The White Tower in Thessaloniki, in the north of Greece. Not quite as white as it used to be when it was whitewashed to symbolically purge the tower of a massacre that had taken place. Grisly.
View from the top.
Ruins stretched out across the city, only above ground in some areas. There were excavations that were open to the public, but the gates were closed on the day we went. Still, you could see them from above looking like someone had peeled away the skin of the street to reveal the structural bones beneath.
We didn't spend much time there, as Yannick fell ill. I helped him eat much of his risotto at lunch.
Driving down the coast and onto a three pronged peninsula, we spent three days at a campground by this beach while he recovered. Then I caught it.