Reflections From The Caldera, Santorini 🇬🇷 - Lyndi Allison

Lyndi Allison is a published Canadian author living in Panama. She loves to explore and write in natural spaces. She hosts writing workshops and retreats at Tranquilo Retreat in Playa Coronado, a town nestled between the beach and the mountains.

As I planned our holiday in Greece and Turkey, I discovered many places I would like to see. But we could not see them all. Instead, I decided to visit at least one church/mosque/temple, one ruin, one bazaar, and trek one hike. I would try new food and share moments with my husband, daughter, and friend.

We all agreed on the places we would visit, and everyone had the option to opt out if they wanted to. I was the only one who wanted to hike. My personal first priority was trekking in a lovely natural space. After some research, I settled on hiking the Caldera from Fira to Oia  on the island of Santorini, Greece.

This 10-km trek follows a rugged ridge and is a breathtaking natural wonder formed by a massive volcanic eruption around 3,600 years ago. The trail follows a crescent-shaped basin, submerged in the Aegean Sea, and boasts steep cliffs dotted with whitewashed buildings that beautifully contrast against the deep blue sea water. Iconic villages like Oia and Fira perch on the Caldera rim. 

Beyond its beauty, the caldera is geologically significant, revealing layers of volcanic history that continue to shape the island.

I was confident I could hike this distance over this rugged terrain. I’ve trudged some challenging trails in Panama, where temperatures range from 27 to 32 degrees Celsius. But I often hike under the cover of a rainforest and was concerned about the sun beating down on me. Hiking in the heat increases the level of difficulty significantly.

As part of my research, I read news articles that reported that ten tourists had recently gone missing, and six of them had died while hiking during unusual back-to-back heat waves in Greece. Temperatures unexpectedly rose to 38 degrees Celsius. These people were seasoned hikers who underestimated how heat affects the body.

When we traveled to Greece, the temperatures had dropped to seasonal summer norms. But my husband’s concern for my trek still ran hot. He was concerned about me being alone and debated coming with me, but he has a bad knee, and I knew he would not enjoy the experience. And out of concern for him, neither would I.

I wanted to hike alone, but I knew it was not wise in the heat so I assured him I would find someone to hike with. I’d also take lots of water, wear a hat, and wear shoes with good tread—all the things I normally do on my hikes.

“Take an umbrella…,” he said. “… to protect you from the sun.” I agreed and promised, “I’ll ask for help in the towns if I need it. I’ll catch the bus or hop in a taxi at the junctures where the path meets the main road if I get dehydrated or I’m suffering.”

Since many tourists visit Santorini, this path is well-traveled, and I figured I could easily find a hiking buddy. I trusted they would be like-minded in their appreciation of the views and the overall experience. I hoped for cool temperatures.

I was right! I met Sunny, a tourist from Ajax, Canada, at the bottom of the cliff below Fira as soon as I arrived on the island. She wasn’t sure how she and her husband, Fernandez, would spend their time in Santorini. So, I shared my plan.

“My husband would love to trek the Caldera,” Sunny said. “Can we join you?” I had found my hiking buddies. Sunny and Fernandez were excited, too.

We set out early under a cloudy, misty sky. We trekked through Fira, Imerovigli, and Firostefani, quintessential Santorini towns with bright white buildings—shops, eateries, and accommodations, some with fancy suites whose infinity pools overlooked the sea. We also walked past simple churches and many beautiful homes.

Our hiking abilities were similar, and Sunny and Fernandez both loved to pause and silently take in the views. They were also content to walk in silence, especially on the inclines and when the path was treacherous with loose rocks.

Partway through our trek, the clouds parted, and the mist departed, revealing the splendorous views. During these moments, I was overcome with the stunning beauty around me and filled with gratitude.

I often write in natural spaces, jotting down a few impressions after asking myself, “What am I seeing? The rugged cliffs and various boats docked in the blue sea. What am I hearing? The wind’s song as it rushes by my ears. What am I feeling? Damp air on my skin.

Often, I learn something or find meaning. But on this day, I didn’t want to write any reflections. I simply wanted to take in the exquisiteness. To take pictures to remember the moments.

When we arrived in Oia, Sunny and Fernandez took the sea ferry back to Fira and I reunited with my traveling companions.

Once back at home in Panama, I read more about Calderas. National Geographic describes them as “large depression(s) formed when a volcano erupts and collapses.” While Santorini has no volcanoes, the ridge, and surrounding areas were formed by one that erupted on nearby Crete.

As I read about this place I so recently visited, I re-experienced the breeze on the ridge, and a new awareness came. I often process my experiences and relationships by talking or writing about them. Due to trust issues, though, I rarely share my most profound thoughts - except with the ocean. The ocean listens without judgment. And so does the sea.

Even though I am generally an optimistic and even-tempered person, circumstances in life sometimes get too much for me. I get frustrated, confused, angry, desperate, grief-stricken, and anxious. My emotions overwhelm me, and like a volcano, I erupt. Then, like the Caldera, I collapse into a depression.

They say that what spills out in these moments is our true self, and I don’t like the dark parts of me. I don’t want to be that person—the one who unloads their negativity on others and hurts so badly that their words and actions cause harm. 

My post trip reflections about this ramble caused me to ponder how I would rather be an island where people vacation, rest, and heal. I was also reminded of how the Earth redeems itself after great cataclysms, how nature reclaims and creates new, beautiful spaces out of the destruction.

The Caldera reminded me how true beauty can arise from the most explosive eruptions and deepest depressions and that I too, like the Earth, can be redeemed.

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