Do we choose our birthplace? Do we choose our roots?

No, but we can define where we interact and which place we may care for.

I grew up somewhere by the sea and close to Athens. The sea imprinted itself on me with comfort, inspiration, and freedom. A time came when I lost all these attributes, and I found them again and perfectly alive in Leros Island’s sea breeze.

From the first time, this child of the Dodecanese was a calling. A good friend of mine suggested it and its people, and soon the island became an annual destination.

It’s been twenty-four years since I loved it.

For the last eight of them, I have had an increasingly closer relationship, and every month, I share my life between Leros and Athens. The island is such a small place but so generous.

In a cozy and simple home, its hosts will treat you generously and with love whatever they have. This land, ‘so small and so big,’ teaches me to taste life again. Small everyday talk in the market, the Aegean sky harboring infinity like an experience; low mountains standing next to the human and a sea always speaking to the wind and creating stories…

And here’s me, riding on my electric bike in its beauty. In Leros, you do not need to travel very far so as to spring in beauty. It is everywhere and next to you! For me, Leros is not a tourist destination. It is a mother, and although it has suffered so much, it keeps its sweet and primordial embrace. Leros offers itself completely to its guests without a roll of drums, lights, and fireworks. It keeps its demure grace patiently.

Leros has a secret endurance in time; it does not rush to change. It does not fool us; it does not want to conquer us. It lets us think that it is known to us; but this teeny tiny place has new excitements for us; new information, and a new way to taste your day. However, Leros is a tranquil and peaceful place. Its calm mountains, the blue around it, and the bright light transform it into a spiritually healing place.

Leros teaches me to discover my simplicity and pay attention to subtle yet special details; a blossomed flower; a sunset that sweetens the sky; goats grazing wherever you walk.

A cow or a horse in your yard; fresh eggs from the lady next door. A smell of bitter almonds and the traditional coffee houses’ chairs left outside.

Two days ago, I was looking at a seagull playing with the waves at a small pier in Agia Marina. I was gazing upon it through my home’s window. It jumped at every hoist of the water alone and on guard. Its carefree arrogance filled my day with joy; that is how I go by on this island.

Experiencing poetry in my senses, like a blessed stroll.