Two days later we’re on Pserimos, an island that, beyond its abandonment of togas and addition of a few cars, seems stuck in a previous millennium. I hike up a barren hill to a solitary church. Greek Orthodox churches, no matter how poor the town, are elaborate places with chandeliers, paintings of saints and gilded candelabras. The door is unlocked, so I push my way in. Out of nowhere, an older woman materializes, wearing baggy stockings to cover her legs. I brace myself for a lecture about trespassing. Instead, she hands me a beeswax taper and indicates that I’m to light it and place it below a beatific picture of Mary. The church, I find out, is a gilded escape from the hard subsistence life on this rocky island. It’s a daydream for islanders, or for a wandering cruise passenger.