Saturday / Sunday
It can be daunting arriving somewhere new late at night. I'm rarely daunted but I needed a nice holiday. Doesn't everyone need a nice holiday? No one goes out in search of a shit holiday.
I left my tattered nerves in the security area at Manchester airport. Somehow we got through with all our belongings in tact, including a pair of knitting needles. We had short delays, missed the car hire shuttle bus so hiked the half km and even dealt well with Little Miss Hustle at the car hire centre who wanted to up-sell us everything from a convertible Fiat 500 to the excess insurance you already paid for because you *Need* a nice holiday.
"Car hire?", you say, scathing. We were away for a week. I needed easy. It was late. Bike hire was shut. I wasn't waiting for buses and they would never have arrived at 9pm.
I managed to drive in a foreign country while TSK navigated - incident free - all the way to our destination town. I wasn't worried about the driving. I've driven in France, Italy, Portugal, Romania, Sardegna but I'd no idea about Greek rules or drivers, despite the RAC's reassurances, and there were plenty of un-helmeted Moto riders to worry about. My eyes were glued to the road - and other road users - as TSK fired directions at me. Even if I'd had the chance to look at the scenery I'd have seen nothing but blackness. Perhaps a distant twinkle of a mountain monastery.Crete has dark skies nailed.
• • •
We dropped of the A-road into the town where we were staying at about 10pm. Lads buzzed about on motos and dirt bikes and hung around in packs outside bars. I was pretty nervous. We reached the one way system. I needed to do a 3 point turn without hitting any of the random pot vases lining the road sides. It was too close for comfort. I had to find reverse in a car I'd had for 40 minutes. It was the first time we'd gone backwards. Other motorists waited patiently.
Finally we drove up the road past "our house". I thought there was parking further up but we started to get quite far away and plenty of others were parked tightly on the roadside. We did another turn in a wide bit and parked like locals - wheels tight into the rock wall, wing mirrors folded in. Of course you kicked your passenger out before you parked. Cats seemed to crawl from the very fabric of buildings - some clearly well looked after, that slunk back to their homes. Others were scraggy and hung around long enough to ascertain whether you have food to share but were on tenterhooks, ready to skedaddle at the first sign of approach.
It's always nice when the key code at the Air bnb works. We were indoors - not particularly warm but ours - for one week only.
Bags dropped we went out in search of dinner - at 1030 on a Saturday evening.
As well as the cats we now noticed the dogs - completely randomly sprawled. Some collared, others not. Belonging to someone - probably.
It took us 3 walks by the main square, hedging our bets we'd find something more than a Taverna open. The only place that still seemed to be serving food was absolutely banging and a hot house of local activity. In fact I got the distinct impression that if we went in we'd be gatecrashing Grama's 80th. Finally we settled on a pizza restaurant - well, it was skantily a takeaway with tables. We were served by a friendly waiter who brought great English to the table. Dad stretched dough while mum prepped food out the back. 3 sons served, lounged or scooted pizzas in boxes around the town. We propped ourselves against the wall with some cold pop and tried not to fall asleep. The whole thing had an air of endurance sport about it, desperately trying to down your dinner at 10pm, hoping you can get a box to take the leftovers. Complete mental annihilation.
As I tried to eat my pizza crusts, the immaculately turned out late-teens girls from the next table went to the counter to pay. The boys smiled coyly. Glances were exchanged. By this time of year they were ensconced in leather jackets as we looked on, sitting near the door in thin trousers and just the one long sleeved top.
The least handsome boy caught the eye of the least comfortable girl. She was on my wavelength. While her friends wore biker jackets, her leather was best described as a 'coat' and was more "50's nan" than "biker chick" Still, they had a spark.
The kids left, we got our pizza box and gripped it tightly as we threaded home through the bezzing motos and stray animals.
• • •
Our bellies full and we hovered in the no-mans land between exhaustion and no-exercise with too much excitement on the side. At 4am I got up to eat more pizza then nearly fell asleep on the downstairs sofa. Back in bed it was too warm but I managed another 4 sound hours sleep, getting up at 8 to tackle the next foodie challenge.
