Desert, the night I spent at Anafi was the warmest I have ever
experienced. The wind that blew through our cabin was at one
point so hot that it made me think of an oven; it was almost
suffocating. Having moved from my cabin to the aft deck, I
awakened in the morning surrounded by a sopping wet cotton canvas cushion. I consumed two bottles of water before
breakfast.
Rounding the eastern end of Anafi heading north towards our
next destination, Amogos, one sensed in the rising swells the
treacherous potential power of the legendary, brutal seas that
surround that island.
O
ften shrouded even in the height of summer by an
ominous crown of clouds, Amogos comprises a long, narrow
mountain chain. Below those clouds, up a sheer one thousand foot south-facing cliff, is a large white monastery, Panagia Khozoviotissa. When we climbed a mountain in the area
above it and looked down into the sea, we saw no sign of its
presence affixed to the cliff below.
Its interior comprises a series of small chambers affording
numerous intimate encounters with religious imagery. The
physical sense of security derived from being in these chambers would certainly have enhanced one���s relationship to the
Almighty, especially in times past when being in situ was far
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