No matter where I travel, I always wind up at the cemetery. Sometimes deliberately, sometimes, as here in Milos, by chance. Jay and I hiked up to the town at the top of the island this quiet and sunny Sunday morning, and along the way passed friendly goats, deserted neighborhoods (people were in church, or sleeping?) and this whitewashed graveyard. More basic and stark than those I’ve visited in Paris, Mexico, New Orleans and Istanbul, it seemed to fit in just right with the sunbleached houses on this tiny isle.
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