Stepping outside in daylight the whole place was less daunting. Gone were the young kids on motos. The streets were lined with wrinkled old men with fabulous moustaches who nodded respectfully in recognition. Much to our relief the bakery was open and, almost purely by accident, we ate spinach* pastries for breakfast washed down with almond cream pies and coffee.
*We thought she said "Spanish" & decided Chorizo was a very acceptable breakfast.
As we feasted we watched a man clutching handfuls of windscreen wipers being beckoned by an older "customer" to his truck. The guy tried a few out before settling then turned and called out loud in the street to pedal his wares. Another small car bounced through the carpark potholes eager to get his own rear wiper replaced. Since it is missing from our hire car too we wondered if it was worth beckoning the windscreen wiper man ourselves. We wondered how much of Crete's black market economy is centred on the theft and resale of windscreen wipers.
• • •
With our bellies actually filled and more than we bargained for, we wobbled home, still hoping to find more fresh produce which wasn't otherwise committed to a baked product.
A pickup truck drove by with an Alsatian dog on board. It was tied on because it picked a fight with every other dog in the village. Two small dogs ran around the tyres of the pickup as it threaded through the tiny streets. They yapped and the Alsatian hollered and snapped his salivating teeth as the little dogs chided "come down here and say that; haha you can't".
The feral cats of the square continued about their business of cleaning assholes and basking in the sun.
• • •
We walked a loop of the old town in hope of finding an open shop. We found ourselves in streets where real people actually live and tend their gardens of lemons, lime, clementines, pomegranate and exquisite flowers spitting trumpets of colour and tissue papers of white down the sides of houses and over carports.
We got wonderfully lost in the murals and found more cats. The call to prayer rang out from the churches and we wiggled our way home. We'd already scaled 1/3 the elevation of the mountain we were planning to climb today but we were on the wrong side of the valley.
• • •
Without any new fresh food, we returned to the bakery to get sandwiches. The language barrier got us turkey sandwiches, not olive & feta, and we got that on "black" bread (wholegrain), which is - obviously - the opposite of "white".
A short tour through one of the few construction sites and we joined the Grand Route (footpath) 4 which crosses Crete E-W. At first we passed genuine roadside olive trees, threaded our way past the pressing farm, then Olive groves and a few farmed plots growing more citrus and pears as well as keeping goats or geese.
Then a sign took us away from the concreted track and onto (from me)
"ooh a real path". For the next hour we scrambled over limestone lumps
and bits of scree - all loosely held together by brush, spiny plants,
miniature holly, sage and plenty of things we couldn't ID. As I over
balanced while trying to pick up some litter I soon realised you can't
just catch yourself in the undergrowth here - the undergrowth bites back
with spines. Some just scratch, others embed themselves in your skin
and refuse to leave.
We were horrified to find others were following. A blonde lady refused to pass us no matter how long I spent staring at Eagles with my binoculars. There were 2 others somewhere behind us.
As we topped out onto one of the mountain" roads" (gravel), I had my wobble. I staggered up onto the road like I'd just summited a 6ft heap of 40% dust and scree. Which I had. Not sure what everyone else's excuse was but they were making that idle roadway look awfully tricky.
We gained a Belgian teammate for awhile before he scrambled off along the ridge intent on "summitting". We took the time to visit the monastery, photograph and go inside.
Next up on the ridge walk was the Minoan Sanctuary as we threaded our way between families picnicing and tour guides. It was locked to visitors so we skirted around it, despite the illegally trampled rusty fence and peered in from the rundown weather station/ transmitter station then continued along the ridge and the GR path. At some point we went off route. At some point I thought I could see tracks on the map (they were contours). Oh how we chuckled to ourselves. You don't always have to go where they tell you to. Ha!
On the map we had a lovely rolling slope down to the route at the end of the ridge. As is often the way, the terrain was very different.
