We had returned from Crete, but just couldn’t seem to settle back in Athens. The normal world of streets and offices and cars and shops just didn’t feel right. The Attic light seemed a dull glow.
We decided to take another journey, just as we had a few years before in northern Greece. This time we went south, drawn down by the names of legend: Argos, Mycenae, Sparti. We travelled through the green Arcadian landscape, over the towering Taygettus mountain range and into the three rocky prongs of the Peloponnese at the very southernmost point of mainland Europe, looking back towards Crete. Perhaps we were following our own Ariadne thread to the island we should never have left. The Greek gods first give you the journey, then the nostalgia.