|
|
I\'ve decided to repeat my paradise expedition and have already left my base behind me, the port of Adamas. A comfortable asphalt road makes the first part pure relaxation, in a landscape decorated with olive groves, solitary fig trees and white houses hiding behind cascades of bright red bougainvillea. The road winds upwards in the direction of Plaka, the capital of Milos.
Dancing on stones
In Plaka, I head for the church to enjoy the view from its terrace. The bay, far below, is so quiet and blue, with Cycladic islands scattered here and there. However, the landscape is waiting for me, this time desolate and steep. The descending path, overgrown by grass, isn\'t easy to find. To avoid stepping on the red poppies, I dance carefully from one stone to another, accompanied by humming bees.
An antique theatre appears in a crater-shaped hole, and like a white piece of scenery lies the village of Klima down at the coast, a row of houses seen from behind. Although impatient to see the unusual fronts of the houses again, I have to walk slowly because the path is getting steeper, yet I\'m unconcentrated, the whole time watching out for the flight of steps leading to my paradise. Finally, I catch sight of them, beyond the last house. I pray that my paradise shouldn\'t be occupied.
At the end of the path
Down at the waterfront, blue colours hit my eyes, from the lightest to the darkest hues, even some green. Colourful woodwork is certainly a Greek tradition, but the houses in Klima are special nevertheless. A wooden door dominates the ground floor where the fishing boat is kept, whereas the family has been banished to the first floor.
Ready at last. The duck and the geese have given up their resistance; they\'re strutting at the opposite end of the village. A man who is busy building himself a new house just at the paradise stairs, nods friendly and reports all clear, "Oríste!". The five steps, hewn out of the rock, are completely safe. I tiptoe around the little rock to enter a bridge where the soft branches of a tamarisk embrace me. The village is already out of sight. Fancy flagstones lead me to another flight of steps, bordered with cactuses. Down below, I see my paradise, a miniharbour with one single boathouse.
A windmill, a bench and a lighthouse reside in my paradise, plus a dolphin and a fading mermaid. Every resident has a specific function. The gaily painted lighthouse, placed on a boulder in the sea, is to be a delight to the eye, or in its own words, "Only for decoration!". The windmill, tall as a man and fond of finery, too, towers atop the boathouse, signalling cheerfullness and breadth of outlook. "Sometimes I\'m too lazy to get going," confides the windmill to me, "but mostly I\'m spinning merrily, full of energy."
A danger lurking from above, a huge overhanging cliff, doesn\'t seem to affect the residents. One of them makes me particularly curious, that\'s the bench, resting on a platform outside the boathouse. The dolphin and the mermaid, painted on the wall beneath the bench, leap for joy, as if saying; "The bench brings happiness!". It\'s an expert on romance but refuses to let me in on its secrets, "My lips are sealed!". However, a heavy iron anchor, at the foot of the bench, reveals that many a loving couple has cast anchor here, in the haven of love.
The sea lulls me to sleep on my rush mat, only a roaring Flying Dolphin is able to wake me up. The hydrofoil tears along through the bay, making me realize how late it is. I can hardly take my eyes off the darling residents. Apparently, they planted an image of their little paradise in my mind while I was asleep. It\'s therefore all right to leave, now that I have everything. I have a windmill that will keep my life cheerfully spinning, a lighthouse to refresh my eyes with its beauty and a bench where happiness is waiting.
Artical Related:
The Empire of the Dead
Motorbiking with Beach
On the Game in Ho Chi Minh
A Garland of Cycladic islands
Gorge-ous Crete