It started to go wrong really when we realised we were following goat tracks and then we realised the goats were coming towards us because they had run out of ways to get down the hill.
After a bit too much scouting about between limestone crags and bushwhacking the spikiest undergrowth known to man and the hardest scrambling I've done since the 90's, I had a major panic as the weather suddenly turned the light levels down a notch.
Paranoid we still had a long way to go, even when we got to the path, I had sudden visions of us either fumbling about in the darkness or falling off a crag to be ripped to ribbons by Greece's equivalent of a hawthorn bush.
We spent what seemed like an eternity back-scrambling out of the gorse and scrub forest to finally set eyes on the path 100m downhill of us AND with a clear line to get to it. Once on it we marvelled at how a good bit of getting lost and misadventure is just the ticket to turn a sedentary everyday accessible ramble into an" Ahhh isn't this nice?"
As I walked down that slope I thought about the man with the shouty Alsatian dog in his truck. About how cool he thought it would be to have a dog he could keep in the back of his pickup. About how wrong he was. Our GR route brought us back to the nice quiet sedentary road from where we watched eagles some more and emptied the grit from our shoes. Farm workers passed in their trucks, they seemed to be checking we were OK and waved happily as we munched on snacks before the descent to town.
On our way over the hill, a man was welcomed home by 5 cats and his dog who was busy trying its best (getting close) to leap over the 7ft gate at the property. Just as we'd let our guard down, I had a stand-off with a female dog as she saw us off her property and I defended my puppy (Tsk). We backed away. I tooled up my water bottle to at least be armed with something. There was no further trouble.
When we got back to town it was a different place - 3 or 4 different restaurants were open throughout. We'd already stocked up so passed through in awe. From couples up to big family dinners. The place was alive! Men discretely fed ham to the ferral cats who sat patiently (or tapped a gentle reminder)
Dogs sat tethered to their owners wrist while the town dogs begged for something special, now turning their nose up at the bread scraps they'd been given. They knew something better was available.
Monday
After our first all-day hike we settled on a beach day to recharge the batteries. A poor level of research led us to spend many hours traversing a mountain pass which only led to a dirt track that our car could not handle and a dusty, rocky bowl. It was all very nice but our legs were not good for the 12km return hike from where we felt the need to abandon the Fiat Panda. It was not the high-clearance 4WD version but the woosy city hybrid version. I abandoned it in the middle of the dirt road and got out to - at least - check that we had an inflated spare tyre so I could drive over the rocks instead of risking ripping off the exhaust with them. At that exact moment, a cement truck appeared. We moved out of the way then agreed on a 3 point turn to head back to tarmac roads where our rental agreement would permit recovery, at least. At the top of the mountain pass we parked by a chapel, sat in the Lee of the stone wall and picnic'd on our lunch like a couple of old biddies. At least we got out of the car.
It was 2pm by the time we reached Tsoutsouros. We parked in an empty carpark and walked straight to the village harbour where a beach of grey sand offered olive tree shade and modesty changing facilities. My modesty was protected from an old man walking by with a cane and two guys driving by in a pickup more concerned by getting to their boat in the harbour than some random English couple on the beach in November.
The sea was chilly to the skin but pleasantly so. After a bit of adaptation and faffing with sunglasses and jewellery I did a few pleasant laps of the bay and was amused by sea urchins bobbing and waving with the flow of the ocean. I've only ever seen the dried carcasses of their shells in Scotland. We stayed a while to dry off then walked the length of the village.
One leathery old man was swimming further along. A few workmen hung around. The big hotel seemed closed except for a few end-of-season staff or possibly, its owners. We holed up at the only open restaurant for a coffee and watched the cats prowl for food and squabble over begging rights at the tables.
They were all strays and inapproachable. After our coffee I had to go back in the sea for more. I was only moderately put off by discovering the Sheltered spot where all the coke cans and Fanta bottles collect alongside waterlogged planks of wood. I did a bit of front crawl then, not finding any new wildlife to look at, did a tour of the harbour wall on foot before leaving the town with more cats than people. All that was left was the long, mountainous drive home.
