One Last Night in Wonderland

Today was… a day. Like a capital D Day. The kind of day where the reality that I have to go home starts creeping in & suddenly every little thing feels emotional. Every coffee. Every staircase. Every stupidly beautiful view. Every stray cat. Every olive tree. Every time someone says “yasas” to me. I am simply not ready to leave Greece & honestly? I don’t think Greece is ready for me to leave either.

There is still SO much more to see here. More islands. More beaches. More mountain villages. More restaurants with suspiciously incredible bread baskets. More places where I can accidentally hike 14 miles a day while claiming I’m “just wandering.”

So I guess I’ll just have to come back. Tragic.

I woke up at the ripe hour of 6 AM so I could watch the sunrise from bed. Yes. From BED. This hotel room literally looks out over the caldera so I opened my eyes & immediately saw the sky turning pink over the sea like some kind of cinematic ending scene. It was gorgeous. Peaceful. Poetic. Spiritual, even. Then I promptly fell back asleep until 8 because balance is important.

I took one last cave shower which somehow feels like something I will emotionally reference for the next 15 years of my life. Like sorry but showering inside a literal cave overlooking Santorini changes you as a person. You cannot go from Cave Shower Life back to normal Midwest plumbing without experiencing grief. After my final cave shower, I packed my singular suitcase for the final time while emotionally pretending I wasn’t sad. We got everything ready for the porters who arrived RIGHT at 9 AM to haul our luggage up approximately 700 million stairs. Those men deserve government funding. Olympic medals. Lower back support. Something.

At the top, our driver Phillipe was waiting for us & immediately became our newest Greek best friend. Now. Phillipe was EIGHTEEN. EIGHTEEN. I guessed 22. Evan guessed older. Which really says more about us than him because apparently Greek men emerge from the womb already looking like they manage a family construction business. Which, actually, he does.

Phillipe explained that his family basically runs half of Santorini. They own a transportation company, do electrical work across the caldera, build hotels, transport people to & from the airport, & apparently his father BUILT the hotel we stayed in along with several neighboring ones. Casual. Meanwhile when I was 18 I think I was eating ice cream in a parking lot somewhere. He told us that we had one of the best Greece itineraries he’d ever heard because most tourists skip the smaller places we visited & focus only on Mykonos & Santorini. Which honestly felt validating because I HAVE been acting like the CEO of Greek travel logistics for the past several months.

He also educated us on what Santorini is like during the off season which basically sounds like a post-apocalyptic movie. EVERYTHING closes. Hotels. Restaurants. Markets. Entire towns just shut down. Which honestly? Kind of iconic. Either never come during the off season OR specifically come during the off season if your dream vacation is “solitude & haunting winds.” Phillipe safely delivered us to the airport, gave us his number, told us to come back, & honestly I probably will because this island has permanently altered my brain chemistry.

At the airport we debated getting Burger Dream which sounds fake but is apparently very real. We ultimately opted out because sometimes personal growth is saying no to airport burgers. Eventually our delayed flight boarded & we made our way back to Athens where our next new friend, Marios, picked us up.

Now THIS hotel was the cheapest hotel of the trip so naturally we expected something mildly horrifying. Wrong. From the outside? Terrifying. Questionable. Potentially haunted. Inside? Shockingly nice. Automatic lights. Two passcodes just to get upstairs. An alarm system in the room. A towel warmer. A sauna. EXTRA BLANKETS. Do you understand how emotional I became over the extra blanket? Luxury is subjective.

Now because this was our LAST full day in Greece, I refused to waste it sitting in a hotel room resting like some kind of reasonable person. So naturally we went out immediately in search of lunch. But first… dessert. Accidentally.

On the drive to the hotel we had passed an Alice in Wonderland themed restaurant & let me be very clear: I had previously sent Evan videos of this place MONTHS ago saying it terrified me & I absolutely did NOT want to go there. Well. Seeing it in person somehow made me want to go MORE because what the actual hell WAS this place.

