Spring, and Kastoria became sensual and voulptuous, its narrow streets full of a greedy balm that stirred your senses, its promenade on the lake roofed by a green umbrella of leaves, its lake cooly kissing the edges of the pensinsula.

There was a bite in the air, in spite of the bright sunshine and blossoming trees. I could feel Despina's fingers linked loosely around my stomach and I could sense her hair flowing lusciously behind her. It was a thrill, the proximity of the girl I loved combined with speed and a cool wind. The shade and the sun crisscrossed and danced with the wind as it ruffled the lake.
We were both air-drunk. Despina giggled and pressed her body even closer up to me.
"Shall we stop and take a wander?" she asked, putting her mouth to my ear so that I could feel the warmth of her breath.
'Of course," I shouted back and I slowed down and stopped the motorbike I had borrowed from a friend. For a moment, I did not move, as my head was singing with currents of air, while Despina got off the bike and stood for a moment, as content as I was to let her mind soar before getting herself together. We had to go round Mavriotissa, even though both of us had wandered around the monastery on more than one occasion before. This was the first time we would see it together.
The outpost on Kastoria's peninsula was open, though a priest did not appear to be there, as we wandered and looked at icon to icon, fresco to fresco, portraying saints and sinners and tales from the Bible, while guttering candlelight and small windows illuminated this dark place. Hand-in-hand we peered at the faded colours and stiff poses brought alive by mysterious techniques. There was a sense of festival in spite of their rigorous appearance. This was Byzantine art at its best.
We emerged into the fresh sunlight and looked at the frescoes outside; figures seething up a wall. Then Despina sat on a bench and I took a picture of her with those scenes behind her, the tree of life captured by a monastery courtyard.