You'll see more on the detour.

The goat looked down from the pinnacle of his rocky outcrop, as if to say, "How did I end up here?"

We'd been forced to take a detour along the crumbling coast road of western Crete, which at times clung to the cliff by willpower alone. Any bend could hide one, two or many goats. This one was majestic; he stood watch a hundred feet above, merely curious at the sheer drop, and us, beneath him.

Particularly adapted to these sparse and mountainous conditions, and needing little water and food, goats sustain families from Mexico to Nigeria to Nepal with milk and meat. Cashmere owes its softness to the goat, and the finest French cheeses their tang. I am happy to see a goat on a chevre wrapper; less so when it's in the middle of the road. My stomach lurches. Nimbly dodging loose rock, a goat on a mission crosses the tarmac, plunging merrily down a deadly slope that ends with the Mediterranean Sea far below.

Another road closed (this time a rock fall), another goat-filled detour. Goat spotting had been terrifying, but was becoming a fun guessing game. Some dash about, others simply stand, sit or lie on the tarmac, calmly lying in wait for the unsuspecting motorist. I conclude that their evolved tolerance of heights means that goats have no instinct for self-preservation left. I am slightly envious.

Heading south, the road climbs the spine of Crete, and its skeleton stretches out either side of us, thrown into sharp contrast by the setting sun. The Lefka Ori - the White Mountains - are one of the few habitats of the Agrimi or kri-kri, that spirited breed of goat, now wild, that escaped from domestication and became the symbol of Crete. As we climb, signs of habitation dwindle and each road sign is peppered with bullet holes, a tradition of the fiercely independent Sfakian region. In a village, we stop for goats' cheese and honey pies. I prefer this tradition - equally Sfakian, less violent.

Later, walking down the Gorge of the Dead in Zakros, the scent of goats in afternoon sun mingles with thyme, honey, and hot dust. This historic valley in the extreme east of Crete is overlooked by high caves, the burial chambers of Bronze Age Minoans, thousands of years dead. Somehow, it brings the people above me vividly alive, to think their ancient nostrils smelled this too. Goats were one of the first animals to be domesticated by humans, ten thousand years ago. Probably so that they could be in exactly the wrong place when chariots were invented.