There are times in life when I want to shy away from everyone and everything. When there is no energy left, head empty, bones too heavy to move. When I was a child I could hide myself from the world by wrapping my arms around the neck of my mother or grandmother, closing my eyes and diving into their smell, feeling warm, cosy and protected. The world was forgotten immediately.

I envy those 80-year-old grandmothers. The grandmothers that sit on balconies, and yards, that sip their coffee and peel almonds. They offer you a handful. I don’t envy all of them. I don’t much care about their actual age, either. I only envy those that seem full. Full of stories, of hugs, of dance.

Andreas Karkavitsas was a military doctor and author. He used to travel all over Greece, meeting people, seeing new places, learning about old traditions. And then he would write novels of the land and the sea, relaying the richness of his stories with simple and intelligible words.

Some time ago I wrote down my "bucket-list". On this list, "sky-diving" and "picking olives on Ikaria" are among the priorities. For several reasons, I have been good at postponing both, but this summer I spread the word on the platia that I would be back for the olives.