The Swedish archaeologist Alfred Westholm, mesmerised by the evening, becomes lyrical:
The night of the first new moon is warm and black, for the moon sets almost at the same time as the sun. On the other side of the bay there shines only a long row of lights. It is the pier at the harbour at Xero. Out on the water lie two slowly rocking steamships loading ore. The waves wash up outside the tent opening. In lamplight they light up like white lines of froth and disappear again. The surging of the waves is what I like best. It never stops. It comes back incessantly, as it has done for thousands of years. It disperses uneasy thoughts, puts them into the future in a curious way. The sound of the waves, always in one’s ears, has the ability to smooth and subdue tempestuous movements of emotion. ---- The lines of white froth shine up and then disappear from the lamplight. The first new moon night is black and warm.