Chapter 5 - Southern Europe - Creta

The boat stopped at Naxos, Paros and Thira, then I must have fallen asleep, because I woke to cries in the darkness “Creta, Creta”. I scrambled off and found myself in a city, but it was too late to find a place to stay so I curled up under a tree. Thank goodness it’s warmer here - I think I actually got a little sleep.

In the morning I awoke to see a clean but rather touristy Agios Nikolaos, so I escaped to the mountain village of Kritsa and the ruins at Lato. I felt a bit creaky but it was good to move my bones after having spent so long on a boat and then a night lying on the ground. It was a though a kind of paradise, walking along a pebbly lane, the sun luxuriously warm, meadows filled with wild flowers, the air alive with the sounds of birds and insects. I saw the flash of a hoopoe fly by. Bent old men tended fields and straight old ladies tended goats. Lato’s location high in the hills looked down to the sea and the white buildings of Agios Nikolaos, so much nicer from this distance. I breathed a deep, satisfied sigh that filled my lungs with the aroma of grass and warm soil and flowers and leaves. I felt as if I might see a youthful Apollo step lightly out of an olive grove.

On the way I passed an old lady sitting under a tree by the side of the road crocheting, beautiful lacy things spread out around her. Greek women seem to be either really young or really old. There’s no middle age. She sat in traditional black dress, rigid and vertical with a serious expression on her lined features, so much dignity. We chatted, and I thrilled to see her smile at a joke. My Greek is improving in leaps and bounds.

I wanted to buy something, but could only afford a hankie. My money is running out, I have to think of something soon. I decided to go along the north coast via Elounda across from the island of Spinalonga, previously a Venetian fortress and leper colony. Alas, just as I had arrived in Malia I realized I’d left one of my bags on the bus – the one with my passport! How could I have been so stupid! I stood looking down the road the bus had departed along, gawky and shocked, my hand on my mouth. A German tourist saw my panic and offered to chase the bus on his motorbike. It was like a scene in a movie. I jumped on as he revved the engine and we went tearing off in hot pursuit, me clinging onto his flapping, light coloured jacket. We swerved along the near deserted road, whipping past the odd goat and goatherd who barely looked up as we passed, spewing pebbles in a spray of clatter. Just as the movie watching public would have gotten bored with our action scene, we spied the bus up ahead and put on a spurt of speed to catch up to it, pass it and motion the driver with three arms flailing – one left steering the bike. The driver slowed the bus until it rumbled to a stop. I leaped off the bike, and ran to the back of the bus, all the while speaking whatever Greek I could to assure the driver and few bemused passengers that I was not some lunatic that was set to rob the bus. I was so happy to see my bag sitting where I’d left it and carried it triumphantly out. The driver shook my hand, waved me out and rumbled off to continue on his way. With heart rate lowered my biker saviour and I returned back along the road much more sedately. I tried to buy him lunch but he would have none of it, beamingly saying it was the best time he'd had in years.