Crete 2021: Part 5

24th July:

Yesterday, I did nothing. I wrote more in my journal, napped, and then joined a group to head to the beach. I don’t know why, but the wind has been ferocious the last few days - extremely ferocious. At one point, we were trying to walk along the shoreline, and the wind was so strong that it blew some poor bastard into the sea, and hundreds of sandy particles into every orifice that wasn’t covered up. Being in a sandstorm sucks as much as you’d assume. It’s funny in hindsight how neutered they feel in films by comparison. Sandstorms hurt. Ultimately, we did persevere and my inspired hypothesis about the nudist beach being the most sheltered and the sand being too large to be blown around by the wind was completely true, thank you very much. The only issue I had whilst there was Grant asking me to “look over there” at one point, where I got a full view of an old man’s entire gaping areshole are saggy balls as he bent down. Grant near pissed himself laughing at my horrified reaction. I’m certain anyone else would have responded the same way when presented with that view.

The wind remained strong through most of the day, though it started to come in bursts. Rubbish was being blown into the sea, and Nina (who is a beach-cleaning veteran) couldn’t contain herself any longer than it took to stop giving their owners’ the benefit of the doubt. She exploded off her towel and dove into the surf after the empty crisp packets and coffee cups. Unfortunately, she needn’t have bothered, as the owners went back for them soon enough. To make sure it wasn’t entirely a wasted trip, I waded out to her with a random empty beer can I found and floated it towards her. She took it in good humour. We spent most of our time hanging out on the beach, truth be told, talking about things of no consequence. It was exactly the atmosphere of how holidays with a large group of friends used to be before the plague. It was nice. I’d missed that since everyone grew up, got jobs, and moved out of London. I miss those friends.

Luckily for us, the walk back was much less brutal. The wind was calmer, and we walked on the road. We were getting quite hungry, and so we planned to go out for dinner as it was the last night for more than a few of us at Plakias. The restaurant was huge, and full of other faces from the hostel. The pizzas were good, the wine was drinkable, but it was the shots after dinner that were truly killer. We partied on the roof of our hostel until the owner shut it down after midnight. More than half of the party decided to continue the party on the beach. Alex, Nina, and I (and one or two others) stayed behind to have an exceptional late-night chat and stare at the stars. They’re always my favourite part of the party.

26th July:

I understand that these dates can get confusing, but I swear I’m almost back up to date now! On the 24th July, I left Plakias. It was finally the end of my stay on Crete, and I would be headed out to Athens in the evening. All the preparation on my part was, true to form, very last-minute. Even just the day before I had no idea what I was going to do or where I was going next. Croatia? Turkey? Hungary? More of Greece? In the end, I decided to catch the ferry to Athens with Nina, as she was already heading that way, and I felt that Athens was as good a place as any to take a second to breathe. Breathe and think about what to do next. That’s the wonderful thing about having as much free time as I have right now: I’m only limited by my imagination and also coronavirus oh yeah forgot about that. Generally speaking, it’s my imagination. I do still think I’ll go to Istanbul in the next few weeks, just because it’s such an incredible city period. But I digress.

Back to the 24th. By 3:30, we were off. Nina and I had said our goodbyes and packed our bags, and we were on the road back to Heraklion. Upon arrival, and with my earlier experience of the city, I took her around some of the same streets I had been shown previously as good places for food. Yet we were nervous about missing our ferry, and couldn’t spend too long searching for a place to eat. In the end we settled on one of the many tourist spots for some familiar food. It was once the menu arrived that it struck me just how tailored the whole economy here was to tourists. This restaurant had the menu in several languages, none of which were Greek. It could be that they had a separate menu in Greek that we were not offered, but at the time it felt to me oddly exclusionary. Certainly, it was indicative of just how important the tourist trade was to the maintenance of Heraklion’s economy. Not even a suggestion of locals eating there. I’ll never know.

