Day 12 – Knossos

Today was the longest and therefore earliest tour we had booked. We got up before dawn and had our special breakfast brought out. We gulped it down and I swallowed my motion-sickness-pill along with it. I figured if anything went wrong we could always ask the guide to translate the notice. It was supposed to take an hour before it kicked in, but the bus was already there. Again a big one, but no guide. We took our seats with the other sleepy tourists and headed for Iraklio.

In the middle of the city, somewhere along a busy street, the bus stops and our tour guide jumps in. She immediately introduces herself and starts talking. She has lived in Germany for a few years, so she knows the slang and how to talk to us. Plus, she really knows her Cretan history. All day long, no matter how far apart the stops were, she always had something to tell. And it never got boring! She was upbeat and sarcastic – I liked her.

Our tour starts in the most known Cretan tourist attraction: Knossos. Usually described as a palace, it was actually an administrative building. This is the famous “labyrinth”, named that way because of the 1400 rooms it was made of. For the time, the architecture is really astounding. Everything was built with a strategic purpose. They had a cooling system, sewage lines, everything! Some frescoes were still preserved with the vibrant colors and the myths surrounding the culture were fascinating. I even bought a book about Greek tragedy at the museum shop. We walked through ancient pathways and got to see inside the “decision room”, where the main chair was carved right into the stone wall.

After that, our bus led us over the serpentine of the Dikti mountains to the Lassithi plain, which is a very important place for the Cretan agriculture. It is also known for it’s big white windmills, but we didn’t see any. We stopped at the little town of Psichro, where a stone path leads up a mountain (same rocks as in Samaria, same blazing sun) to a big flow-stone cave. And I mean BIG. I don’t remember ever being in such a cave, but either way it was impressive. There were huge stalagmites and stalactites and moss everywhere. It was pretty steep, moist and very dark, and it got cold almost immediately after the entrance. But the best part is the story that goes with it: this was the cave in which Zeus was born.

This was one of the many occasions on which we had to pay entrance fees. Actually, I had to pay an entrance fee. Because before we left, The BF and I had a talk about what to bring with. Since we didn’t want to lose anything valuable, we emptied our wallets. I also left my student card behind, since I thought I wouldn’t need it. Turns out all the entrance fees are free for students. I could have saved a total of 14 euros and the Greeks favorite question: why? With a sly grin the ticket guy at Phaistos had asked me why I didn’t take my card with me. He was the only one who let me in free anyway. At Zeus’ cave, they checked twice, and this time The BF had to explain: why? Why was his ticket free? Like we somehow bribed the first (grumpy) guy.

Once everyone was back down and enjoyed a freshly squeezed orange juice, we headed to our next stop. Which was too bad, actually, because the tavern with the juice had some nice local specialties to eat as well. But apparently our lunch had been prearranged. Our last stop for the day was in the middle of nowhere (literally). We didn’t have much time, so when the group got there the waiter just started shouting out the dishes we could choose from (about five). I had the moussakas, which was pretty heavy on the bechamel-sauce. After that we took a digestive walk down the only road, but there wasn’t much to see. Then we all piled back in the bus and braced ourselves for the very long trip back to the hotels. I fell asleep half-way, even though our guide was still narrating some interesting stuff. Surprisingly, I didn’t feel sick this time. I was hoping it was the medicine that simply lasted all day, but the guide said that their friendly bus driver paid attention to drive in a way that wouldn’t make anybody nauseous. We got back in time for the dinner buffet.

Day 11 – beach minus

Let me explain why my posts have been getting fewer and farther between: in my vacation, I was lazy (that’s what it’s for, right?). So I only wrote down what happened until day 9. Last post was more or less easy to recreate, because of the tour. Today won’t be as easy, so it probably won’t be as long either. After all, it was over three weeks ago, so the memories are more anecdotal. That’s why I needed more time to sit down and recollect. Here goes.

This Wednesday was one of the seemingly few days we had planned to spend entirely at the beach. Since we’ve been here for more than a week and I’ve been prepping my skin since we arrived, I assumed it would be safe to switch from SPF 50+ to the next level: our freshly bought tube of 20. After all, I didn’t want to come back from a two weeks trip in the Mediterranean looking like my usual pale self. What’s a little cancer risk in comparison (insert yellow laugh here)?

We went back to the nice River beach and were surprised at the gushes of wind we felt once we went around the bend heading towards the water. I was gaining hope – could it be that strong wind = big waves? Once we got there, I was overjoyed. The big waves I missed yesterday – they’re here! Finally, time to do some real wave jumping! I couldn’t wait to get to the parasol, strip off and jump in. Alas, that’s when my conscience (also known as The BF) spoke up: “this is not New Jersey. You do not know the waters or the currents here. Those strong waves look dangerous”. Nonsense!, said I, you’re just afraid because you’re not used to it! These waves aren’t even as big as those in Jersey. I have experience with this, I can handle it! Replies he: sure, and the sand isn’t hot.

So I hesitated, and stayed on my chair for now. Ok, so maybe the waves weren’t as big, but they did look mighty strong. The number one factor I had to consider, however, were the rocks. I did not know rocks. To me, beach and ocean waves = sand. Nothing but sand. Here on the other hand, The BF had already scraped open his hand the first day we tried wave jumping, and they weren’t even that strong. Now imagine getting toppled over and hitting your head on these things. Ouch. Just as the kid inside me wanted to go: but, I won’t get toppled over! I can do this! (Just as I thought I could handle the scorching sand), that’s when the guy came to collect the money. In not so broken English he said: very dangerous. Do not go swimming. The BF said: listen to him. We do not want to spend a vacation in which you are hurt. And I thought: nah, what does he know. He only lives here…

Long story short: we didn’t go in the water that day. Nobody did. All we saw were people walking along the shore, marveling at the waves. We stayed on our lounge chairs, moving around with the sun and working our tans. At least I had a very exciting book to read (which was kinda hard with the wind and all, but I managed).

