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Cycladic Art of Life...

If you have been to the Cyclades I’m sure you loved the unique, minimal architecture, the blue sea, the clear waters, the transparent light, the small venues hidden in every corner of the small towns or villages.
Many film directors, photographers, painters have been inspired there and have used the cycladic scenery in order to create.
Cyclades are beautiful in their own special way. They are simple, but stylish, primitive in some places but impressive, wild and dry but also peaceful; they can really get into your heart.
Sometimes, in winter, when I feel stressed, tired and lonely, I think of my first time in Santorini, it was an off-season trip, the wind was blowing, I was walking in the alleys of Oia, all alone, not feeling lonely even for a second.

But what happens to those dream-like places when the summer comes? Anyone can go there. And they do. Happy couples, groups of teenagers, families, thirty-something female friends, men-only groups on their yachts …or if we wanted to elaborate a little:

1. Couples who hardly talk to each other during breakfast or on the beach, and you can see that sad boredom that only long relationships which lack real communication can create.(How many years can you have sex with someone you don’t deeply understand and who isn’t the mate of your dreams, without feeling like a walking corpse? Unless you are one of those persons, who get turned on by routine, monotony and dullness. Disgusting!)

2. Teenagers who spend like crazy loads of money daddy gave them and just want to get laid, with as many people as they can (it’s like a championship).

3. Groups of single female friends who pretend to enjoy their holiday, but they’re just desperately seeking for someone to marry. They lie on the sand, often fat, pale, with dyed blond hair, in outfits they think make them look sexy or something, looking around all the time, looking for Mr. “My mom likes him-rich -doctor-lawyer-businessman-must be blind -guy” of their dreams

4. Guys on yachts, theirs or rented, doesn’t matter, with large amounts of money in their pockets, very often inherited. They think “yacht + money = sex with every woman on the island”. After a few summers they understand that the above equation doesn’t work exactly this way, so they end up marrying a blond inheritor with a relatively flat personality and having two kids (never 1 or three, always 2) and then they become members of category 1 and 5 of course.

5. And then, there are families. You will find them mainly on the beach, where you want to lie on the warm sand, relax, forget all your worries, but shouts and screams coming from their adorable children just won’t let you. If the situation gets really wild, then their mother will drag them to the family’s towel and the screams will get louder and more dramatic.

If you fall into any of the above categories, please don’t come to Cyclades.

The islands are there for you to take just your best friends with you (if one of them is also your lover, you’re the luckiest person in the world), to wear only lovely, light, casual pieces of clothing, (for the ladies: for god’s sake, leave your high-heels behind), to wear expensive perfumes, to enjoy the sea without making noise or striking poses, to get enchanted by the breathtaking sunsets and the moonlight reflections on the sea.
Forget all your egoistic plans at all, be authentic, be simple and true, fall in love someone YOU like (not your friends or family) even if it’s meant to be only for the summer.
And if you take your family with you, remember to get to really know AGAIN your partner and your children. They are not furniture in your house and they are not decoration or accessories for your social life, they are part of you, try to communicate with them.

Take off, like an old shirt, your dull, wretched, ugly self and put on your new bright, free and charming “you”. Then come to live on the Cyclades like you’re living in a beautiful tv commercial.


This post first appeared on The Ladies Way, please read the originial post: here

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Cycladic Art of Life...


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