Tuesday
On Tuesday we set off for a hike. It was 10km, I didn't realise it was fairly easy. It passed a local archaeological site which we would later discover to be of quite some significance for Greece, not just Crete. It was fenced off - though not completely impenetrable. We were more interested in the modern forest of conifers offering plenty of glorious shade and for about 20 minutes we walked someone else's tidy, collared, well-behaved dogs around the forest paths. They stopped for a pet, then trundled along with us for some time. They disappeared after we left the parking lot next to a big house. They either live at the house or the carpark, subsiding on tourist picnics. Our route took us on a tour of olive groves and vineyards where we sat amongst the scrub on an olive grove access track and consumed our lunch under the watchful eye of an eagle which soared overhead.
Our view was of our village to the North and Irakleon in the South. We nestled in the undergrowth to avoid the breeze that would have a skantily-clad English hiker shivering after a while, no matter how much they welcomed the same breeze while on the move.
We hauled back up through the terraces only to find I had confused a fenceline on the map for a path. Instead we picked through the olive groves, bee hives and carob pods to find our out route to re-trace back to the village.
It was a short day, a wonderfully short day which in retrospect was much needed. We ate dessicated pineapple overlooking ancient Greek wells then dropped into the village for some modern Greek coffee.
Rouvas Gorge 2/11
It
was supposed to be a beach day after yesterday's hike but yesterday's
hike would only have been a strenuous run. As a hike it was a bit
mediocre. Done by 3pm, we had to head out again later for a walk around
the village which turned into dinner, accompanied by two rounds of
divine Feta cheese the size of supermarket Camembert. It was a restless
night of cheese uneasiness so we'd had a bit of a lie in.
I knew a beach day wasn't going to cut my thirst for exercise and a damn good adventure in the high mountains.
We
packed up our lunch and wobbled on wiggly lanes through olive groves
onto the South of the island, then West, then started to climb back
inland to Zoros where a nice little cafe tempted us in for a coffee top
up and pancake for second breakfast. Our next stop was the carpark for
the gorge walk where we were the only customers except for a Lada 4x4
which had become part of the local flora, it had been there so long.
We
set off up the way marked path. The only real navigational challenge
being to negotiate our route through the JCB and tree surgeon re-working
the path out of the Gorge following recent landslides. This
purposefully avoided a particularly bouldered steep section, that we
would be pleased to have avoided, later on.
At
these low levels there was a gentle trickle of water in the gorge
though it mostly seemed to come from a water overflow pipe from the
hotel near the bottom and numerous "accidental" fractures in a catenary
of irrigation pipes that hung from any available wall, boulder or tree
lining the gorge. The higher we proceeded up the gorge the fewer pipes
and fewer leak points though it didn't feel like water would be a
problem, we were both carrying plenty.
After
the landslide, The path soon rejoined the gorge. Temperatures were
starting to peak but between sections of steep walking over a rocky,
exposed river bed we were treated to paths up through oak and other
relatively water-starved trees like Eucalyptus, Cretan maple and random
spiny things.
Their
shade was welcome and reaching out to touch their boughs conducted the
heat away from hot, swollen hands. Just before I completely expired I
found us a shaded spot to sit and alongside was a water trough filled
with clear water. Sure there were maple leaves settled in the bottom and
a thoughtless poo on a nearby rock but I soaked our hats which gave us
both some cooling and I set off with small rivulets of water coursing
down my back.
Beyond
this point of tranquillity, the rush started. We passed - or were
passed by - Americans, French, Germans, Dutch, Greek and Triathletes.
