Along the Edge of the Unknown
A slow and solitary drive along the Peloponnese coast reveals deserted chapels, lonely graves, and the quiet beauty of villages untouched by time.
As I kept cruising along the jagged coastline, the road unwound like a forgotten ribbon—clinging to cliffs, twisting through slopes, forever accompanied by the vast blue breath of the sea. No destination in mind, just a rhythm of sunlight and silence, of salt and wild thyme.
The hills rose and fell beside me like old companions, and then, suddenly, a village—a scattering of quiet homes with closed shutters and cats watching like sentinels. Places where the days are slow and the faces rare. They didn’t expect strangers here. They didn’t need them.
Then the chapels began to appear. Not grand, not even especially old. Just solitary, whitewashed guardians of the ridge, each standing beside a single grave. No cemetery, no fence—just one stone, one name, at great height, looking out over eternity. You pause in a place like that. You feel the hush. You feel time.
This is not the journey’s end. But it is a moment I’ll carry.
