The WRONG side of the Moon

We hopped over the painted rock that faintly alluded to the town of Hora being somewhere beyond and we made our way up and down and over and around a trail marked out by a seriously mischievous band of goats. Some five and a half hours later, lacking water, and dead exhausted from keeping my focus on staying upright on a mountain covered in scree, I limped my purple toenails and dehydrated muscles into the capital where we sat down and ate and drank and drank some more. And then we sighed a long sigh about our beautiful walk that turned into an epic scramble and a long term memory about the mysteries of Samothraki.