Our secret get away had become a little busy. The path took another turn
out of the gorge avoiding 30-60ft high vertical/overhanging limestone
cliffs stuffed in between with boulders the size of SUVs and terraced
houses. Instead we climbed a 6 inch wide footpath up the hillside where
"safety" barriers were intermittent. At one point they gave up and built
a bench on the inside curve of the path where a family of Greeks were
taking a rest, causing us to teeter by on the edge of the slope as we
all greeted eachother gaily, like it was no problem.
Andrew
dreamed of a cooling breeze on top of the mountain and I promised him
there was a full forest to enjoy then qualified that with "according to
the map". I had no idea how forest-like it would be.
Soon
enough the breeze started and we cooled down a little as the path
clawed up the dry river bed and crossed over what would be cascading
boulders and waterfalls in a succession of wooden bridges - all
fabricated from local materials on the surface but supported underneath
with more rugged steel I-beams.
I
realised it was 1:30 and, despite our 11am calorie loading, it was
probably best to eat. Right on time a stone wall in the shade offered a
comfortable seat to rest our feet and eat half our lunch.
Back
on the trail we were climbing less now. Kms clicked by on the watch. It
felt like hours to reach 3.25km and then we reached 5 km in no time.
Route markers on trees talked of 25km distances, I kept quiet - knowing
that our planned route was 20km, although I hoped to cut it shorter if
we needed to.
Eventually
some gritty, cloudy puddles appeared then trickling water with no
apparent source led us to a fully equipped picnic area. We went off
route to walk around it, marvelling at our good choices to visit this
place in the off-season and imagining every one of the 50-ish picnic
tables occupied by families and squealing infants.
Back
at the Refuge we passed the only other tourist family left on the hill and
checked out the Info-board which explained why the gorge is a Unesco
protected heritage park and why some dead-looking twigs were protected
by construction rebar, supporting tiny chicken-wire cages. Greek
orchids. Clearly very much in the off season.
We
set off along my mapped route. Rather than retrace our steps I'd
plotted our way over to the Euro 4 route which Traverses Crete
end-to-end - future life goals. I looked around me at the landscape,
desperately trying to remember what I had in store for me/us. Although
the refuge was at the top of the gorge, the forest plateau was only atop
a minor blip of a hillock surrounded by a much larger cauldera. A ring
of Mountaintops surrounded us about 500m above. I didn't 'actually'? Did
I? I was open, honest- "knowing me, I probably routed us up that" I
said, pointing at the biggest one in our general direction of travel. We
agreed to go take a look but started off by completing our forest route
before picking off on the new path.
I
was relieved we'd checked the refuge - not that we had enough warm
clothes or food for a comfy night there. But it was a potential retreat
point that would keep us alive over night.
Our
new path immediately started picking its way up the spine of one of the
other minor hills in the cauldera. After a brief ad-lib with the garmin
across deep beds of acorns that made feet scatter, we finally found the
E4 and a series of useful stone cairns. The surface turned into chossy
rock and the trees got thinner then non-existent as we emerged from the
protected forest onto open mountain slopes. Three things happened at
once:
I
checked my watch. 3pm. We'd left the refuge at 2:45pm. No matter what
the distance to go on the Garmin, we couldn't make it to the top of
"that thing" and down an unknown route before dark. In fact, I was
dubious we'd make the top before sunset.
Andrew
caught me up, huffing and sigh-ing and I unromantically proffered a
passive-aggressive "Do you want to go down?". Terrified by this
outpouring of affection he satisfied himself that things were about to
get easier since the apparent "line" involved a rambling ridgeline and
then a descent.
The
ridgeline now in view sported an array of buildings from farm to
shepherds hut to chapel. We had absolutely no idea where the rest of the
route would go but agreed to get as far as the buildings and assess
because anything was preferable to the scree run down steep gravel
covered with acorns and back the way we'd come.
The E4 skirted around the mountain farm rubble patch in the back garden. Goats bleated at us as we passed, hoping for hay.
