The ship approaches Spinalonga at a leisurely pace. The island looks like a yellow scar on the face of the tranquil Mediterranean azure. The sun is slowly reaching its zenith, and the heat weighs heavily on the passengers despite the marine breeze. More often than not, tour operators sell the excursion as a nice outing for the whole family. Yet, I see very few children on board, as if the idyllic pictures on the brochures couldn’t make up for the tragic atmosphere that surrounds the islet.