1953, Braca The cold wind that blew through the narrow streets of Plaka, and the autumn coolness that enveloped the woman, paralyzed her limbs, paralyzed her mind, and nearly lost her senses, did nothing to assuage her grief.Leaning heavily on top of her father, she stumbled across the last few meters of the jetty, with the gait of an old crone, and every step seemed to sting her.But pain does not come from the body.Her body was as strong as those young girls who had breathed the pure air of Crete all their lives, her skin was as young as any young girl on the island, and her eyes were as dark as theirs.

There was a small boat, tossing and shaking on the sea, and the cargo on the boat was tied up with thin ropes, in strange shapes.An elderly man got out of the boat slowly, trying to keep the boat steady with one hand while reaching out to help his daughter with the other.When she was safely on board, he wrapped her in a blanket to protect her from the wind and rain.The only distinguishable difference between her and the cargo is the strands of long black hair fluttering freely in the wind.Carefully he untied the cable—with nothing to say or do—and their journey began.It was not the departure of a short journey of deliveries, but the beginning of a new life, life in the leprosy colony, life on Spinalonga.It is the beginning of a journey of no return.