Next
we passed the hut. 2 doors had locks but the third had a key in it. I
peered in the window. The tidy made bed, food at the table & coat
hanging on a hook made me feel very guilty for prying.The little chapel
seemed to be accessed via the track we were on but we could not see the
track leading away from it. I racked my brains back to the October
evening when I sat in my centrally heated house plotting apparent
short-cuts between mountain roads to get us off the hill the most direct
way. Please don't tell me I'd done this at 4000ft.
We
still didn't fancy backtracking but at least we were now at the point
of inflexion where my route finally took a turn South before eventually
wiggling its way down the hillside. But which hillside? We still didn't
know. What we did know is, at least it wasn't going to go up "that
thing".
• • •
I
let myself forget the route and actually enjoy the mountain - just for
one moment - I mean it was exactly what we'd come here for and we'd
finally got away from the crowds. If, by crowds, you mean 15 or so
like-minded people.
We
moved through the farm's goat pens. Pungent smelling and unpleasant
until you accept the smell as something close to tasty tasty cheese.
I
photographed the cauldera then got back to the business of worrying
where the route went interspersed with worrying about time versus
distance to travel.
• • •
Finally I got it through to myself that the longer I spent second guessing, the longer it would take to descend.
While
this sounds like I didn't have a clue about map reading lets be clear,
the number of curves and escarpments and bluffs in the caldera made it
nearly impossible to tell which face was which on the map and steepness
combined with cypress tree-cover made it impossible to see clear lines
on the hillside. Only by going there would we find out and we reckoned
we had enough head torch to get down either way.
We
continued onwards past the farm, starting to descend now at a roadway
rate of around 3%. Goats feeding on scrub above us threatened to
dislodge boulders and scree down on us from above when they became
alarmed. It was best not to stand next to the wall of rock at the
roadside. Our trek was harmonised to the clunk of animal bells.
• • •
When
we approached the chapel we were relieved to find it nestled beneath
the track and the track continued beyond. It was here that the map
markings turned to "road" albeit Cretan roads (sketchy gravel).
I
boldly suggested we would be down before dark. Although our first steep
uphill 5k took us 3 hours, surely we could do 15k down in 3 hours
before 6 pm. Should be good on a 5:30 sunset.
Past
the final ridge building we continued to speculate what direction our
route took. We were rapidly running out of hillside with nothing but
steep valley walls ahead and to our right and a precipitous drop to our
left. I opened up the prospect that, although we weren't going to summit
the cauldera, we may well be about to climb out over the saddle of its
rim, though deep down we hoped not.
We tried to pick out lines on the opposite wall but all of them looked like goat tracks.
To
my relief, by the time we arrived at this death wall we had reached the
first of many switchbacks but they went upwards, not down. Well, at
least we knew how we were getting out of here and the switch backs at
least meant we could maintain a good steady marching pace with which to
eat through the remaining 12 Kms. We switched back about 5 times until
we eventually emerged from the trees to a moonscape. Any remaining
greenery was wild and wind blasted and very spiny. The Libyan sea
sparkled silver ahead, surrounded by Crete headlands and a large Island
nestled in the impending sunset.
Water
storage and irrigation infrastructure gave us hope that the road would
be good all the way down. Indeed, after a few switchbacks, the first
working farm appeared and while we cut through the goat yard track, the
switchback was concreted to make it vehicle-friendly. We called them out
as concrete corners and Tsk strode them out whilst I jogged them to mix
things up a bit.
• • •
Despite
our plans to put on coats or jumpers for the downhill (we caved in much
earlier on the way up to the ridge) we started to warm up rapidly. We
were descending fast into warmer air and were back in full sun even
though it was on its way to the sea.
I
had hoped we'd be able to shortcut some of the switchbacks but any weak
lines had already been exploited by goats and turned into gravel
chutes. Everything else was high cliffs, boulders, trees or spiky brush.
My last hopes to cut the journey short were a couple of switchbacks
around 150m from the gorge walk up.
