We awoke to perfect weather: The threat of rain had completely disappeared in the night, and the sun shone so bright against whitewashed Oia that it hurt our eyes to look at it.

Oia in the Morning from Our Terrace The camera uses all sorts of sophisticated gimmickry to make this image look pretty instead of as it really looked: The glare from the white was so blinding that we had to squint and shield our eyes. By the way, those little Orthodox churches are everywhere: There are at least three in this picture, and there were two more behind me.

We were in no hurry on this day: We had come to Santorini for the sunset, and had seen it the night before. So we slept late, showered at our leisure, and took to Oia at an unhurried pace. The owner of the cave apartment had recommended breakfast at a pastry shop, which she said was the best and most famous in all of Greece. I finally had the yogurt with honey and walnuts that I had been craving. It was an excellent breakfast, but it didn't seem to rise to its accolade. Even so, it did have what may have been the best view in all of Greece, and it was from its terrace that I took my favorite photograph from the trip, the one that I made my desktop background at home and at work:

View from the Terrace where We Ate Breakfast

We walked around Oia for a while, looking in the shops and swirling alleyways. While Billy rested, I developed a harebrained scheme to walk down the 300 steps to Ammoudi and back. I made it about a third of way before I realized the challenge, then exhausted myself coming back up.

When your town is built on the side of a cliff, you get funky entryways, like this: But you also get beautiful views, like this: Here are the steps to Ammoudi

During our shopping, I saw a piece of art that I knew would haunt me forever if I didn't buy it: an entryway in Oia painted on part of a wine cask. The cost was € 35; for cash, the shop owner let me have it for € 30. I can't be certain, but I think it may have been inspired by the terrace to our cave apartment: The colors are distinctive, but not absolutely unique.

Our Terrace	The Art
Is it the same location? The blue doors are in the wrong place, but otherwise it's a pretty close match. Anyway, your guess is as good as mine.

After Oia, we rode the scooters down to Fira for lunch. The plan had been to eat and shop in Fira, and then see some of the archaeological sites on the southern part of the island before returning the scooters and continuing to Crete.

In Fira I finally had a traditional (and delicious) gyro. Oddly, though, it had French fries wrapped in it. (I would come to find fries incorporated unexpectedly in other foods as well – on top of an omelet, for example, in Athens.) While there, we rode the EN cable car EL τελεφερικ EL teleferik  down to the port, and then rode the donkeys back up. The donkeys are the traditional method for ascending this hill (and believe me, after the donkeys have been up and down it all day, you don't want to walk on it). The cable car was built a few years ago, and its cost includes a surcharge to keep the donkey owners in business.

Walking to the cable car, we found these nice ruins, probably from the 1954 earthquake: And then we went down, and back up

We didn't have time for the archaeological sites, but returned the scooters right on time – and I found myself looking forward to my scooter at home, which is newer and feels much better maintained. I found myself thinking, "God help the next person on that thing!" and wondered if the previous renter had thought the same.

We waited for the ferry to Iraklio with a group of French tourists from Champagne. Conversations among travelers always include the "Where are you from?" question in the first few sentences, and I had broken the ice several times already in this trip by responding, "I'm an American; I'm sorry." When I tried it with this group (French, I remind you), they replied most emphatically: "No, America is a good place; Bush is a good man." (I should hunt Sasquatch: I can find things that no one else ever sees.)

On board the ferry, our assigned seats were along a starboard aisle, but the crew moved everyone to seats by the port windows. It's unclear whether this was for mechanical reasons or simply to facilitate cleaning in a particular area, but I did double check that my new seat had a life preserver under it. The seas were choppy all the way to Iraklio and the Flyingcat veered left and right rhythmically, almost as if on a slalom course; perhaps this is how they drive in semi-rough water. (They don't run in truly rough water.)

This time, however, we were in economy class, which was just fine with me: The windows were a bit gunkier, and the seats didn't recline. But it was less awkward to wander around the boat with more people and less fawning service. Billy and I had our dinner on the boat, and I enjoyed watching the hydrofoil's huge spray out the back.

