Greece.

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 time. Days don't require filling, and spaces don't need explanation.

I've always been amazed at how easy it is to be here without a plan. To sit down at the table without a reason. To linger longer than you intended. To postpone decisions—and not feel guilty.

Greece doesn't ask for attention. It doesn't try to please. It exists on its own—and that's why it gradually becomes part of your inner world.

Here, the sea isn't just decoration. It's present. Like breathing. Like a constant to which you don't need to return—because it never goes away.

The islands and the mainland feel different, but there's no contradiction in this difference. There's only a diversity of rhythms—and each one creates space for life.

Over time, I realized: Greece teaches you not to choose between movement and stillness. It shows that they can exist together.

And perhaps that's why you want to return here not for impressions, but for that rare feeling when the world stops pressing and begins to support you.

Greece doesn't promise happiness. It offers presence. And then—everything depends on whether you're ready to accept it.

Sometimes you want to experience these places not as a trip, but as a part of your life—here I'm collecting routes, houses, and states to which you want to return.