Mon Repos. The Beach That Isn't on the Map

Sometimes the road to a place is the place itself. We were going to Mon Repos – not to a park, not to a museum, but to the sea, which breathes separately. On the map, everything was simple: greenery, shore, blue edge. But Corfu, as always, whispered its own. And we turned – in the wrong direction.

The path went into the thicket. The bushes smelled of honey and dust. The shadow was thick, like a curtain. We came out to the edge - high, wild, real. Below, the sea rang - it splashed, called, sparkled. But you couldn't approach it. Only look. Only remember.

Later we found the "right" road - the one that goes down from the Archaeological

Museum, winding through trees and old stones. It is not comfortable. But it leads to where the silence becomes corporeal .

The beach at Mon Repos is wild. It is not lined with sun loungers. It is not overloaded with sounds. There the sea meets the body not as a service, but as a touch . The stones are warmed by the sun. The water is clear, but warm. And most importantly, you are alone. Or almost alone.

Across the bay you can see a "civilized" beach - with umbrellas, cherry towels, ice cream in a cup. But there is no smell of the sea from there. But from the wild one - there is.

We spent a few hours there. No tasks. No time. Just listening to how the water teaches us to be close . To ourselves. To the island. To the wind.

📌 Notebook note: Don't trust the map. Trust the trail. Sometimes the wrong path leads to the best cliff. And the wild beach is not always where you look for it. Sometimes it is in you.