We slept very late, having had such a poor night’s sleep on the boat the previous night. We got two scooters, using Sunil’s driving licence and mine. Ironically, Sunil has a licence but doesn’t drive. In fact I think the last time I saw him drive a car was shortly after he passed his test, so Chris and I did the driving, with Nathalia on the back of mine, and Sunil riding with Chris. This meant that we had at least one licence holder per bike.The first stop was Fira, the capital of Santorini and the location of the old port. Parking the scooters in the main square, we went looking for the cable car. Fira may be right on the coast, but it is actually built on the top of a cliff, so to get to water level you either have to climb down a very long and winding staircase or take the cable car, which we did. The town was very nice – unlike Perissa or Kamari it had more of a working sense about it. Dozens of narrow back alleys wound their way through jewellery shops, ice cream cafes, clothes shops, and restaurants, while the main streets were full of traffic and had businesses of all sorts. All the buildings were painted white, and the town appeared to be spotlessly clean.

We looked through some of the shops and ate mid afternoon snacks at one of the ice cream cafes. Back on the bikes, we headed for the highest point on the island. We’d been round the hill about four times now, and it seemed appropriate to finally go to the top, where there was supposed to be a monastery. The road to the top wound back and forth as it tackled the increasing gradient – our scooters weren’t happy at all.

As we approached the top, a mass of radio towers and odd buildings came into view, and a sign proclaimed:

MILITARY AREA. NO PHOTOS.

Odd. Never heard of military monks before. But then there was a kind of monastery-like building in amongst all the aerials and camouflaged structures. It was, however, closed. Chris came back from a reconnaissance mission to report that a sign said it had closed at four. The view was good though, and we debated the correct interpretation of the sign. Surely it just meant “No photos of the military stuff”. A photo of the view and a quick shot of the monastery would be OK, surely? Mindful of what happens to British tourists who take photos of Greek military stuff, we discreetly snapped a few pictures and coasted back down the hill.

Finally we made for Oia, at the northernmost tip of Santorini, where the famous Santorini sunset is best viewed. It was a long ride – about 20 kilometres, which took us the best part of an hour, though it would have been shorter if I hadn’t managed to lose control of my scooter and dump myself and Nathalia rather inelegantly on the ground. I escaped without a scratch, except that to break my fall I put my hand into some kind of shrub which embedded about 30 splinters into my right hand. Nathalia had some grazes on her left leg, which drove Sunil into a kind of obsessive first-aid mania. When he’d finished his dressing it looked like she might need the leg amputated.

The sunset, when we finally managed to arrive and park, was fantastic. It was well worth the effort, though I think Nathalia was justifiably annoyed at me. In the last few minutes before the sun finally slipped below the horizon everything had an orange tinge. You can see from the group picture we took that there’s an orangey glow – just shows how striking the sunset was. When the last of the sun disappeared, applause went round the terraces overlooking the sea. I looked up, surprised to see people applauding nature, but there it was, and over half the assembled crowd were clapping their hands.

We scooted back to Perissa, this time with Sunil behind me and Nathalia riding with Chris. I wasn’t enjoying it anymore, partly because I knew now that I wasn’t incapable of having an accident, and mostly because Sunil was backseat driving with annoying regularity.

“Corner coming up”
“Yes, thankyou Sunil”
“Bit closer to the curb, no you’re ok”
“OK, OK”
“Go a bit slower here”
“Shut up Sunil”

We did manage to get back safely, narrowly avoiding a second accident in which I would have stopped and thrown Sunil off the nearest cliff. Dinner was at the Bounty restaurant on the seafront, where we ate probably the best meal we’d had in Greece, followed by a leisurely walk back to the hostel.

My leisurely walk was followed by a manic sprint in the opposite direction when I realised I’d forgotten my bag. The waitress and the barman were talking at the bar when I jogged in. She picked up my bag from the seat next to her and held it aloft with a “you should be more careful” expression. I sheepishly thanked her and took another leisurely walk back to the hostel.