We land in a place whose name I forget, the air is warm but there is cloud, we hire a car and my daughter-in-law drives for two hours, the road is narrow and there is work going on to widen it, and we crawl through a landscape of misshapen high rocks that must have been hewn, and to our left are deep valleys.

I sink into the strange scene and feel privileged to be here.

We arrive, we have a converted fisherman’s cottage on the edge of the harbour, I have a spacious ground floor bedroom with a green shuttered window looking out onto the glistening sea, bordered by purple bougainvillea.

I am escorted into the sea because the moderate waves make me wobble.

We drive inland and visit a mountain village that has lush gardens dotted with Cypress trees and climb into the mountains to search for a cave.

I clamber blindly over rocks in a very unstable fashion, clinging on to my son’s hand and my other helper is my 14- year-old grandson. We reach a point where the path descends steeply covered in loose rocks and I realise that I cannot carry on, so I sit on a rock whilst the others continue.

I am 84 years old, and old age is getting the better of me, I am also visually impaired.

I sit alone on a rock in the middle of the mountains; there is the scent of wild herbs. I relish the solitude and above me a multitude of birds of prey glide elegantly on the thermals.

I sit and am overwhelmed with gratitude.

           ‘I may soon be unable to climb in the mountains, age is curtailing.’

In the evenings we have a favourite restaurant, the proprietor remembers us from last year and welcomes us like old friends.

I have a problem with eating; food has a habit of getting stuck in my mouth, so my choice is to have the delicious fish soup, but as the week comes to end and because it is end of season, the supply of fish soup runs out.

 The proprietor senses that I have a problem.

           Don’t worry, I will personally make you a soup. A quick one, that the fishermen make on their boats with the catch of the day’.

The soup is delicious.

The following evening, it is decided that we should try another restaurant, it turns out to be rather eventful.

The restaurant is run by an elderly alcoholic couple. There are only some locals in the corner.

The husband greets us over effusively, and takes a shine to me, planting slobbery kisses on my cheeks and singing songs like,

           ‘If you were the only girl in the world.’

This is rather disconcerting, but his lasagne is very good..

The holiday ends, but remains a special moment in my mind.