Finally, it was 8pm: time to catch the ferry. We went through a series of compulsory paperwork at the dock to declare we were covid-free, and that the ferry company was not at fault in case of an outbreak. Although we were compelled to show it to the staff before entering the ferry proper, they did little else except place it in a pile of other similarly discarded paperwork and usher us up. I thought it odd considering how serious they were taking covid measures. Seating is separated so no one is too close, masks must be worn when moving around, but someone declares that they have covid on the form asking you to declare if you have covid? They would never even check.

In any case, we settled into a beautiful 9-hour trip across the Aegean that would definitely not be sleepless. Neither would it be anxious, as the woman coughing horribly behind us without a mask made sure of. Fortunately, we could escape both easily by heading up to the deck, where the sunset was stunning. Watching the aeroplanes queuing up in the sky for landing at the airport gave me an entirely new perspective on something seemingly so mundane. You forget how impressive it is to fly. As the sun was finishing its descent, I saw what I thought to be a bright yellow dome of a building off the other side of the deck. Of course, the clouds then receded to reveal the moon that had been growing larger and larger every day. Now it was a low-lying supermoon cast in yellow thanks to the reflection of Saturn, which was also visible that night. That moon followed us for the whole journey, a supernatural companion for my lonely insomnia.

The sun rose over Piraeus in the most contrasting spectacle I have ever seen. On one side of the deck there stayed a night illuminated by celestial bodies. All else was absent of light save that from the ship. Now on the other side was a slowly rising sun, and the vanishing lights of the buildings on the shore. It truly felt like you were caught between two different days. Different as night and day. I suppose that does rather undercut the sentiment, doesn’t it?

After we exited the ferry and made it to my hostel, I dropped off my bags and went for some breakfast with Nina before we parted ways. Check-in wasn’t until 2pm, so I had a lot of time to kill, but as soon as I’d finished eating, I knew I had to find somewhere to sleep. I was unfortunately too tired so socialise, which was a shame as I would have loved to stay longer. Nina and I promised to meet up in Turkey if circumstances allowed, but we were headed in different directions for the time being. I spent much of that day snoozing in my bedroom and finishing off the last few days of this journal that you are reading now. I wasn’t even aware how magical a view of the Acropolis my hostel had until I went out to the balcony at night. The whole complex was illuminated by lights. A man on the roof opposite was finishing his workout, his silhouette making for an incredible contrast as he stared up at the ruins. I felt like I was trespassing on an introspective moment, quietly invading his privacy from the other side of the road. I should have taken a photo, really.

And that’s it! Crete is done! Crete diary done! It was certainly different to what I expected. Truly I had no expectations outside of the Minoan and Venetian elements, so all else I experienced was without outside influence. If I were to summarise my feelings in a few sentences, I would say that Heraklion was not for me. The few places I visited on the north coast were unfortunately too touristy for me. My appreciation for Crete matured significantly once I reached the south of the island, to Plakias and its surrounding countryside. The people I met were wonderful, the experiences I had were incredible, and the surroundings were unbelievable. I wish I had been able to spend more time exploring more of the island, because I would have spent all my time walking around those villages, beaches, river valleys, and mountains. I cannot say enough good thing about how stunning Crete is. So, I reach the same conclusion I always do on trips like this: I wish I could drive.

Crete 2021: Part 4

22nd July

As I was saying, the tourists were out in force. We played paddle ball for around 10 minutes and then never again on the trip once. We took it in turns to try touching the bottom of the sea once we had swum out far enough. Manuel is awful at holding his breath, as it turns out. He would last no longer than three or four seconds, which gave us just enough time to guess how long he would last before he came up again. I touched the bottom [eventually], because I'm cool. The next beach was another short walk up and around to a smaller, rockier area with vicious breakers. It was also a nudist beach, and at least once I got out of the water to a full-frontal view of old man penis. Would not recommend. We repurposed some styrofoam we found floating in the water as a ball and threw it around between us. It's harder than it looks to catch something with your feet when you're floating in water. Molly and Alex swam far off into the distance in the meantime; It was hard to tell what they were doing at first. As it turned out, Molly had trained as a lifeguard previously, and was teaching Alex the appropriate ways to save an unconscious swimmer. It was much more mature than trying to kick styrofoam I suppose. The sand was decorated with an unexpectedly vibrant mix of colours; red, grey, black, and white to name a few. In fact, they more accurately resembled minute pebbles then true sand, as if it were a beach in training.

