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The White Washed Mazes Of Oia | by Jeff Rose Photography
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The White Washed Mazes Of Oia

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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.


Altars destroyed

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,

your due:

let your hands go traveling if you can

free yourself from unfaithful time

and sink--

So sinks whoever raises the great stones.


George Seferis

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Taken on October 7, 2010