In Greece, you don't have to adjust to the  time.It  is already configured differently here. The morning doesn't start  abruptly.It  unfolds gradually, through the light, the air, the silence of the streets.Even the traffic is softer here, as if the world knows in advance that there is no hurry. The rhythm of Greece is not about  slowness.It 's about  consent.It 's about the ability not to resist the day, but to go along with it. I've often noticed how easy it is to make...

This is Corfu. View of the old fortress. For a long time, I couldn't pinpoint the moment when Greece became more than a country. It didn't happen right away. Not on my first visit, and not on the most beautiful day. At first, it was a backdrop—the light, the sea, the lines of the houses. Then, it became a habit. And then, it became a state that doesn't end when you leave. In Greece, everything happens more slowly, but not lazily. Time doesn't drag here—it simply takes its tim

Winter arrives unnoticed in Corfu. No sudden cold, no dramatic changes. The island simply becomes quieter—as if someone has removed unnecessary sounds and left only the essentials. The sea changes color. It no longer tries to be a postcard—it becomes deep, heavy, and real. The wind brings the scent of rain and wet earth, and the island's greenery seems to become even denser, even more vibrant. In winter, Corfu belongs to those who live here. The beaches empty, the roads clear

After a while, Corfu ceases to be an island. It becomes a backdrop—like the light outside the window, like the familiar sound of the sea, like a shadow that falls a little differently every day. You stop noticing that you live "in a beautiful place." The beauty doesn't disappear—it just stops demanding attention. And that's when you realize: you're not a guest here. Days begin to take shape from little things. From morning commutes you know by heart. From stores where they no

If Corfu is an island of light, then Doukades is its shadow. Soft, warm, subdued. The one you want to enter to exhale. Where is it: The village is hidden in the green hills of northwest Corfu, not far from Paleokastritsa. There are no beaches here, no tourist streets, but a different Greece – the one that lives on the veranda, in shorts, with a cup of coffee. Why come here: – To walk along cobbled streets where houses are over a hundred years old, and every stone seems like