I am a lawyer by education and profession. For many years, my life was structured strictly and rationally: clear boundaries, schedules, responsibilities, decisions.

Traveling at that time remained a dream—a quiet inner space to which I mentally returned when I craved light, air, and pause.

After retiring, I allowed myself for the first time to take a step toward what had always resonated within me. I went to a place where the sea meets the sky, where time flows differently and inspiration ceases to be a rare visitor.
This is how the island of Corfu came into my life. Life among olive groves, small coves, and the soft hues of the sea gradually changed my perception of the world. I began to notice not events, but states. Not routes, but rhythm. Not the quantity of what I saw, but how it felt inside.

One day, while walking along the coast, I saw a sand lily—a delicate white flower blooming right in the hot sand under the scorching sun. Fragile and yet surprisingly resilient.

That moment became a symbol for me: even in difficult conditions, one can blossom,
preserving one's inner light and quiet strength.

Since then, for me, traveling isn't a rush for impressions or a list of must-see destinations. It's a way to be attentive to the world, to details, to oneself.
Moving slowly, with respect for the place and how it unfolds over time.