The seating structure was kinda funky, though: The seats were assigned letters, starting at the starboard row, with the letters, A-B-C, D-E-G, J-K-N-O, R-S-U, V-W-Z. I have no idea how they decided that F, H, I L, M, P, Q, T, X, and Y were extraneous. And I don't know why they used Latin letters. Greek license plates only use the letters that the two alphabets share: A, B, E, Z, H, I, K, M, N, O, P, T, Y, and X. I suppose that wouldn't have worked on the ferry, as it leaves them a couple of letters short – but it's a clever system.

Got to EN Iraklio EL Ηράκλειο , the largest city in EN Crete EL Κρήτη  and the fourth-largest city in Greece, about 20 minutes late – which seems perfectly acceptable considering the rough seas. Iraklio wasn't dreadful (which is the nicest thing I've ever heard anyone say about it). In fact, it looked like an ordinary European city and carried with it a certain urban charm.

If you want to do a Google search on Iraklio, by the way, be prepared for a lot of trial and error. I have chosen to spell it "Iraklio" because this best matches the pronunciation. But you'll sometimes see "eio" at the end to track the Greek spelling better. And you'll often see "H" at the beginning to match the Greek letter "Η" (which is bullshit: The Greek and English letters have the same shape, but not the same sound; the Greek form is the letter "eta" and is a vowel that sounds like the "ee" in "beet," or, for that matter, like the "I" in "Iraklio"). You'll also sometimes see an "n" at the end, as a nod to the name of the city in ancient Greek and EN Katharevousa EL Καθαρεύουσα . (Katharevousa was a form of Greek invented in the 19th century by Adamantios Korais to serve as a bridge between ancient Greek and modern Greek; it was the official language of Greece until 1976.) Finally, you may also want to check EN Candia EL Χάνδαξ or Χάνδακας , the name used from ancient times until the early 20th century, and still used (in cognate forms) in many languages.

A couple of picturesque sites were right by the waterfront, including the EN Venetian Fort of Koules EL Ενετικό Φρούριο Κουλές EL Enetiko Frourio Koules  IT Rocca al Mare  and the Venetian Arsenali. Even so, I didn't see much need to spend a lot of time there; it was just a base for the next day's visit to Knossos and Phaestos.

So we walked past all of the above, and checked into our room at the Mirabello Hotel. The rooms were austere (bathrooms and showers were down the hall), but it had a great location and felt very European.

Try as I might, I cannot reproduce the McDonald's experience of Italy. As avid readers of these trip reports may recall, we got sick of Italian street food in the first few days. Taking refuge in McDonald's, we found unusual menu items, satisfying food, and interesting architecture. It may have been the same conglomerate, but it wasn't the McDonald's we know at home. Billy and I ate there unapologetically several times, trying various forms of fast food that we couldn't get in the states. This has been a controversial decision in the eyes of the people who feel a need to offer their critical observations regarding the trips that I paid for and went on – but I am prepared to defend its merits on those occasions when I decide my critics are worth answering. So I thought I would make a point of trying McDonald's in various countries whenever we visited them, just to see what was different. The experiment started well in Switzerland, where we discovered ChocoBalls. But it fizzled fast: The McDonald's in Mexico was just like McDonald's here – oversalted and otherwise tasteless. And I regret to report that the McDonald's in Greece was just like the McDonald's in Mexico.

I didn't even want to go there. Just up from the hotel was a pedestrian street lined with bakeries and restaurants, and it had my full attention. But Billy was craving a McDonald's breakfast. So when I mentioned that I might like a snack, he reminded me of the McDonald's to put me in the mind of going there the next morning. So I decided to do some reconnaissance while out to see if they even served breakfast. It was a longer walk than expected, so I opted to eat there and save the pedestrian street for tomorrow (which didn't work out, by the way). It was a grand disappointment: They were not open before lunch, so my trip was wasted. And they were not nearly as good as the authentic food that I had walked right by. And I had a long walk back.

McDonald's I'm not lovin' it.

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