Over a month ago, our first house viewings on Crete left us with more questions than we knew what to do with. Could we really see ourselves living here? What would life look like for Philou? And how do you turn a place you love visiting into somewhere you call home?

Yesterday, we sailed from Crete to Milos. A lovely, calm crossing that gave us time to let everything settle. After weeks of viewings, conversations, paperwork and emotions, there was finally a little space to take it all in.

And as Crete disappeared behind us, I realised how much had changed. We still don’t know whether the house we love will become ours. But we left with a strong feeling that this is somewhere we could build a life. Somewhere Philou could have a very happy childhood.

So, what brought us to that point?

The house behind the blue gate

We viewed seven or eight houses, which helped us understand both the area and what we are drawn to. Traditional Cretan stone houses, full of character, with space around them. Somewhere a little rural, away from the busiest tourist spots. We don’t need to be right by the sea if the beach and school are only about ten minutes away.

One house still stands out above all the others. The house behind the blue gate.

We have now made three offers, but the owner isn’t yet willing to move far enough on the price. So we are giving it time, keeping our hopes alive, while accepting that we simply don’t know whether it will happen.

What has become much clearer, though, is everything around that house.

Imagining the everyday

At first, I felt less certain. There was so much I didn’t know, and I was trying to imagine the ordinary days alongside the exciting possibilities. Getting used to driving everywhere again, for example, after so much time living on a boat. Could I picture myself doing the school run, buying groceries, finding my own rhythm here?

With each passing day, more things fell into place.

We discovered lovely corners of Chania beyond the old town and the tourist streets. Places where I could imagine returning regularly, where I already felt comfortable. We noticed activities for children, too. While we were anchored in Souda Bay, Philou watched children sailing little boats and kayaking, and immediately wanted to join them.

We also anchored off the seaside village close to our potential house. There was something quite special about arriving there on our boat and looking ashore, wondering whether this might one day be our local beach.

Having family and friends visit added another layer. We saw Crete through their eyes, had good conversations and found ourselves asking questions we might otherwise have missed. Being able to show my mum the area, and share a little of what we are imagining, meant a great deal to me.

Making room to feel

Alongside all of this, we have been doing our homework.

We have appointed a lawyer and started working through what buying a house here would involve, as well as the practicalities of potentially moving to Greece. It is quite a task. Somehow, the list still seems to grow longer each day.

But we have done enough now to feel more comfortable. If the right opportunity comes along, we are better prepared to act. And that has allowed us to lean back a little and pay attention to how we actually feel.

A welcome in Vamos

Last Friday, our final full day exploring by car, brought perhaps the strongest sense of reassurance.

Through Philou’s teacher, we had been introduced to a couple who have lived here for 23 years. They came for one year and never left. Naturally, we arrived with about a thousand questions.

We met on their regular terrace in Vamos, a village at the heart of the area where we could see ourselves settling, and where Philou might go to school. Their enthusiasm was infectious, particularly when they spoke about the community and the mix of people who have made their lives here.

Sitting there, listening to their experiences, I could begin to picture a social life taking shape. Familiar faces, conversations on a terrace, people to turn to. It felt warm and welcoming, and gave us plenty to think about.

If she could start tomorrow

Afterwards, we decided to be a little bold and stop by the school.

We had already been twice, but both times it had been empty. This time, we wanted to see it with children there. We thought we would simply have a look through the gate.

Instead, a lovely woman opened it, welcomed us inside and took us straight to the staffroom.

Within minutes, a teacher was asking about Philou.

“When will she be starting?”

Well, we aren’t quite there yet.

Which year would she be in? Perhaps her class? Or should we have a look at the other classroom as well?

It was all so open and natural.

Around 110 pupils, with classes of about 14 children. Fourteen. That alone felt quite extraordinary.

The school was simple, without all the polished facilities we might be used to, but children were happily playing outside and the welcome was full of warmth. Teachers brought over other children to meet Philou, including pupils from Australia and Germany.

Of course, we had questions about the language. Our hope is to give Philou a basic understanding of Greek before she starts, something to help her feel a little more confident in those first weeks.

The teacher was wonderfully relaxed about it. She explained that they pair children with a Greek classmate who helps them whenever they don’t understand. They have welcomed children without a single word of Greek before, and have seen how quickly they learn through playing, listening and being part of the class.

In fact, she was hoping Philou could join them as soon as possible.

I would still love to give her a little foundation first. But seeing the teacher’s confidence made the whole idea feel much less daunting.

And although Philou found the visit a little nerve racking, I could also see her face light up. She was beginning to imagine herself there.

If it were up to Philou and her teacher, she would start tomorrow.

That was the feeling we carried with us when we left Crete.

A familiar lesson in trust

There are still plenty of unknowns. We are keeping an eye on other houses coming onto the market, while quietly hoping that something can still work out with the house behind the blue gate. We feel such a connection to it, and perhaps a little time will help us reach an agreement.

But if it doesn’t happen, that house will still have helped us understand something valuable. It has made this possible future feel real, and helped us discover the area where we would like to live.

In a way, we have been here before.

When we were looking for a boat, we were convinced we had found the one. We travelled to see her, made an offer and pictured our future aboard. When it didn’t work out, we were hugely disappointed.

Then, a little later, we found Simon Hendrick. Our dream boat, and still the boat we are so happy to call home.

I keep thinking about that now.

It doesn’t take away the uncertainty, but it reminds me that the future can unfold differently from the picture you first fall in love with, and still turn out beautifully.

Somewhere we want to return to

We hope to return to Crete early next year, around February, and see where this story takes us. For now, we are sailing north with a little sadness at leaving, a head full of possibilities and a growing sense of where we would like to return.

We don’t have all the answers yet. Buying a house, moving countries and building a different life still feels enormous. And yes, it asks a lot of trust.

But somewhere in these past three weeks, alongside all the questions, a sense of belonging has begun to grow.

Perhaps belonging begins before you have the keys.