Finally, we moved to the last beach of the day. It was less crowded than the first, and worse than the second. All of us were exhausted by that point, although Molly was the notable exception. She rocketed off again, and it took a couple of minutes to catch up with her. Alex randomly ran into a friend on the beach, which was an incredible stroke of coincidence, so he stayed back to talk. Before very long we all came back in, and started the long, exhausting walk back home, following the sun as it turned all the mountains into silhouettes. We picked up some ingredients for halloumi pittas and cooked them at the hostel. It was wholesome and tasty. Manuel really enjoyed the garlic crisps I made, saying he'd have to try cooking them in his own time. All in all, it was a fantastic, exhausting day.

The next day was, at least in the beginning, a little bit of a shambles. A plan had taken shape the night before where a group of us would take the second river walk that started about twenty minutes up the road by car, and progress down to the sea. I expected to be out and on our way by 11:00 AM, but during breakfast it seemed that everybody was floundering about who/what/when with regards to the trip. We dallied for so long that we ended up abandoning the formality of the trip and took the last boat out to Preveli Beach without Nina, who had decided to walk to a monastery instead. Because it was the last boat outward bound, nobody was on it except us. After all the stress of change to plans, missed buses, um-ing and ah-ing, we were finally on our way to doing something that day. And we were on a boat too! The best part wasn't even the beach, but where we swam after

arriving there.

The sand was so hot that I practically sprinted from the boat to the shade and back to the water after we'd set up. Manuel, Molly, and Eabha started swimming down the coastline, so I hurried along to catch up with them and see where we were going. We ended up exploring some incredible sea caves that were a delight to discover. We swam around the cliffs to find places that few others may ever have visited. Manuel continued to demonstrate his rock- climbing prowess by casually climbing halfway up an eroded cliff face, because why not. Altogether we checked out maybe two or three caves and tiny beaches. On the way, Manuel had climbed and jumped off an isolated rock away from the cliffs in the sea, so on the way back we all gave it a try too. The only sure footing was to stand on the sea plants of which I don't know the name, but felt more similar to moss than seaweed. You had to wait for the swell to push you forward, otherwise you would never get a grip on the spiky outcropping. The trial was worth it though: the sea was incredibly clear and inviting, not to mention it was nice to take a break from continuously swimming. Those few moments when you're standing up straight and trying to balance before deciding how far you need to leap are always a little jittery, but I was confident enough on the second jump to go for a full dive- bomb. Cliff/ rock jumping is so fun.

After the swim back and a brief stint in the shade, we had a quick look at the palm forest nearby before heading home. The sun was getting lower as the afternoon progressed, and the forest itself was flanked by sky- high cliffs with a slow, clear river alongside. The cliffs blocked the sun, so we were plunged into shade as we entered. It was surprisingly well maintained, with all of the dead leaves moved out of the way. In a few places, you could step out to the bank of the river and have a very special view. The water was so still that you could see full reflections of the mountains. The only disturbance was a boy on a paddle board, who was sending out silent ripples a little way upstream. But then came the final, heart-breaking part of the trip: the Three Hundred Steps. The car park was at the top of the gorge, and in order to get there you needed to climb up the cliff side at a perilously steep angle in searing heat with whatever you brought with you. Every time we thought we were halfway there, we'd look up again and see how wrong we were. For at least fifteen minutes we put one foot in front of the other, daring ourselves to not look up. It's not something I would recommend, but it was our only option. At least the taxi home was cheap and quick. Also, the view of the sunset from the edge of those cliffs was almost worth the trek up. Almost.

-

23rd July

The longest day I’ve yet had on Crete began yesterday at around 8:30. After corralling a new group together, we left for that second, much longer river-walk whose beginning was much better than its end. We were given a lift by a nice older gentleman that was visiting the hostel; a Greek man who was very happy to play us some authentic Cretan music during the drive. I can understand why it’s not more broadly recognised. Don’t get me wrong, the dad singing with his daughter was very cute, but not quite a banger. Or maybe I couldn’t fully enjoy it because there were four of us squished together in the back of the car, and my arms were falling asleep. Your choice.

