeping the lead, which led to a little bit of racing when the second donkey tried to pass him up. I had the pleasure of being able to watch all of it (and laugh uncontrollably) from the comfort of my third in line donkey position, but she had to deal with a pretty rough ride. It was all good in the end though, and it ended up being her favorite memory from the trip.

Sunset in Oia. That was another great memory. The donkey brings you up almost to the top, then you’re left to climb the last stretch to the town. You’re dog tired when you make it to the top, but the minute you turn around and see the view, your jaw can't help but drop. It literally takes your breath away.

I’ve probably seen that same scene thousands of times on postcards, paintings, even the walls of Greek restaurants. But to see it in person was a powerful moment. Similar to how it felt when I first started this trip…total awe and a sense of such deep privilege that it fills me with pride to know I brought myself here.

This is why I travel. To see what many people only dream about. Knowing that I too was once a dreamer, sitting in my office chair pining over pictures of clear blue water and white sands, makes the success even sweeter.

October 15, 2006