Summer in the city. Promenades, beaches, boats, everywhere semi-naked sun-worshippers with sun protection. Not far away there is the magic quiet of a salt-pan and the archaic labour in the ponds. In an ancient olive grove the tree trunks embrace the stones in their soil. The olives are harvested to be packed in sea salt, and to yield oil, some of it for sunscreen products. Stones are dug from the earth and stacked to form shelters for man and beast or to mark the boundaries of pastures and fields. Salt, olive and stone are the last three bastions of a paradise sought by holidaymakers, but spared because unfound. Or does the tourists’ sun-tan oil get into the sea salt as they bathe?