We arrived back in the canyon I had passed through on my way from Rethymno, disembarking at the ‘car park,’ as I had called it before. In truth, it was more of a hard shoulder. Additionally, the ‘shrine’ was actually an entrance to a descending path that led all the way down to the river. We were advised to turn left at the bottom in order to see the waterfall. We had to clamber over some dodgy piping to get there, but my god was it worth it. The waterfall was spread over a long crevasse both wide and deep that led all the way back to the plunge pool at the very back. What cover there was to the pools had numerous holes where even more water was allowed to pass through, and pepper those standing underneath with freezing rain. Sunshine was exposed in certain spots, creating a beautiful chiaroscuro effect on whomever happened be standing in that part of the chamber. However, standing was a double-edged sword. Yes, you would be halfway out of the hypothermia springs for a minute, but before long you’d have to submerge your newly dried self again to swim back out. God giveth and taketh away. Yet one mother fucker of a cold bath was a small price to pay for that experience, and one I would gladly pay again. Whether I would enjoy it in quite the same way as the rock-climbers, I haven't decided yet. They were jumping into the plunge pool from the top of the waterfall, and once they had all finished, they continued to follow the river out and down the valley. They would end up accompanying us from just far enough away to avoid any introductions, but close enough that we couldn’t ignore them either.

Compared to last time, this river was much more forgiving. It was wider, and we were headed downstream instead, meaning there was room to experiment in terms of navigation. The drawback was that there was almost no tree coverage along the route. The hot rocks that lined the gorge only amplified the heat, hemmed in as we were. In this respect, the brisk rapids were our salvation. Some parts of the river ran quite fast, in fact. It was tricky enough weaving our way between both banks without having to negotiate pockets of fast-running water and hidden currents. Yet weave we did, and completely ignored the advice of the wise old Greek man to stick to the right side. What did he know? That would’ve made it easy and boring!

The whole walk was meant to take about five and a half hours, and we were already two deep by the time we stopped for a snack. We assumed we were at the end of the river section, and about to shift to cross-country. The sun remained sweltering. I felt a tinge of satisfaction at throwing my apple core clear to the opposite bank, before re-entering the group’s conversation. During the time it took me to brush the sand off my feet and swap to shoes, I had overheard everyone else discussing drugs they had tried. Cannabis was the most common, unsurprisingly. Only I was ignorant and pure. Which makes me cool, right? Cool kids don’t do drugs, right? Oh no.

Eventually we did leave the river-wading behind and stayed on the path alongside as best we could. This included such brilliant decisions as climbing along a slate cliff with a decent drop underneath, and practically no surface area to grip or stand on. Very spooky. Ultimately, we emptied out of the canyon into curiously well-maintained fruit gardens with fences and gates and sprinklers in the middle of nowhere. Could this be the fabled “Banana Gardens” we’d heard so much about? Could we have found one of the last holdouts of hippies on Crete? Indeed, we had. And hippies (as we all should know by now) lead the good life of self-sufficiency and cannabis, which was oddly appropriate considering the conversation we’d had earlier. When following the fruit trees, we stumbled down a staircase that was hanging precariously from the end of a bridge, almost like it had failed to be secured properly and was now gently swaying, slightly suspended. It led to their camp, and a lady came out of a hut to greet us with some water and (for those who preferred to eat their water)watermelon slices. They also offered us some juices: banana and melon, or banana and strawberry. I was the only one who went for the former. Both were good, but the strawberry variation was agreed to be better. Two dogs at noticeably different ages and energy levels sat under our table. Both were very sweet. The older pit bull terrier was slow and smiley, and the younger dog was a breed I couldn’t place, but quite friendly. The chief hippie quickly introduced himself and invited us on a small tour of the estate, which the younger dog followed us around for. It was like a fluffier corgi with a curly tail. It didn’t interact with us during the tour. It was more like an adorable escort.

