And then we discovered the magical village of Mesta, near the southwest corner of the island of Chios. It is a walled Byzantine village hundreds of years old. It was the peace that we found in the middle of a foolishly hectic honeymoon, in the middle of an unexpectedly tumultuous year.

In one of the tavernas in the square, we met a woman who spent most of the year in Queens, where her husband owned a restaurant. She introduced us to her niece, who seemed to be in charge of the village. She found us an apartment to rent for $13 a night with two-foot thick stone walls, hand-sewn linens, and modern plumbing. A night there was the quietest I've ever spent in my life. And then there were the breakfasts of homemade yogurt and bread, fresh honey, and Turkish coffee in the taverna.

Sitting on the terrace of our apartment in heaven, as Donna was telling me that the local yogurt was made from goats' milk, we looked up to see two goats on the roof across the way, being chased by local goat herds.

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Greece 1996

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