We
had been promising ourselves the second half of our lunch on the way
down. At close to 5pm, Tsk got excited when he saw a concrete water tank
with 3 and 4inch flanges sticking out the top and hallucinated a picnic
area with benches. Just as his disappointment dropped as he shared his
vision with me, I noticed a 1×4 planed plank of wood nailed to a tree
which piqued my interest. Sure enough, behind the tree was a classic
greek picnic area. Made from polished flat rock and cemented into
benches and tables, they are paradise. We took off our shoes, put our
feet up on the table and stared at the sun continuing its trajectory
towards the sea.
"How
far back? Tsk asked. It was perfect timing. I was hoping he'd forgotten
my earlier admission there were 15 kms to go and now I could happily
report there were less than 10km. In fact 9.75. He seemed most happy to
learn that we were still on my plotted route and I had not just been
ad-libbing the last 5km. He trusts sofa-me more than I do.
When
we got moving again, I was finally able to let go my fears of being
caught out in the dark in a foreign land and settle into my long
distance mode of enjoying the best and quietest part of the day.
Reminding myself that 20hm hikes are made up of plenty of surprises -
not just the whiz bang moments you came for but the seemingly never
ending trudge of either getting there, or getting back home again.
We
left our roadside comfort and skipped back into the forest, absorbing
ourselves in the pinkening sky and the aromas of ponderosa pine, sage
and goat. The only greek tragedy was that the sun did not dip into the
sea but merely disappeared behind the headland leaving us with a
dramatic melange of orange and purple sky. As we approached farm
territory in the dark the dogs started barking leaving us both with the
fight or flight response to have a wee and tool-up. Having been "seen
off" by a pack of unruly loose farm dogs earlier in the week, neither of
us had any intention of doing so in the dark.
TSK
carried his stick. I found one with a knot about 5 inches from the end
which acted as a great handhold for a walking stick. We delayed putting
on head torches as the afterglow of the sunset was enough to hike by and
the half-moon soon took over as a perfectly acceptable light source
give-or-take the occasional stumble over loose rocks when walking in the
shadow of an olive tree The walking stick was put to good use as a
walking stick but thankfully all of the dogs were fenced-in.
The
last task of the day was a bit of foraging. TSK promised mushroom &
mountain sage risotto for tea and damit he was going to deliver. By the
light on his phone he harvested a handful of sage & I had the
honour of carrying the aroma down the rest of the descent in my
easy-pocket. My one remaining concern was a drunken wobbly line on the
garmin which I interpreted as "the bit I made up" on the computer using
an obvious track on google maps that did not obviously translate as an
access route on real maps.
Once
we hit the "residential" road of glorious tarmac, my wiggly line turned
into "Service Road". It clearly was a gated driveway and we decided not
to bother. A recalculation gave us 1. 5km more trek along pristine
tarmac - nice but dull - before resuming the Route National which
gravelled us back towards the hotel.
Our
head torch (the one that was accessible) went on for all of 10 minutes
before the bright lights of expensive mountain properties took us back
to the carpark in its original state, one rubbishy Lada 4x4 and a
slightly dusty Centauro hire car. I'd followed the trip advisor review
not to park in the shade as the goats will use your car to access the
trees so we were relieved to find there were no hoofprints on the roof.
The stick went in the footwell behind the drivers seat in case I needed it the next day.
The high-sugar foods came out in order to get us home with some level of alertness for the drive through the olive groves.
Thursday.
The
day started with the inevitable yet unpredictable arrival of 2 coach
tours to our village. Dutch and American tourists talked at by their
guides while 50% of them looked bored and we felt privileged to be doing
our own thing, simple - shopping in the local economy & interacting
(if somewhat badly) with local people.
• • •
Our
guidebook for Crete is from 2000, when I had a cursory thought about
visiting Greece. All prices are in dr and obviously very outdated but I
expected principals to be similar. Our second beach experience was
based on finding something more spectacular to goggle at. I had visions
of coral reefs, angel fish and such. We headed for the rocky shores
around Elounde fuelled by the peninsular and the promise (for Tsk) of a
slightly more vibrant village life than Monday's excursion to
Tsoutsouros. After a long unenjoyable motorway drive then a re-trace
along the coast (we missed the mountain road and had to trundle
uncomfortably behind a police car for 40km) we parked out of town then
skipped past town in search of crystal blue waters.