There were many other animals too: already we had seen chickens and roosters pottering about, digging holes and clucking. I almost walked into a turkey that was sheltering from the sun in a bush. Two males were particularly loud and gobbled away like turkeys do. The Chief (as we’ll call him) walked us through their entire setup: mango, banana, olive, nut, avocado, and lime trees, as well as fruit patches and peanut plants. He even gave us a detailed history of the riverbank of the river we were following that fed said plants. Yet by this time, the day was dragging on, as indeed was the conversation. We were all too polite at first to interrupt him, much as you don’t want to interrupt a grandparent, but we seized a gap in the conversation to let him know we needed to leave. What followed was another half hour of him and his wife doing everything possible to talk us out of walking the rest of the way to our terminus at Preveli Beach. They pleaded with us to get a taxi instead. The Chief focused on Mollie by the end, who was given the name and number of a taxi driver, along with a bus timetable. He then spent another five minutes giving us an excruciatingly detailed list of directions, that was so long we stopped paying attention. We really needed to go. Then we managed to go. He did not go with us.

Do you know it's now the 25th and I’m still talking about this one day? That’s how much happened. Anyway, we proceeded down what was to be the final stretch: a short stint on the road before following the river through a palm forest and out to sea. Things started to look unclear when we reached a junction, so Nina asked for directions. It turned out that the sea was not, in fact, going to be uphill, and that we should take the route the locals pointed out to us. This route began to head uphill. We took it in turns to play music in an attempt to keep our morale up, because this walk had turned into a march. We just wanted it to be over. We began to climb higher and higher, so much that we were now losing the river altogether in the gorge we should have been walking through. Instead, we hiked up and up across dusty scrubland. I told Mollie that if we ended up at that car park again, and had to climb down all three hundred steps, I would cry.

I’m sure you can guess what happened. I was not best pleased but managed to laugh it off because I’m actually a lot more mature than one would assume. It’s been a long time since I’ve been surrounded by people who just want to get over the finish line, and I have to say the feeling was reciprocated. On the one hand, “oh my god I'm going to die please please be close to the end.” On the other hand, “I am so focused right now that I will overcome any obstacle to complete my mission. I will walk over you if you’re in my way.” Then, finally, mercifully, we arrived at the beach. Mollie and I swapped our favourite music videos on the way down (Francis and the Lights – Like a Dream; Stuck in the Sound – Let's Go respectively). Then, after all our trials, we stayed for around half an hour and went home. We were too tired to stay, and just wanted to sleep after all that. It was absolutely worth it for that waterfall, though.

Crete 2021: Part 3

18th July:

Rena also talked about how she has a book filled with the thoughts and comments of visitors spanning decades, which she looks through occasionally to reminisce. She loathes the fact everything is digitalised now. I promised her that I'd slip her a handwritten note when I left just to help.

The final nights in Heraklion I spent on the roof, first talking with some of the other hostel guests, and then to sleep. I kept trying to stylise myself as a professional travel writer to everyone who asks my job, even though I've never made any money out of it. A boy can dream though, right? Maybe one day it'll happen, even if it's just for a little while. However much these two bought it [Adams and Emilie], they at the very least humoured me enough to look through the terrible phone version of my blog. It's really does look awful, Wix you need better phone options! Of course, being French speakers first, some of the language was a bit impenetrable, but I was still happy for what attention my writing got that night. Sleeping on the roof turned out to be the best place in the whole hostel to sleep, once the planes had stopped for the night and the cats stopped screaming in the street. Falling asleep to a gentle breeze and waking up to the rising sun is always a great experience, and after a rough week of sleeping, it was the perfect send- off to my time at Heraklion.

