The ship's tour leader gaily cries out, "It's okay! The driver knows what he's doing!" and the entire bus wonders together: Do WE know what we're doing? Oblivious to the swinging of the bus as it rounds the curves, our tour leader stands unconcernedly in the aisle, and points out bright white outcroppings of tufa, which lies over the cliff like whipped cream turned to cement. Jubilantly, he announces that we are the first tour bus up the cliff, and so we will enter Akrotiri (Acrotiri) in relative solitude.
As we continue our heart-stopping ascent, the cruise ship shrinks against the sea far below and the sky suddenly embraces us as we clear the top of the cliff. Ahead of us is an undramatic -but blissfully flat- plain, home to some brush, a few whitewashed buildings, and, as if on cue, an old Greek woman dressed in black, riding sidesaddle on a donkey.
We pass the strange basket-trained grape vines that feed the winepresses of the local wineries, and which draw from the ashy soil a strange, tantalizing tang which lingers on the palate. A few turns, and then an empty car park beside a huge, low-roofed structure. We tumble out of the bus to the tour leader's encouraging cry, "Hurry! Hurry! No one else is here!", and into the flat, muted light of the covered structure. It takes a minute for our eyes to adjust from the bright sunshine, and then we look around, in stunned silence.
