48 hours suffice to sample Santorini wines, steer winding cliffs and wrangle with a selfie stick for the first time. #JAPANESETOURISTNEEDED #NOW.
Defiant bursts of pink, beige and brown buildings break the Santorini rules of a blue and white color scheme. The rouge noir of Red Beach, too.
Vines, scattered all over the arid island, are squatting low on volcanic soil. Up close, their trunks a tangled, hula-hoop mess to harness the humidity. Among them, Nikta— Greek for night, harvested under the Santorini stars we stare up at.
Daylight and donkeys scale Fira’s steps. Reincarnation wishlists are discussed: #SEAGULLOVERSANTORINI.
We master the panoramic pic— stick out of the selfie at last. #FTW.
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I awake. Prepared for traveling Astral like beyond my thoughts. Oceans of consciousness awaits. I. am. Indivisible.
Let it play
Water, water, everywhere, and nothing decent to drink.
In every need
Love has its own tale to tell, beyond words and speech.
So do not try to find flaws in His work,His mastery is in human bones and flesh.