a walk

That means I have a lonely breakfast at the bakery and then head past gardens wrapped in wild wine and over olives fallen on the street. A path I found online starts on the edge of the village and continues upwards. Some butterflies between the trees, colorful beehives line the road.

After a while the lovely path ends on a wider gravel road. Luckily there's not much traffic but the ground is covered in thick marble dust that sends up fluffy clouds from under my feet. Pines and other plants have turned gray. Ahead I see huge yellow machinery chewing holes in the landscape. No-one is bothered by a tourist louring around. The road goes straight through the quarry and up from the other side. A lot of dust and noise.

Signs on the boulders celebrate the entrance to the Marble Beach. There's free parking. In the middle of the bay docks a ship and trucks carry marble blocks on board. A noisy business. A couple sits on a rock, enjoying the racket, dust and a cigarette. I feel no urge to stop here. A bit further is a more quiet beach when five barking dogs can be excluded. The beach itself is cordoned off by a fence. The dusty road continues.

I spot a trail behind a tired barrier. There's an olive grove and a couple of houses, their shutters firmly shut. I sit under a tree, have a snack and listen to the birds. Finally no noise.

Towards the end of the trail there's another beach with some kind of resort. I hear someone raking the paths but see nobody. Only peacocks walk between the bushes. So I change clothes next to a sign that convinces people not to go swimming. Nothing bad happens.

The final part of the trail goes above the sea and is again nice. Greeks have already been here and brought cigarette buts.

In the accommodation there's again disco and no room for bird song or my own thoughts.