The map offered two choices: forty-three minutes on the main road, or a little over an hour along the coast.
The sensible choice was obvious. We took the other one.
The road climbed first, then narrowed, then began to reveal the sea between olive trees. Every few kilometers there was another reason to stop: a stone wall, a turnout, a village sign, a view that looked as if someone had arranged it for a postcard and then forgotten to remove the guardrail.
Long routes change the purpose of a drive. The destination becomes less important because the trip keeps interrupting itself with small discoveries.
We stopped for water at a kiosk, then again because a goat was standing in the middle of the road with the confidence of a traffic officer. By the time we reached home, we had spent an extra half hour and gained at least five stories.
Efficiency is useful. But every now and then, the road that wastes a little time is the one that gives it back in a better form.
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