That morning was already hot by the time I stepped out of bed, which meant that the pears I bought were finally ripe, but also that I was destined to sweat myself to death during the day of travel. Adams was leaving at the same time, so after we were packed and checked out, we left for the bus station where we would finally part ways. He was cool. I liked him. He laughed at my jokes. But damn stupid to climb a mountain without sun cream. Before long I was thanking God I sat on the side of the coach without sun shining on it, as it also had the benefit of giving me spectacular views of the coast on the way to Rethymno. I always find it difficult to describe places I see on the road. So much of it flies by so fast that it's hard to focus on any one thing in depth. Only impressions are available, so I hope these impressions are enough: Crete has a dramatic landscape. It is covered in great gashes and mountains in sequence. For somewhere with so much coastline, there was so little beach I could see from the bus. The majority was of rocky outcroppings and boulders all the way down to the sea. I saw one tiny cloud on the entire ride. Flower bushes followed the road in certain parts, and sometimes the view would open to reveal private bays or sweeping valleys that stretched on for miles, the mountain slopes overlapping each other back until they ran into the horizon. The sun was a constant companion; it felt like it followed you everywhere you went no matter which direction we took. Tiny villages and cliffside chapels flew by my window, and individuals stepped on and off the bus in seemingly random or featureless areas. Sometimes there were naked roadworks: dirt tracks carved through the mountains. Other times, you would find yourself 100 feet above a gorge, with your mind idling on a twisted fantasy of what would happen if the bridge collapsed. I almost forgot the olive groves! Sometimes we would emerge onto a plateau and then see miles of olive groves rising and falling with the topography, shimmering silver waves in the wind. Crete has some of the most dramatic landscapes I have ever seen. On the way from Rethymno to Plakias (and a 2 hour wait at the bus station), these landscapes were at their most pronounced, minus the coastline. At one point we were hemmed in by massive cliffs that extended above and below, narrowing the sunlight to our immediate front, and my side of the bus specifically. I couldn't take any photos that did it justice; it was insane to think that someone had built a road through it. The people who did are much braver than I would have been. Never mind the mad lads that decided to build a shrine up there and enough space later for people to park their cars on as well.

Anyway, it's nearly 12, so I should really get dressed for the day. Hopefully the washing machine is clear to use!

-

It's 5:30 and I just got washed and dressed. Had a handful of banana chips for lunch, so I'm a bit low energy, but who cares! The important thing is that we had fun! I plan to do very little whilst in Plakias. The hostel I'm in markets itself as the most southerly hostel in Europe, and I could certainly believe it. Here in the south of the island it's much quieter; less noise (no aeroplanes), less people (more Germans. So many Germans in Plakias). Actually, quiet might be a misconstruction. The cicadas are loud as hell and don't stop until the sun goes down. Aside from that, however, it's very peaceful. I can understand why so many people renew their stays here or come back each year. It's the most ‘holiday’ place I've been to for a while. Or perhaps it is better to say it's my sorts of holiday destination. Chersonnisos was overtly a holiday destination, complete with familiar foods, music, and loaded beaches of sunburnt tourists. Here seems much more my speed. Considering the last two years have been plagued by plague, I'm more than happy to have found a quiet place like this. There may be more to do here than I assume.

Last night, while everyone at the hostel was occupied, I took the pina colada that had been made for me and slipped away. I was not prepared for the view! First, the stars. I have gone on record about how much I love stars, and the stars above Plakias are some of the fullest I have seen for a long time. The real star [no pun intended, but now that it's written down, I take full credit] of the show was the village about halfway up the mountain. The lights from the houses lit up the cliff face behind enough to give some depth to the buildings. The lights weren't all white either! Orange, yellow, even blue; all were shining up on the mountain village. I couldn't stop staring at it, it had such a subtle beauty to it that I just could not articulate in the moment. The combination of a starry night and small village illuminated by different colours against a mountain backdrop made for a good atmosphere, and a very good first impression.

And then today I did nothing and then went to the beach. Angry clouds have formed over the mountains. Would be the first rain on Crete. How exciting.

19th July:

Today was possibly one of my favourite days, if only because it involved one of my favourite things ever: river walks. But this weren't no River Wey, oh no. I'm talking bouldering up waterfalls and pulling yourself over to the next rock without falling all the way down and dying, swimming in plunge pools, and being attacked by tiny persistent insects.

After an early start on no sleep because two people now snore in my room, a group of four of us headed out on what ended up being a four-hour trek.

