Sofia Costa

Crete is an island that behaves like a small country. I was at the entrance of the Samaria Gorge at five in the morning, waiting with hikers who had clearly bought better boots than me. The sun took hours to reach the bottom. In late summer the riverbed was dry, all white stones and the smell of pine and sage.

Elafonisi at dawn was pink sand and an empty shoreline, which I suspect is its natural state before the buses. Breakfast in the mountains was dakos and a glass of raki I did not ask for and did not refuse. Evenings were the Venetian harbors of Chania and Rethymno, lighthouses catching the last light, and a rooftop facing the Fortezza. I needed more time. Everyone does.