Thank you for this memory:
My tongue slides along the curve of a peach, eager to slurp every last drop of its juice. The sun's heat peels off clothing. Women tie hair back off sticky necks. Men wear cool white cotton to show off their muscles. The music from cafes is sensual, the waiters look at you through sun-sleepy eyes, the cocktails are cool, the sand, hot.
I am in Fira, the main town of Santorini. If you work your way up the cobbled streets to the top of the hill you take in what could possibly be the world’s number one view. Here, in Cafe Classico I’m eating peaches and sipping frappes. Time is all mine.
The cafe is perched on a cliff edge. It feels precariously balanced, as if it would topple if you lean too far over to admire the view. Below is blue as far as the eye can see, sea and sky blending into one. Boats carefully weave patterns, with their wake, onto blue satin. I’m shaded from the intense heat and mother-sea blows her sweet breath on me. Absurdly, across the water, the other mountain peaks appear to be dusted with snow, but on closer inspection I can see tiny clusters of white houses forming close mountain-top villages.
The music is now chilled, ambient; soothing sounds melting me into my seat. I'll be here a while yet.
jojobee
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