Imagine if Alice in Wonderland exploded onto an entire city block during a psychological episode. Gigantic mushrooms. Giant statues. Creepy characters staring into your soul. Colors that should not legally exist together. It looked like Wonderland threw up everywhere. It was genuinely one of the most unhinged establishments I have ever entered. Naturally we stayed.

We ordered desserts & drinks with names like “Dragon’s Hot Breath” because at that point we had already committed to the experience psychologically. Everything was disturbingly sweet. Like medically sweet. Like Willy Wonka himself would say “okay calm down.” The decor was honestly terrifying. I cannot stress this enough. But we were there & committed.

Once we escaped Wonderland alive, we made the 20 minute uphill trek around the Acropolis to Café Zonars, which was recommended by one of Evan’s very wealthy friends. Technically they recommended the fancy restaurant attached to the café but we were wearing shorts & emotionally exhausted so café it was. Honestly? Lovely meal. Beautiful atmosphere. Gorgeous view. Very elegant. The Acropolis casually existing in the background like it’s not one of the most historically significant landmarks in the world.

Evan got some kind of salmon toast moment with crème fraîche & I, in a shocking twist absolutely nobody could’ve predicted, got chicken. Now the chicken WAS good. But it came with ONE singular mushroom & two asparagus pieces like I was being fed by a Victorian orphanage. So afterwards I was still hungry.

Which led us to a gyro stand. It was time for an authentic gyro experience. Thoughts? Dry. Authentic! But dry. Great spices though. Very solid. We support authenticity even when it slightly dehydrates us.

After that we wandered around Athens for hours picking up final gifts, exploring neighborhoods we hadn’t seen yet, & honestly just trying to soak in as much of the city as possible before leaving. After that we wandered around Athens for hours picking up final gifts, exploring neighborhoods we hadn’t seen yet, & honestly just trying to soak in as much of the city as possible before leaving.

Eventually we ended up at 360, a rooftop bar overlooking the Acropolis. Olive trees. Wine. Juice. Incredible views. Very peaceful. Very “the final montage before the movie ends.” We sat there quietly for a while just taking it all in & suddenly the reality of leaving tomorrow felt very real.

Also important context: it was supposed to rain all day. This becomes relevant.

Eventually we wandered to Shuk, a kosher Israeli restaurant where apparently on Fridays they scream “OPA” & break plates which honestly feels exactly like the type of establishment I would thrive in. We were told we would be eating the BEST hummus of our lives. Now. This was a dangerous claim to make to me specifically. Because I know hummus. I have had hummus in MANY places. I have opinions. Credentials, even. Was it the best hummus of my life? No. Was it good? Absolutely. But I think before making a statement that bold they should maybe conduct interviews first. Ask where I’m from. Understand my hummus background. Evaluate the competition.

This hummus used chickpeas instead of fava beans though, which most places in Greece seem to use. Totally different flavor profile. Different texture. Different creaminess level. Very good. Just not life-altering.

Then the monsoon began. And we had to walk home THROUGH the terrifying Alice in Wonderland district. If you thought that place was scary during the day? You don’t even want to KNOW what it looked like at night in the pouring rain. Absolutely not.

Meanwhile throughout ALL of this, I have been actively living inside my own personal production of Mamma Mia for the last two weeks. I have been singing every song. Loudly. Passionately. Emotionally. Sometimes while overlooking the sea like a woman rediscovering herself after a divorce despite never having been divorced.

Meanwhile Evan has contributed approximately zero choreography. No dramatic arm movements. No twirling through alleyways. No running through the streets singing “Dancing Queen.” At one point I looked over while ABBA was blasting & he was just sitting there normally. Normally. As if we are not literally IN GREECE.

I personally think he should commit to the bit more. Like sir we are one linen outfit away from full character development.

Now I am writing this from our hotel room while the alarm system has gone off not once, not twice, but THRICE because of our neighbors.

We are watching Mamma Mia again because apparently once was not enough. And honestly? “Slipping Through My Fingers” will never hit harder because I genuinely do not want this trip to end. Tomorrow we go home. But not before I continue my very serious investigative journalism into locating the Mamma Mia beach scene they mentioned on our Santorini boat tour. Because if I’m leaving Greece, I’m leaving with answers.