Santorini, the incredibly windy island. A mere speck in an ocean rippling like blown glass. The sky a watercolor, cerulean silhouettes on the horizon.
Crystal white towns and wildflower beds, unpaved roads snaking from the hills to waterfront, a rock shaped by the wind and surf, a culture shaped by its locals and tourists.
The wind was so powerful it was tactile and auditory, a dull whistle as it whipped through narrow lanes. Standing cliff-side in its wild ferocity, we were surely in the eye of a hurricane.