Went back to the hotel in time for dinner, showered and cooled down. As we were planning the next day (another tour ahead!), I realized it would be the longest bus ride we ever had. We were going way into the country, the roads were bound to make me sick. So we decided not to leave it up to chance this time and went down to the reception to ask where the nearest pharmacy was. I thought I had passed one once, but I couldn’t remember where. The receptionist said there was one, but it was in the next town over and they close at ten. It was quarter of and he said we would need 15 minutes to get there if we went fast.

So here we were, almost ready to go to bed, and instead speeding down the street to get there. The BF went ahead, since I couldn’t follow fast enough in my flip-flops. We made it just at 22h, forgetting that the Greeks don’t take time that seriously. The BF had already explained what we were looking for and the nice lady behind the counter asked if I had any medical problems. I said no, no allergies or anything. Then she asked again, because they had to be sure. I said no. She presented me with two options: a herbal mixture or medicine. Since the former were just some pills without any packaging, I preferred the latter. Plus, I wanted the real stuff. Then she asked again: do I have any medical issues. At this point I was getting sceptical, but I thought I could always check with the package insert. So I said no, payed for the stuff and asked how I should take them. She explained, it seemed harmless, we thanked and left. Back at the hotel I saw: only the ingredients were marked in English on the box. The insert was all in Greek.

Day 10 – Gortys, Phaestos & Matala

Yassas! Sorry about the gap again, but I had some employment to attend to. Now that’s it’s mostly taken care of, I can continue. So – Tuesday of the second week of vacation on Crete. Today is another day on which we have booked a tour. We get up very early again, just in time to grab the beginning of the breakfast buffet. We wait outside for the bus, only this time it’s more one of those small shuttle-buses, and there’s no guide to greet us. We show the bus driver our tickets, he marks our names off of a list, I’m guessing we’re in the right place. The BF picks out a spot towards the front, on the left, right behind an old man in some sort of safari outfit. This geezer then immediately turns around and starts to randomly talk to us. About this other trip he did, and how he writes down the number of the bus, because otherwise you can’t find it again, because they don’t always stay parked at the same spot, and so on and so forth. The BF and I are stunned and speechless and can’t seem to wag this guy off. And it’s like 7 a.m. and I’ve had but one coffee.

After a while the old man has no choice but to turn back facing the front, because our driver today is a total madman. He’s whipping this vehicle around corners (and there are many on these winding roads) like he’s on a rally. I feel sick again, turn the ac-knob straight on me and take deep breaths. Since we know from the brochure that this is a tour that starts from the capital, Iraklion, I assume we’ll change into a bigger bus there. When I see that I’m right, I am very relieved. Until the serpentine come around. Our route goes up the Ida mountains, through vineyards. If I weren’t so busy keeping in my breakfast, I would very much enjoy the scenery. In the big bus we have a tour guide: a nice little lady, the cliché of a Greek with wonderful facial features and flowy curly dark hair (including some beard stubble). Plus: she’s pregnant. I have no idea how she can do this, in this heat, in this state. She seems kind of new at this, hesitating at times with the information. Sadly, she is also often interrupted by creepy old guy (who brought his own foldable chair!), who either has impertinent questions or just wants to tell his own story (like the wall of china has anything to do with ancient greek ruins, whatever).

Our first stop is Gortys (or Gortina), capital of the ancient roman province, which lies in the biggest and most fertile plain of Crete: Messara. There are some small ruins of an ancient basilica and an amphitheater. The most impressive find however is this one wall – covered entirely in hieroglyphic-like symbols. It’s the longest continuous law text of Europe, which was pretty progressive, considering women’s rights and such. Not far from there, on a table mountain in the Messara plain, is the second largest minoic palace of Crete (and our second stop): Phaestos. By now the sun is really burning and we’re lucky to find any shade to stand under while the guide explains things like why certain parts were built in a certain way, what the ceremonies looked like, that these people only worshiped one god – mother earth – and saw themselves as part of it. It was a matriarchal civilisation, who valued culture and knew no war. Sounds ideal, doesn’t it? From this point there is a magnificent view all around, from the Ida mountains to the Lassithi massif.

Our third stop on this tour is my favorite: Matala. It is discribed in our tour guide as a typical fisher village turned hippie pilgrimage, on the banks of the lybian sea. It is now past noon and we know that we won’t necessarily have time to eat and to go swim, so we decide to eat first. Our guide has a recommendation that turns out to be spot on. At the very end of the village, past some labyrinthine bazaar, through other restaurants and up some stairs lies the “Scala”. From here we have a wonderful view of the beach, the village, the sea and the famous caves in the mountain wall, which were used by the Romans as burial grounds and by the hippies as housing. The waiter is very friendly and advises The BF in his choice of (freshly fished!) fish. I have just a taramosalata, which has never tasted better. As a compliment of the house we get a surprise dessert and I swear to God it was like a revelation. Now you must know that I really enjoy good food (I really enjoy bad food, too, but that’s beside the point here), but this was like nothing I have ever tasted before. They were little baked soft dough pockets with some very creamy, hot goat cheese (but not Feta) filling, covered in cretan honey. Mmmmmh!

With this lovin’ in our tummin’ we went to the beach for a little while, but alas – even though there were real waves (almost like in Jersey!) – there was no time. We got back to the bus and I braced myself for another very long ride. We made one little stop (when I thought I wasn’t far from hurling) at a town called Spili, where we could fill up our water bottles at a source fountain. From there they took us straight back to the hotels.