“I carry my memories of Lefkas inside me as images. They are images full of light and shade, shapes and colour, full of people, flowers, trees, hills and the sea. I see the sorrowful eyes of women in smart local dress, I see a café full of men playing backgammon, I taste the aromatic homemade bread of Akrivis and the olives served with it, the spicy cheese, I hear the donkeys, the goats, the sheep, the ceaseless trill of the cicadas everywhere. They are images which remain or which arise only for a short while. Then houses appear which have been damaged by the earthquake, a cold night and the old lady, Arsenia sat alone in front of the fire.”

Fritz Berger