It has been a long time since I snapped these photographs of Skiathos
Island, though it seems like yesterday I strolled its streets and bathed
in its waters. It has been some time, but the memories have stayed with
me for years, and like every island of Greece I have ever visited, Skiathos
shared with me its own unique qualities that were full of serenity,
blue skies, pine cones, salt, and wine.
Skiathos
has left a sweet aftertaste in my mouth and unlike other lands, as soon
as I set my feet upon its soil; it welcomed me as if I had always belonged
there -- as if somehow it was home. Everything about the island during
my week long stay emanated a warm feeling that made everything within
its horizon feel comfortable and eternal. Skiathos did not seem to see
its visitors as tourists but rather as long lost acquaintances who had
returned from a long journey afar and it greeted everyone with a dignity
that bore no dependence. It let not the noise of the visitors disturb
its night-- though it was loud; and it allowed no mind to wander on
matters of consequence -- thought it was not difficult.
I rented a motorcycle and set out to discover the whole island for
it is small, and through my ride every new view seemed strangely familiar
as it unveiled itself behind the road bends, and yet the landscape rejuvenated
itself and showed its face as new again if I happened to return the
days afterwards. Never were my senses allowed to be bored or to overexcite.
How could an island feel so personal? How could an island be so comfortable
with its own self that it seemed not to even try? And how could an island
display such humility despite its beauty? I ponder these questions through
the distance that time has put between me and its lush green hills,
its warm town and people, and its countless grains of sand that sway
endlessly with the surf's desire.
What
was it that made this island so special?
It was probably the breeze that sailed like no other breeze, or the ocean
salt that was sweeter. Or maybe it was just the purity of the white walls
next to the deep blue. Or was it the chill of the white wine consumed under
the fertile vine ceiling that let no August moonlight penetrate? Whatever
it was Skiathos seemed to handle its vanity with such dignity that leaving
it felt like the departure from the comfort of a home.
View Of Skiathos, Greece From Balcony Above Town
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