The day unfolds slowly, like the old island itself. You start at Knossos, walking among stones that have seen more centuries than we dare to count, before slipping into a small soap workshop where olive oil still turns into fragrance by steady, patient hands. From there, the road leads to an olive mill and a tasting that speaks more truth than any brochure ever could, followed by a family winery where the grapes carry their own stubborn history. By the time you sit down for lunch in Peza—simple dishes, honest flavors, the kind of meal our grandparents would nod at—you’ll feel the rhythm of Crete working its way under your skin. The return trip comes quietly, with the sort of content tiredness that only a day well spent can claim.