Old town. Siena on the walls and the smell of coffee.

Page fifteen.

Old town. Siena on the walls and the smell of coffee.

Morning in Corfu's old town is like a sheet of paper, lightly tinted with ochre and the shadows of plane trees. I walk down an alley where the walls of faded houses are warm as a cinnamon bun. The color is sienna, streaked with time.

There's a coffee shop open on the corner. There are only two tables, and one is always occupied by a man in a white shirt with a newspaper. He nods at me as if we've known each other for a thousand years. I nod back as if it's true.

Nobody is in a hurry in this city. It smells of freshly ground coffee, the sea and a little bit of... paint. Somewhere they are renewing the shutters. But I love even the peeling ones - they have a soul.

The sound of a spoon on a cup, the creak of shutters, the cry of a swallow - and you are no longer a tourist. You are a person who lives here.

Continued on the next page.