Leftovers of a day...

White and blue are the colours of a home I am yet to completely discover. My grandparents migrated from there in the 60s. My mind finds bliss each time they sit and reminisce on memories from the past, temporarily transporting me away with them to the land they really call home.

Lost somewhere between one sentence and the next, I soon find myself wondering the narrow cobblestone streets that they tenderly describe, the warm salty air pressing me in no particular direction. The continuity of the winding white walls is punctuated by old and curious faces, appearing from their balconies to get a look at the movement on the streets below. My ears become aware of their chatter, in this foreign language I cannot understand. The faces call out to each other from either side of the walls as they go about daily chores and hanging fresh laundry.

Midday is approaching and the sun relentlessly pours over the town as I embark on the journey down to the sea. With every step drawing me closer to the expansive stretch of blue, I become overwhelmed by the desire to dive deep into its cool embrace. Hours flow by, as I casually alternate between the sand and the sea.

I am jolted back into the present by the nudging of my grandmother, as she places traditional Greek sweets in front of me. “Dusty biscuits, my favourite!” I cheerfully exclaim, only to be met with an amusing shake of her head. “Kou-ra-bie-thes”, she sounds out, to properly describe the icing sugar coated biscuits before me. She takes a seat at the table before resuming her account of former days.

After all those hours of lying in the sun and swimming in the sea, the rumbling in my stomach suggests it’s time to move on. Stray cats take the initiative, leading the way to the most secluded authentic eateries. Here menus don’t exist, and your only option is to trust the chef. Dish after dish arrives - that morning’s fresh catch of seafood, crispy cool salads, and fruit that bursts with organic flavour and sweetness. The cats still linger, waiting to be deliciously rewarded.

Lazy afternoons roll into lively evenings as the sun takes its daily bow, painting the sky a splendid crimson. The flaming reds are soon replaced by a gleaming disco ball of a million lit stars, beckoning you to dance, to laugh, to be.

“That’s home,” my grandmother says. “Home is Greece.”