On the manicured corniche between Elounda
and Plaka – before the balconied hotels
that rise up the mountainside tier by
expensive tier – is the Turkish Governor’s house,
abandoned for nearly a century.
We venture up the steep, pitted drive
but sudden howling from unseen dogs
deters. On the opposite side of the bay,
where only widows on donkeys go,
the shore is festooned with plastic bags
shredded by the tides and bleached by the sun.
The foundations of the antique city
of Olous shimmer beneath the water.