I search for the necropolis, driving for some days on the steep slopes of Pentadaktylos, between newly made roads and villas with flowering bushes in front of their porches. When I eventually find the site, the sense of discovery feels strange, because a pottery workshop had obviously taken place and I find the area full of rubble from the dismantled working spaces, the kitsch replicas, the cables, scattered remains of this cultural event. But the location itself is unique and beautiful, the indigo and blue slopes of the serpentine mountain unfold to the west.