(This post is part of a series of 50+ short stories from my adventures over the years. It will be eventually assembled into a book under the same title.)

I was 21 years old and had decided to extend my hitchhiking trip through Europe after the speedskating world cup season was over for some tourism. I was still traveling using my well-worn 3-week Eurail pass which I had, by using an erasable pen, extended to 8 weeks and beyond. The pass was also good for ferries in the Aegean and after the speedskating season was over I found myself traveling from Athens to Ios and then to the isle of Santorini, Greece, for a few days. I was nearly out of money, staying in the cheapest of hostels, eating only bread and cheese, and wandering the cobbled streets of the old yet new town of Thera seeking views like the vagabond I had become. On my first evening after arriving by overnight ferry, I happened upon a choir practice in an ancient Dominican monastery and sat behind a privacy wall enthralled by the unearthly altos and sopranos of women that had been cloistered their whole lives and had not seen anyone outside the convent since they were children.

As I wandered the town of Thera seeking unobstructed views of the sunken caldera of the volcano that had created Santori I would occasionally happen on a jutting peninsula (Skaros rock) that appeared to have the best 360-degree views on the entire island as well as the caldera. I could just make out a goat trail of a path from the cliffs near Thera - a small island in the sky thrust up from the cliffs and rocky terrain. I decided I must climb to it. I wandered around in the general vicinity as the pitch of the streets dropped toward the cliffs but was repeatedly thwarted. Eventually, I found a way though I did have to jump a fence or two and clamber over a few rock walls and dodge a few aggressive goats. No one was around and despite being 3000 feet over a glimmering azure sea below me I managed to find my way to this odd isthmus.

I crossed the promontory and then I remember circling the outcrop, a bit uncertain as to how to ascend to the potential eagle’s nest. It was probably 4 pm and the sun was starting to create the kind of light where sharp shadows emerge and the mundane becomes magical.

I found a section of rocks that appeared climbable and despite the vertigo of dangling over the gleaming waters and sharp rocks 3000 feet below, I was able to hoist myself up. I was unafraid, just curious. The rocky isthmus was perhaps 30 feet by 15 feet in a triangular shape. I walked around it preparing to lay down the towel I had brought to gather some sunlight and then return to my hostel before sunset.

That is when I noticed the dark hole at the center of the outcrop. I crouched to peer into the dark space below but could not make much out. Clearly, it was a man-made space with 4 corners - an old ruin? A fort? A house? I had to see what was inside and without much thought, swung myself down and dropped in, my feet perhaps 5 feet off the floor while dangling from my outstretched arms. Landing without incident I began to investigate. Disappointingly there were no cave paintings or decorations, just a dusty old square room… with only one exit… in the 11-foot ceiling 5+ feet above my head.

For a moment I panicked - how was I to exit this little underworld portal? I could not jump the 5’ vertical needed to latch back onto the rim of rocks I had dropped in from. For a moment a vision of my rotted, shriveled corpse sprawled in the corner to be found months or years later entered my mind. However, a solution began to present itself and I got to work.

I started carrying all the loose rocks I could find to build a sloppy pyramid of sorts under the exit portal. Kicking the loose sand and dust to help cement the stones I worked and sweated for about an hour before placing the final stepping stone on top of the pile about 3’ high. Carefully I climbed to the top, and jumping with all my might was able to seize the rim of rocks of the aperture and after a couple of swings, drag myself up and out of the hole. The sun was starting to set and the sea was on fire. I was dazzled by its brilliance and beauty and was fully present in the moment.

(The entrance on top of Skaros rock from 2019. Still visible 28 years later are the rocks I piled up to escape back in 1991)

The climb down was even giddier with more vertigo than the way up but I made it down safely and set out back to the hostel, chuckling to myself about my stupidity. Once again I was lucky to be alive.

Why Am I Still Alive Pt. 2: An Inviting Outcrop of Rock in Santorini, Greece