• • •
Lunch
was consumed en route as my legs refused to co-operate further
following yesterday's exertions. Even after eating, the small hill over
the peninsular was a solid effort, fuelled only by the promise of sand
as an easier way to access the water compared to the solid and spiky
volcanic coastal rocks. We followed the local's trail to the sandy
beach. As we timed our arrival for about 1pm we couldn't get in the
water fast enough and left our kit in the shade. It took all of a couple
of minutes for me to commit to a swim. When I did my face went full in
where I checked on the fish. Telltale cramp in my feet had me back in
the shallows and out of the water but it didn't take much sitting out in
the sun for me to be ready to go back in.
This
time I was ready for a swim out and back across the bay in deeper
parts. It was an absolute pleasure. Clear views of the bottom and
crystalline fish with iridescent fins or stripy bodies. It was not, by
any stretch of the imagination, a coral reef, or teeming with life (more
pottering) but it was pleasant. I spent enough time in the water to get
proper cold then relocated us onto finer sand to bask dry in the sun
and finish lunch.
Even
with a change into dry clothes the sun was insufficient to warm me up.
We snacked and watched kids playing, then beat a retreat to check out
the church.
There was bird watching and more
sitting as I intermittently re-heated and over-heated.
Back
in the town we were grumpily refused a coffee so beat a hasty retreat,
reserving judgement on this holiday resort. Instead we found the
mountain road back. A few switchbacks led us to a "traditional" aka
run-down mountain village where we stumbled on another more open-looking
taverna. In the interests of international relations, I added a modesty
top to my bra-less swimmers dress. Still the leathered old ladies
glared at us and the middle-aged (presumably) owner rocked back &
forth in his chair laughing - commenting (presumably) drunkenly.
Thankfully he dispatched the younger chap to serve us coffee in pidgin
English with the added bonus I got a cold brew and we were dispatched
with 2 ice cold bottles of water. That is hospitality. We sat outside
talking amongst ourselves, backs to what-might-have-been staring then
left them to talk openly about us - presumably for the rest of the day,
if not the whole week.
The
rest of the day passed without comment - the briefest of mountain
experiences inevitably blitzing the tourist pazzaz, yet again.
Finale
My thirst for salt water and mountains sated, on Friday I declared it a rest day. My ageing body needed one. Following a few hours reading and crafting, I realised what day it was - our last full day. I instantly rued "wasting" it but in equal measure, continued to be thankful of the rest. In honour of it being our last day we did a lap of the village along lanes we'd not used before in search of a waterfall. If by waterfall you mean a trickling stream, then we were successful. We had a nice little trespass into a vineyard and nicked the odd grape or two but otherwise it was leisurely, easy and mainly involved me photographing and sniffing the undergrowth. We ate out and as rest days go it was a roaring success.
On Saturday we returned to the airport, parked completely illegally outside it in the bus lane with everyone else while TSK dropped off left-luggage then got rid of our hire car at the rental shop and headed into town for the day. If anyone's reading this and thinking of a Crete holiday with a late flight out of Irakleon - do yourself a favour and ditch the city. Head to the big island museum of Crete and spend the day in there. The city's selling points leave little to be desired. I've seen bigger fountains in my local park and the old zoo park site has been converted into a carpark and construction site. A new kind of chimpanzee now inhabits the monkey sanctuary.
The highlights were attending the harbour and looking through the glassy water to see the underside of the boats through the still clear water and the ice cream consumed next to said-fountain. The harbour walls museum contained many replicas, some stone cannon balls, cannons and a lot of Civil Engineering history which is easily tired of. The 12km walk was, however a good precedent for getting on a plane and sleeping uncomfortably for 2 hours. I'm back to my comparisons with ultra racing.
