Red Beach, a tragedy in two parts.

We rose early with a view to getting out to see Red Beach before it got too hot. We had been told that Red Beach was a beautiful, peaceful beach, located on the southern side of the main island, so we were keen to have a look, and see it for ourselves. 

Unfortunately our early start did not last as the scheduled bus to take us into the main square, to change for a bus to Akrotiri, did not arrive. In the sweltering hot 11:00am heat we waited and waited for the bus from Oia to show up. It didn't. So we had to catch the next bus that appeared. As we waited my skin began to burn, despite the sunscreen, and standing in what little shade there was. 

Thankfully the next bus arrived. This bus was rammed with people so we had to stand. No problem, it wasn't far 'til we would get off and change for a bus where we might get a seat.

When we got off at Thira square our bus to Akrotiri was just pulling away. Luckily the driver stopped and let us on. This bus was even more crammed than the one we had previously caught so we held on to what little hand holds there were as the bus sped off down the winding road over the crest of the island and down to the coast.

The bus was full because people who want to go to Red Beach have to catch the same bus that people use to go and see the ruins at Akrotiri - from here we would have to walk and climb over rocks to reach the beach. As we alighted at Akrotiri I thought I saw a tumble weed roll by along the dusty road. If possible it was even hotter and more inhospitable here than in Thira. Despite my misgivings and a strong urge to jump back on board the bus back to civilisation, we plunged on along the road towards a large red rock formation which we would have to climb around before emerging to discover the beach on the other side.

There was a small cluster of vendors and shops just before the climb, and I should have taken their desperate stares as a sign of what was to come - even they didn't want to be there... But it was too late to turn back now. We climbed the dusty path with the other innocents, slipping over the dust and sharp volcanic stone. We were looking forward to a dip and some shade when we reached the beach, even if we had to pay 10 euros for an umbrella and beach chairs.

As we walked over the rise and looked down to Red Beach my heart sank. There, nestled in a scar in the red volcanic outcrop was the beach. A barren, shadeless stretch of red and black pebbles around 300 metres long and 5 metres deep. There were 3 narrow patches of shade from the overhanging rock that were all consumed with the towels of beach goers that had gotten there earlier. There was no shade for any newcomers. This did not bode well. We made our descent to the beach over the same sharp volcanic rock that presumably made up the shingle. 

Admittedly the beach pebbles were somewhat smoother than the ones we had climbed but the prospect of lying on them in the biting sun was not an inviting one. There was also a great deal of sawdust on the beach. We were unsure as the whether this was a move by the locals to make the beach surface a little softer for visitors, or if it was because people had used the beach as a rubbish dump and needed to cover the refuse. I suspected the latter.

I crouched in about 40cm of shade as Mick went to investigate if there were any umbrellas we could hire. This was when I was attacked by a horsefly the size of a sparrow that nearly took my foot off at the ankle. I swatted at the abomination, and was surprised that the bite did not draw blood. More insects started to fly around my ankles and legs and I began a crazed dance to try and fend off the predators while remaining in the shade so that my skin didn't immediately desiccate and fall off my bones. 

What kind of god forsaken place was this? Was this a cruel joke? It was possible the worst beach I have ever encountered in my life. To my surprise more and more tourists kept arriving, laying down their towels to bake in the sun. I suspected that they were probably either fool hardy Russians, or from some land locked country where they had never had the chance to see a real beach before, and simply accepted that this was what a seaside experience was supposed to be.

Mick returned over the hard pebbles, feet chafed to bleeding, saying that there were umbrellas and beach beds for hire, but I informed him that we couldn't stay in this kind of environment and expect to survive with all limbs intact. We both decided that this had been an experience, but one that we didn't need to prolong any further. So we went down to the shore to dip our feet in the water and then head back to the bus stop and find a cafe to have a cold beer before getting on the next bus out of there. Even the cool water was unpleasant at it was a soup of sea water, sharp stones and sawdust that clung to your skin on contact.

We made the ascent and were back on the road to the bus stop in no time. We stopped at a taverna called "Glaros" and had a cold Mythos beer. It was the best feeling in the world, being away from that hell enjoying a simple comfort. We ate and drank before trekking back to the bus stop and waiting for a blessedly air-conditioned bus to take us back to Thira. 

Feeling deflated we thought we would get some wine and sit by the pool for the rest of the day. To our delight, the spa that is right outside our room was now open (previously closed), so while I had an afternoon nap, Mick sat in the spa, overlooking the coast line of Santorini sipping wine (guzzling may be a better description as by the time I joined Mick in the spa, there was only 1 glass left). Mick was in heaven and had totally forgiven Santorini for the Red Beach experience.

Dinner was at a little "traditional" restaurant in our town square. Mick declared this the best meal of the whole trip. He had beer battered feta balls (which was like eating a potato scollop, but had cheesy goodness inside instead of potatoey goodness) and a main which was the dish of the day. It was lamb with potatoes, lemon and "other special ingredients" which the chef won't reveal. We are sure olive oil was one of the secret ingredients. It was amazing, and Mick termed it the "dish of the year". We had planned to go back to the restaurant for dinner the following night to re-live the lamb experience, but the waiter said the lamb won't be the special. It was a one-off. Mick asked what the name of the dish was so he could look out for it, and the waiter said it had no name as it was the Crazy Chef's own creation.  We retired for the night very full and content, even after the bad morning experience.