Music drifts up from a restaurant carved into the rock face. Not loud dance music. Just a guitar. Maybe a jazz bass.
But they leave before the best part arrives. a night in santorini
You grab a table at a vineyard in Pyrgos, not for the wine list, but for the view. The light begins to turn. It is no longer the harsh white of noon, but a soft, honeyed gold. The volcanic cliffs look like they are made of cinnamon and sugar. Music drifts up from a restaurant carved into the rock face