The little donkey is wearing our bathing togs. We collect shells, pick
wildflowers. How trusting the kid is. As we return to the AF. Lindia, Ioannis
has already served up sweet figs for us. He picked them fresh. His
hospitality comes from the heart. We are at home.
We are strolling through the listed village. A kitten accompanies us through the labyrinth of cobbled streets and white buildings. Old captain's houses, shady courtyards, colorful azaleas. Time has stood still. The children are playing catch.
Singing emerges out of the church. The air is cool. Frescoes and icons shine in the candlelight. The beginning of the world. Heaven and earth. Saints in gold and purple. We listen to the songs with connectedness and joy. Becoming part of living traditions.
They came in wooden ships. Greeks, Romans, Phoenicians, Byzantines,
Hospitallers, Turks. For millennia they traded, lived and loved. The sailors
disappeared in the wind of time. The sacred sites and strongholds they
left behind remain to this day in the white village.
