Sick on Santorini (cont'd)

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The Hotel Keti has three levels of terraces, the top one hosts the reception and the owners' apartment, and off the two lower terraces open the rooms. I'm on the lowest terrace at the end, which is why I've also got a big private terrace, which opens off the other side of my room from the main door, which also means I can open the swinging glass window on the front door, prop open the other door to my terrace with a chair, and catch a cross-breeze of some of that welcome hearty wind that buffets this part of the island.

The hotel lady saw me stagger down the stairs to the first level and asked me something in Greek. "Ime Arrostos" I replied (I'm sick), and punctuated it with an involuntary coughing fit, to which she responded by motioning me over, sitting me down in a canvas chair at the terrace table under the shade of which I've seen a tortoiseshell cat napping every day, and bustled off.

I sat there gazing dully at the glorious Mediterranean vista spilling out before me and vaguely wondered if I might not just lay my head on this ugly plastic tablecloth and take a nap right here. The hotel lady appeared again with a cup of tea and half a lemon to squeeze into it, mustering all her remaining teeth to give me a big "feel better" smile, then bundled herself off again to do the laundry my arrival had interrupted, with my genuinely thankful "efharisto" (thank you) following her.

She had disappeared by the time I had finished the excellent and soothing tea, so I took a scrap of notebook paper and, with the help of my dictionary, carefully spelled out in fraternity letters the Greek words "Thank you very much. I go sleep now," and left it tucked under the empty tea mug.

And so, well-drugged and weak, with glazed eyes and trembling hands, I fall back into bed for another interminable nap, checking off yet one more sight (Thera) I am not going to make it to from my list of Santorini activities. I am determined, however, to make it at least to Akrotiri tomorrow, no matter how I feel. After all, one doesn't get to gaze upon the ruined wonders of Metropolis, capital of Atlantis, every day.

Should I collapse there and have to be borne back to Fira strapped to a mule (they still use mules a lot on the island), I shall request my body be dumped into the caldera so I can join the denizens of the sunken Lost Continent and let the Atlanteans know that there's no reason yet to come up for air; in the 3,600 years since the isle of "Strongoyle the Beautiful" blew its top and destroyed their civilization, Greek medicine hasn't advanced much beyond Hippocrates. I fear should I visit the pharmakeio again, they may suggest the modern treatment of having a small hole bored into my skull to release the evil spirits and restore the balance of my bodily humours. Perhaps I'll let them. Anything's better than the Mucosolvan.

DAY 4 - HOPE

My eyes blinked open suddenly this morning around 8 a.m. Not used to waking up so precipitously — I am more inclined to claw and scramble my way slowly and grudgingly over the course of up to an hour — I had to lay there for a moment waiting for my brain to kick in. The first thing I realized was that I hadn't slept until late morning as is my eternal wont. This pleased me, to think that my long hours in bed and many naps over the past several days had finally satiated my body of sleep so that it no longer needed to prolong unconsciousness well past the noisy insistences of my alarm clock. Notwithstanding, I decided in my condition to play it safe and closed my eyes again to doze until the generous 10 a.m. setting I had left on the alarm.

My eyes blinked open again around 8:01a.m. This was because I realized a second thing: I could breathe. I took a tentative sniff through my nostrils and found both tolerably clear. I wiggled my feet and found that the surprisingly large number of muscles in one's legs that must flex in order to wiggle one's feet didn't groan in protest. I took a cautious semi-deep breath and listened as only a mid-sized rattle clanked around my chest in the process. I even essayed a very small, quick double cough, but that threatened to turn into an unstoppable hacking session so I quickly retreated. I needn't push my luck. After all: I was getting better.

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