Following countless visits covering every season of the year, all prefectures, north and south, with car and motorbike, under heatwave and rainy weather conditions, socializing at city bars with students, running the half marathon event at Arkalohori, staying at camping facilities, old-fashioned rooms for rent, five-star hotels and homes as guest, and seeing all from beaches to gorges, I do not have an answer. At least, not a specific answer. I took off on yet another seven-day road trip around the Rethymno prefecture in mid-July, 2021 looking for answers.
The middle-aged gentleman standing before us had stepped out of his car, complaining that the parking lot’s entrance-exit bar had not risen so that he could pass through. The facility’s light system indicated that two parking spaces were still vacant. Donning just bathers revealing a dark tan, and sunglasses in the style of a 1970s shipping tycoon, he struck up a conversation with us. Good-natured and friendly, he urged us to visit two or three places close to the city of Rethymno as I observed a sea parakite moving over his head, in the distance, in an easterly direction. The heat was intense – dry, without wind.
The Rethymno city beaches are clean, sport blue flags and are safe when the winds are down. Strong currents and enormous waves created when northern winds are active prompt officials and lifeguards to raise small red flags as warning signs. Under such conditions, the powerful waves are unbeatable. But it is not like this today.
Old Town
The parking lot bar eventually rose, leaving us satisfied. The distance from this parking lot, servicing the marina, to the old town of Rethymno is a five-minute walk. The popular electric scooters overtake pedestrians with the audacity and arrogance generated by a fully charged battery. The only resemblance between a parked little train for tourist rides named Talos and the giant automaton of Greek mythology is the metallic body. The seaside road is clean and tidy, palm trees and flowers, cared for and properly pruned, reaching all the way to the entrance of the old port. The trip’s first selfies are taken here, against the backdrop of the lighthouse and the old tidal barrier. Couples with straw hats and sneakers stroll along with coordinated steps and positive moods.
Yes, it is very nice here.
The narrow, labyrinthine alleys of the old town are dominated by a sense of Middle East, or even North Africa. The history of Rethymno unfolds generously at every step, every turn. Ottoman entrances at buildings, Venetian influences, and Byzantine alleys make the place a living museum, along with the magnificent Fortezza, the city’s citadel, neat and tidy, the most conspicuous feature from anywhere you look. The shops of the present era, for tourists and not, utilise the ground levels of listed buildings. Some of these shops are exceptionally tasteful, possessing modern style. Amongst them, one may discover Crete in all its forms. Lyra musical instrument maker Nikos Papalexakis, continues, and also reinvents, the art of the handmade lyra (bowed instrument producing traditional Cretan music’s signature sound). The Giorgos Hatziparaschos family confectionary shop is fully represented by all its existing generations. They have turned their baklava and kataifi sweets into an attraction. When opened to shovel out its goods, the Alexandrakis bakery’s wood-fired oven is a challenge in the hot summer weather but comforting relief in winter. At the city cathedral, Isodion Tis Theotokou church, the hands of art conservator and icon painter Apostolos Theodorakopoulos, coloured purple as a result of his devoted preservation work on old paintings, wearied by moisture, look like wounded vows to art and faith.
Out on the streets, the locale is filled with pleasant images, lots of smiles, and invitations for a tsikoudia spirit drink by small groups of tourists. Under the shade offered by the coloured bougainvillea plants, friends and acquaintances who have met by chance on the street converse and rest, avoiding the scorching heat of the midday sun. Rethymno is not just a tourist destination but also a city where life rolls on, without seasonality. It is also a university town. The intensity and vigour of students provides rhythm, a rich nightlife. Tasteful bars, scattered at the most beautiful points of the city, are filled with music, serving the full range of drinks. Countless delightful tavernas and traditional cafes serve meze dishes, wine and tsikoudia, while restaurants meet high standards, among them Prima Plora. But the exploration of Crete needs to be taken out further.
The car is feeling the strain at turns and uphill stretches, its low engine power combined with the absolute need to have the air conditioner switched on forcing me to move along slowly between first and second gear. The surrounding nature is fair coloured with tinges of brown and light green, offered by the countless olive groves. The mountains seem like gigantic rocks, masses accidentally tossed onto the ground from the sky, possibly following a quarrel between Zeus and some adversary.
All the stories making up Greek mythology appear to have been inspired by this place. Some of these stories are set in Crete, such as the abduction of Europa, or the story of Talon, the first robot, according to legend, with the vulnerable heel, who would rest at a hidden valley until his services were deemed necessary. Then Talon would plunge into the fire, rage and take the ships of enemies as well as the enemies themselves.
