The White Washed Mazes Of Oia
Oia Santorini: Oia, pronounced ‘Ia’, is the most famous of all villages of Santorini. It is known throughout the world for its quiet life and fantastic sunset, and is certainly the most beautiful and picturesque village of Santorini.
The village is also situated on top of an impressive cliff and offers a spectacular view over the volcano of Palia and Nea Kameni and the island of Thirassia.
Oia is situated on the north of the island, 11 km away from Fira.
It is a traditional village with charming houses in narrow streets, blue domed churches, and sun-bathed verandas. Its streets have plenty of tourist shops, taverns, cafés, and other shops.
Oia has several cultural attractions like the Maritime Museum which houses a small library, items from the maritime life of the area, and the vestiges of a Venetian fortress.
Many artists fell in love with the area and settled there. For that reason, the village of Oia has many art galleries.
Oia also has a small port, Ammoudi, which can be reached by a set of 300 steps leading down. There, small boats can take you opposite, to the island of Thirassia. The beach of Armenis is also located there. Taverns in Oia offer visitors tasty meals of fresh fish.
Santorini -The naked child
Bend if you can to the dark sea forgetting
the flute's sound on naked feet
that trod your sleep in the other, the sunken life.
Write if you can on your last shell
the day the place the name
and fling it into the sea so that it sinks.
We found ourselves naked on the pumice stone
watching the rising islands
watching the red islands sink
into their sleep, into our sleep.
Here we found ourselves naked, holding
the scales that tipped toward injustice.
Instep of power, unshadowed will, considered love,
projects that ripen in the midday sun,
course of fate with a young hand
slapping the shoulder;
in the land that was scattered, that can't resist,
in the land that was once our land
the islands, --rust and ash-- are sinking.
and friends forgotten
leaves of the palm tree in mud.
Let your hands go traveling if you can
here on time's curve with the ship
that touched the horizon.
When the dice struck the flagstone
when the lance struck the breast-plate
when the eye recognized the stranger
and love went dry
in punctured souls;
when looking round you see
feet harvested everywhere
dead hands everywhere
eyes darkened everywhere;
when you can't any longer choose
even the death you wanted as your own--
hearing a cry,
even the wolf's cry,
let your hands go traveling if you can
free yourself from unfaithful time
So sinks whoever raises the great stones.