[Iskandar goes out into the garden. Once he's there he feels for a moment as if he was transported many miles west. Yet this is only a brief moment. There is no city down below, just the cliff and water below. There are no mountains in the north. He is not home.
Is it his destiny never to return ? It may. He can never return to city of his youth. Even if he were to travel to Macedonia now it would be a different place. Pella he remembers does not exist anymore. Ceased to do so many centuries ago.

He takes a deep breath.

Here the wind carries a salty smell, roar of the sea and the cries of seagulls. The olives grow in neat rows. They could even plant some grapes should he fancy them.

It may not be his home country. Still it doesn't have to. He can make it one.]

They need to be pruned but I don't think they need a lot of maintenance. At least that's what I remember. Oh, and they don't like cold. That's all.