According to legend, Crete’s lacy shores were created by Talos’ footsteps as the automaton patrolled the island’s coastline. The automaton’s demise, Greek mythology notes, contains betrayal prompted by envy – not an unanticipated finale.
Turn after turn, along narrow roads that can barely fit two cars travelling in the opposite direction, I observe, once we pass through the Imbros Gorge, that same type of wiring used everywhere to delimit fields and prevent dangerous movement.
I wonder how many thousands of kilometres of such wired fencing exists on Crete. The view, towards the south, from the exit of the gorge, is breathtaking – literally. I sense the Libyan Sea, the end of Europe, at Gavdos, Greece’s southernmost island, which can be clearly seen from Sfakia, or Hora Sfakion, the southern-coast town. I feel a different type of hot air blowing from the mountains as I accelerate down the road headed towards the sea, against gusts of heat and salt sprayed from the surface of the water, wild goats to our side facing in the same direction as us. The winding road seems to come to life like a living reptile under the sun’s glare. A sloping cedar stands like a natural sculpture shaped by decades of relentless winds. All this is so Cretan. But, rather than discourage, all these elements of nature do the exact opposite. They provide a connection to the ancestral idea of existence, insight into the planet’s creation. The first days of creation must have looked something like this. Light, extreme heat, rocks, gusty winds loaded with a whipping of soil, wild water and stone. All this is here.
Turning left, eastward bound, Frangokastello (castle, and scattered settlement, 12 km east of Sfakia) so close to the sand, built formidably and geometrically, does not look real, seems out of place, at a point on the map where there are no other similar historical elements. Its loneliness and isolation has given birth to stories involving the sound of knights at night, hooves of horses on the pavement, as well as ghosts of history and folklore. Stopping for photographs, the front left tire of the car has violently rolled onto a thyme shrub, scattering pieces of marvellous nature into the air, which unleash an unrivalled fragrance, further intensifying the memory of this spot in our minds.
Taking the road running parallel to the coast, the need for a dip into the Libyan Sea grows stronger – a form of baptism, a simple move which, however, contains the entire Freudian history, in a variation of it. The entry into the water, the sea’s embrace, is like a search for safety, security, revitilisation. What a wonderful place to be feeling this way, at these lacy bays close to the remote village Rodakino! Lying on ahammock, next to a parked Yamaha XT motorbike, a solitary visitor, with headphones over his ears, welcomes us with a nod, continuing to gaze at the horizon’s Elytis-esque blue. A reverence floats in the air. A silence, catharsis from the passions and noise of everyday life.
Taking the car key from the cedar branch where I had left it before taking a swim, I begin thinking that, besides the literary element of this trip, the search for food on Crete is just as important as the discovery of nature – Cretan, Mediterranean diet, renowned throughout the world, a symbol of longevity and wellbeing.
What is Crete?
The small taverna at the little village, not bigger than a settlement, is intimate, hospitable. I feel the skin on my biceps tightened by the salt and sea. It does not stop me from ordering iconic Cretan food selections – staka (roux dish) with well fried potatoes, salty olives with olive oil, wheat and carob rusks, fry-pan snails, cherry tomatoes with graviera cheese, sautéed free-range lamb with in-season greens, and some tsikoudia spirit, plus a small plate of artichoke and pickled onions. The flavour is primitive, normal. Eating unites people so it was not long before we exchanged food samplings, drinks, knowledge and experiences with our hosts as well as fellow diners at the adjacent tables. The co-existence of people, familiar and strangers, is common on Crete. It is normal but also serves to preserve the island’s rich heritage in authentic hospitality.
So, then, what is Crete?
Could it be the island’s heavy heroic history? The resistance of its people against any form of hostility with intentions to conquer? Or is it the churches and monasteries, scattered on the mountains and hills, where ties between residents and the clergy are closer than anywhere else? Is it the pride of the Cretans? Their traditions? The wild terrain of countless faces? Could it possibly be its antikristo (traditional trademark grilling method with meat skewered all over a standing cage-like framework over the fire)? The tsikoudia spirit? The scattered free goats defying gravity on the edges of cliffs? Or may all of these combined?
Returning to our base, east of Rethymno, passing by Kournas and looking sideways, the eye fixes onto the Orpheas Resort, a different type of hotel, theatrical, featuring a tasteful mix combining elements of many cultures, with a Moroccan entrance. Crete can be everything. Without seasonal limits. Without the need for absolute commercialisation. With its soul intact.
