The road from Rethymno to my village in the mountains of central Crete — nearly abandoned now that an easier route has opened — is a living organism with its history, its patchwork of new and old pieces, memories of small and great joys, tragedies, miracles, its votive offerings, old detours taken over by the forest, its bridges, cliffs, landslides and endless turns.

My grandfather and his brothers, like many young men at the time, worked as laborers on the road to provide for the studies of their elder brother, so that the family could take a great leap forward and break free from the tight bonds of the earth and the weather's wiles.…  Seguir leyendo »