Say the phrase “Greek Islands,” and it’s more than likely the image that will pop into most people’s heads will match one of the blue sky/blue sea/whitewashed-houses-tumbling-down-a-cliff pictures of the island of Santoríni that are ubiquitous to that part of the world. Having visited the island now three times, it’s easy for me to understand why: no matter how clichéd, one can’t help but try to capture those breathtaking views from the rim of the caldera, the contrast of rugged volcanic cliffs with round church domes; stark, clean white on dazzling, deep blue. Let me share with you some of the other “pictures” I gathered while on my last visit there this September:

— Steep, craggy shorelines gradually emerging from early-morning fog rising from glassy-smooth waters as our ship approaches the island, the sky slowly lightening until the sun emerges above a cliff, an orange-red orb blurred by mist 

Sunrise in Santorini

— Brilliant blue glassware displayed on a whitewashed ledge outside a shop, perfectly capturing that famous Santoríni hue

— Simple yet pleasing white-on-black patterns of rounded stones enlivening the walkways of Oia and Fira towns

— Grapevines, now mostly bare post-harvest, spiraled into rounded basket shapes adapted for the harsh growing conditions on this volcanic land

— Bright pinpricks of light against the inky night, strung all around the caldera and reflected in the calm dark waters of the cove, a lovely final snapshot from our ship

I think there is another reason, besides trying to preserve those lovely images, that there exist so many of those island photos (and why I took so many of my own): one wants to capture the easy, peaceful feeling of time on the islands, the sun warm on your back and the breeze soft on your face. Three visits aren’t enough!

— Patty Vanikiotis, associate editor/copy editor