Lindos; History in a moment

It had been a troubled day in paradise.
The usually scorching hot weather of Lindos, Rhodes had suddenly wasted away, only to be replaced by a storm the likes of which neither us, nor the other tourists, had seen. It had felt as if the gods themselves were angry at the island, and that’s quite a remarkable sensation for a fairly defiant Atheist.
With rain and lightning having passed almost as suddenly as they had arrived, many of the tourists glumly set about the journey back to their apartments and lodgings, whilst a few intrepid souls attempted to make the most of the remaining day. Of course, my family had chosen this day to be intrepid, and it was with heavy shoulders I resigned myself to joining them.
The sand being wet underfoot, there was little chance using that to my leisure. The ocean beckoned and waved in greeting, yet the earlier storm had made the water far too cold to seek solace in its liquid embrace. Sighing to myself, and perhaps making the most of my iPod, I stood on the edge, allowing my feet to slowly sink into the veritable quicksand, and merely stared at the horizon.
It was as I was gazing out at that vast expanse of ocean, that I truly began to realise the history behind this great place, and to put in to a larger scale, every place in existence. Not without help from the superb history of the village itself, of course; the Acropolis shadowing over the village to my right having once housed the Knights Hospatalier, having been forced out as refugees from the lands of medieval Israel.
To think, just a few centuries ago, the sudden sight of a ship on the horizon would have instilled a panic not unlike that of the beach-goers when the storm had arrived. To the people of the yesteryears, it would be quite like a storm, albeit a metaphorical one.
Alarms would sound, soldiers would be at arms, and the local people would be instilled with fear of the approaching ottoman army; an army who would later, in 1522, finally succeed in expelling the defenders from their home.
I then thought of home, of the Celtic hill-forts that had once dominated Great Britain, and had somewhat of an epiphany; every step we take could be on hallowed ground. The place we call home, might have once been the site of some long-forgotten battle, warriors fighting with blood, toil, tears and sweat for their cause. People may have joked and made idle conversation a thousand years past. I considered all this, and simply smiled. The world really was a beautiful place.