A farmer whose family have worked the land for generations, plucking olives from the centuries-old trees that dot the landscape each autumn and pressing them into oil, had been taught by her grandmother that the herbs naturally springing from the ground are intrinsically medicinal, that simply by eating the local cuisine your body will be healthy, resilient and strong. 

Her grandmother’s handwritten book detailed each herb’s specific properties: daphne to soothe tired muscles or fight infection; an elixir of sage to heal sore throats; mint for indigestion and insomnia. The sweet, earthy scent of herbs is one of the first things that strikes you at Amanzoe. A lingering perfume of rosemary, lavender, jasmine, pink peppercorns and sage that follows you throughout the grounds. 

We spend an afternoon exploring the Ermionida. From Porto Heli, we reach the island of Spetses by boat, just a short trip across the bay, bouncing over the waves, the sea spray misting our faces and leaving droplets clinging to our hair. When we arrive, we wander slowly through the narrow streets, admiring the whitewashed buildings and soaking in the smell of sea salt and flowers emanating colourful hibiscus and frangipani blooms, which grow tall enough to slouch over garden walls. 

When the late Ed Tuttle designed Amanzoe he imagined a heroic temple for the gods perched upon a mighty mountain. Channelling the lore of Zeus and his throne atop Mount Olympus: a stark, masculine order of Ionic columns holding aloft a finely carved pediment made from marble so pure and white it seems to be glowing. 

Travelling up the stairs, as Tuttle planned it, is meant to feel as if you are ascending a sacred mount. Beyond the entranceway, a reflecting pool slithers towards the horizon. The still water acts like an optical illusion, briefly confounding the eye into believing the ground and sky are one and the same.

On all sides, the landscape unfolds at your feet. A collection of stately stone pavilions winds up and down the hillside, between which towering cypress trees stand sentry. In the distance, olive trees and vineyards stretch out to the shores of the Mediterranean. 

We land in Bodrum in the dark. Weaving along the road that hugs the shoreline, outside our window a low-hanging moon bleaches the rippling inky black waters of the bay. This late in the evening all I can make out are shapes, the looming silhouettes of maritime pines, the softly sloping hills that descend into the water, the outlines of buildings illuminated by streetlamps. As we near Amanruya, the lights of the town begin to fade and a calm, quiet darkness envelops us.

In the morning, a different world greets us. Stepping out into the garden the air still feels brisk and cool though the sun beats down hot on my shoulders. The water, just beyond the trees, has emerged an impossibly bright shade of turquoise, sparkling like a cluster of finely cut gems in the daylight. The hills across the bay now seem to hover over the water, their outlines smudged by the pinkish morning haze, a soft-focus lens that makes the landscape seem immaterial.

One afternoon we wander the ruins of the village of Stratonikeia, a settlement whose beginnings date back to the 2nd century BC. Along the ancient streets, hewn into the ground from millennia of footfall and passing carriages, sit collapsing stone houses and forgotten storefronts. Rough rocks plucked from the fields are jammed in next to ornately carved capitals repurposed from Roman columns, a veritable jigsaw of artefacts spanning millennia within a single square metre.

Between each structure climbing vines, leafy fig and pomegranates trees have squeezed into the narrow gaps. We ramble through the agora, where the elders once sat to mull over city rules, along through the amphitheatre built into the hill, and finally the old city gates, where a triumphant marble archway still stands after all this time.

On our final day, we rise with the sun; snatching a glimpse of it emerging from the waters on the horizon. We travel on a handsome lacquered wooden boat to a quiet cove just a few minutes from Amanruya’s sheltered beach. At this hour, the cove is completely empty. Floating on the water, you truly appreciate the effect of this ancient landscape. 

Terracotta-coloured hills rise and fall before us, scattered with plump green bushes and spindly olive trees, while along the shoreline striations of red grey stone emerge from the surf. The smell, even here on the water, is of pine, salt and earth. When the anchor is dropped and the engine is cut silence falls, punctuated only by the rhythmic lapping of gentle waves against the wooden stern and the occasional crash, like glass shattering, when a body dives into the blue.

In the first of Aman’s new series, Meditations, Parisian photographer Romain Laprade and Milan-based writer Laura May Todd journey together from Amanzoe to Amanruya. Through their own mediums, they mindfully observe and capture the dialogue between the ancient landscapes and iconic architecture of the Aegean coast; from the Peloponnese to the Bodrum Peninsula.

Romain Laprade is a Paris-based photographer that travels the world in search of meaningful photos. By a keen observation of his environment, Laprade captures the interplay of urban and natural structures and portrays that tension through an idiosyncratic use of colour, light and shadow.

Laura May Todd is a Canadian-born Milan-based journalist covering design, architecture and style. She regularly contributes to a range of international publications, including T: The New York Times Style Magazine, Architectural Digest, Elle Decor, Azure and Sight Unseen.