This is the pointy rock behind the port, where Kazantzakis used to contemplate and write. He was concerned with Buddha at that time. On that rock he was like a hermit, an ascetic. "I wrote, I struggled all day. By nightfall I was exhausted but certain, I had conquered several hills that day. I couldn't wait for Zorbas to arrive, so that I could eat, sleep, find new strength and begin my battle again at dawn." (pg. 169) "Saturday, dusk, March 1st, I was leaning against a rock at the shore and I was writing. I had seen the first swallow, I was happy, Buddha's spell was helping my hand run over the paper." (pg. 191)