TRAVEL International I've just landed on the Greek island of Ikaria, which I hadn't known existed nine months ago. The airport is a single room, with a lone, unmoving baggage belt. As the other 30 passengers disperse, I notice a giant sculpture, a carved tree full of faces, animal and human. Fairies already working their magic. I don't see my guide or bag, so I approach a woman in a small cubicle, the ‘information desk’. ‘Yassou,’ I say, smiling, hopeful. ‘Is that where the luggage comes out?’
I sense we're on ‘Ikarian time’, and not to stress. ‘Ah,’ the woman behind the counter says, studying me, intuiting. ‘You are the sort of person who will love it here.’
Within minutes, after my prearranged guide Lina fetches me and drives the…