The Poseidonion Hotel is cool, English marble cool because they do white so well.

Fresh as frescos that were ordered by a Greek Tabaco tycoon and Palm trees that pop out of earth like Cuban cigars,  a crown of leaves shedding unsymmetrical shadows by the pool.

Cool pool, curious emeralds and blues.

 I like the Poseidonion cool, high ceilings so high you risk vertigo.

There are two verandas facing the blue, on the East wing the sun rises and breakfast is served, on the West veranda the aperitifs come with ice cubes and there´s the library of Greek classics.

Every morning when I walk down the staircase to the lobby the door is open and I catch a glimpse of the sea beyond the piazza.

The breakfast room is white colonial, large mahogany mirrors that lean with fatigue on the walls, stems of dried Lavender on the tables. She remembers the order of pancakes and scrabbled eggs, the coffee very hot. 

At 9.44am the waiter brings out a tray filled with flowers that he places on the tables and suddenly the white is specked with wild flowers like I image the tombs were when discovered in Egypt. 

We write postcards home, shocked at our horrible handwriting. 

He prefers to stay cool in the shade because his Cotton is good and the freckles are spreading like scattered pollen on snow. He's gentle the way he looks over and says hey. He wants lemonade by the library and I´ll never forget the smell of lilies in the lobby. All my senses desperately depending on the miracle of flora.

Yesterday we bicycled around the island and we saw the wonders of nature unfold. I thought of Alexander Humboldt with every Cactus and the smell of Pines and Rosemary. We found a hidden rock to steady our breath and then a Peacock appeared and flew before us and it was the closest I felt to God in a while.

I couldn't wait to tell the concierge. 

Our last morning in room 202, we wrapped ourselves in the white bath gowns and waited for sunrise, the world was pink, open figs aligning the horizon and a single boat sailed within the womb and was swallowed by the rising sun, pale and perfectly a circle. 

The bells of the church were in competition with the Roosters and then we returned to bed satisfied with the phenomena. 

Last night the boys lit fireworks on the veranda.

Last night we saw sunset while the dishes were placed on our table and we said no to the wine.

Last night the last horse carriages brought the elderly home, the children said mummy look a unicorn and the sound of their hooves flew into the lobby and up into our balcony where I asked him to tell me a story before sleep but he couldn't and sighed and said, that’s why I´ll never write a good book.