-

20th July:

Well damn, that was a short day. And I had so much to write about too! Even more so now because of all the things that happened in the afternoon. But first things first. The trek was incrementally difficult, and incrementally beautiful. The Cretan countryside is already so gorgeous that waterfalls and dragonflies are really the icing on the cake. We passed a farm filled with chickens, and some dogs barking madly at us that together were almost certainly the source of the morning chorus the morning before. When we first hit the river, it was at an old mill, crumbling and covered in cacti. The views from the top were worth the perilous climb up the side, and the slight irritation at seeing how easy the climb would have been from the other side. From then on it was all water, all the time: clambering over rocks, wading through newly- disturbed silty water, clinging to branches and finding a path to the next pool. At the same time, we were surrounded by pink flowers, and occasionally chased by brown butterflies and bright blue dragonflies. The sound of invisible cicadas accompanied us throughout the trip. We learned very quickly how to tune them out. The trek became increasingly difficult as the waterfalls grew larger. What started out as moving between puddles became ascending sheer rock faces. We got to work out that lower- body flexibility by supporting our entire weight on one leg as we each leant into a boulder when trying to find a hand grip.

At several points we stopped for a swim to cool off in some of the deeper plunging pools. When you reflect on your life choices and what has brought you to this moment, you can't say it's all bad if you're sat under a waterfall in a hot country with friends. Imagine living in a place where you could decide to just go sit in a waterfall after lunch. Wacky. My shorts got ruined though. The tree coverage contributed immensely to the fun. If there had been no canopy to keep the sun off us, then it would have been more of a slog. The same is true of the towering cliffs around us. We were plunged into shadow several times just because the mountains were so monolithic. Shade is important kids! No time to enjoy the views if you've fainted from heat exhaustion. Towards the top of the climb there was a particularly scary moment where I stumbled forward and nearly ended up falling onto the rocks below. The water I was carrying on my back shifted forward as I stopped, pushing me off balance. That was mildly scary, but it's just death so no problem. Finally, after hours of wading up and through river water, we made it to the top. We stepped back onto dry land; it took the form of a cement cistern. The most beautiful reward of all. After that, it was a farcically short walk back along the ridge towards home. From that height we could see each landmark we passed on our way, in a ridiculously short space of time. All in all, only about half an hour of our four-hour walk was spent walking back.

-

As we were rounding the ridge, we heard what sounded exactly like a maniacal laugh. None of us could locate the source, neither could we later identify what creature (if indeed it were a creature) voiced it. It appeared to come from the trees, too high for a person to be hidden in. Whatever it was, it was only slightly disturbing in its volume and nearness, without a visible culprit.

-

When he first appeared, I struggled to find the words. Ethan's charisma was equal parts infatuating and intimidating, so much so that it took several awkward seconds before he broke the silence on my behalf.

“Bonjour, bel homme.” He spoke in tongues, but I gauged the meaning well enough. I knew he wanted me. I wanted him too. Yet now I was trapped by the bounds of social conformity to reply, and if I didn't seize the opportunity I never would again.

“H- hi, my names Josephine”, I stuttered. His muscles shivered in acknowledgement. My God his muscles were magnificent.

“Well, Josephine”, he moved towards me. My heart was racing now. “I am very thirsty.” my cheeks flushed red. “can you help me quench my thirst, Josephine?”

“I can certainly try.”

“Great, thanks.” he reached behind me and grabbed a cold bottle of water from the open fridge. Then, without a word, he left. All I had was his shrinking shadow, and the ghost of what may have been.

“Farewell, monsieur,” I whispered to myself. “Farewell.”

- commissioned by Ethan.

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After we got back from the walk, within about two hours we were up and out again, this time to three different beaches down the coast period to get there, we had a brief 40-minute trip along a hot afternoon road, which also took us past some fantastic panoramas. I can't get enough of these mountains and how the clouds spill over them. We passed a goat farm where goat skulls had been arranged on the fencing, perhaps because of a previous insurrection attempt by the goats. At a certain point, we were walking through a dusty back road away from the water, and for a moment it seemed as if we'd taken a wrong turn further in land. But then again, that episode isn't worth writing about, and the fact I even started to is frankly embarrassing, so never mind.

When we finally arrived, the beach was packed. Wide and flat, the tourists were out in force.

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