Crete 2021: Part 2

15th July:

For dinner, we went to another local establishment, this time just up the road in Heraklion. Ketiya and I planned to go together since she knew the way and one of the staff. In the end, we were joined by Brad, a rather socially awkward 40- something from North Dakota. He seemed rather innocent considering his age: very polite, timid, and kind of unsure of himself. He was harmless though, so there were no issues there. We ambled along aggressively nondescript side streets to reach our destination. And for what it was, it was cute. Kind of. On both sides of a narrow road were chairs and tables about half-filled with relaxed locals, talking that talk when neither of you are looking at each other, but still give each other your full attention. One old man was either very drunk or old or both and was dancing around in the street. He made the waitress uncomfortable when he tried to get her involved. Aside from him, however, it was very relaxed.

Ketiya’s friend unfortunately wasn't working that night, but even so, the dinner was fun. Brad went for some very adventurous spaghetti in a watery tomato sauce, that clearly was not a traditional order for the kitchen. I let Ketiya order for me, and whilst it was cooking, they brought out a huge Greek salad, some bread, and tzatziki. Brad had never even heard of tzatziki, which seems crazy to me as it's one of the three most important pita dips in Britain. The Greek salad was quite incredible. I've never tasted tomatoes like that before, they were so sweet and delicious. They were literally grown in the owner's back garden and can't have been picked long before we ate them, maybe even specifically picked for us. The onions had a kick, the lettuce was fresh, and the feta was hoovered up mostly by Ketiya without the slightest remorse. Then the fried fish arrived. I never did find out what kind, but it was roughly the size of a fish, and tasted of fish. They were still on the bone, so I got to play the fun game of ‘was that skin or a bone’ every time there was a crunch. Luckily there was a cat loitering nearby that was more than happy to help me finish what I couldn’t. In fact, after being informed by Ketiya that the cat was pregnant, I felt like I was doing a good deed, and not necessarily entirely out of embarrassment for not having finished more by myself. So ended yesterday.

Today, I woke up! I had been asleep and then I woke up! Such bliss is a rested mind. It let me actually engage more with the people around me at the hostel, which has been wonderful.

In the latter half of the morning, I went to visit Knossos, which has been on my to-do list for a very long time. Now that I was feeling fit enough to go, I only wasted a little bit more time before setting off. The bus was super quick; Heraklion just ends. You leave the city and within one minute you may as well be in the middle of nowhere, so little as their surrounding the palace. Just some tourist shops groaning under the weight of hats and 300 shirts hanging from the rafters. Quite fitting though, considering just how many tourists there were. It may as well have been a model UN. Somewhat disappointingly however, Knossos itself is titchy. I had expected big things! Labyrinths and minotaur's, and the most important archaeological sites on Crete, of the whole of Greece! But no. There's a little path you follow around the ruins and Victorian reconstructions, and if you aren't that interested in what is there to see, you can be done in about 20 minutes. You could run the whole route in around 40 seconds, probably. I cried right there in the throne room, so disappointed I was. Everyone was so embarrassed, they didn't know what to do. Finally, I was peeled off a column by security, and went home shortly afterwards. And that was the day I saw Knossos.

17th July:

Full disclosure: I didn't finish off the passage on Knossos until just now. Don't crucify me.

-

Okay, Full disclosure I was writing at a bus station and it was awkward writing on my leg so I stopped, don't crucify me. Luckily for me yesterday was pretty easy. I didn't sleep well again and so I spent the majority of it trying to sleep before I went out to meet with Elena, the lady from the gyro shop. Over coffee, she had a lot to say about the state of Greek orthodoxy (did you know that you can't go to school unless you've been baptised?), the poverty of the island after a specific man died who even now people wish was alive to save them, and told me all the swear words and their various uses. This included the full etymology of malakas (meaning ‘arsehole’). it's originally comes from the word pain. Make of that what you will. I discovered that there is actually a Cretan dialect that borrows from Turkish and is now used mostly by old people alone, and small villages in the interior. I'm already struggling to memorise even basic Greek, so I don't know that I'd be much of a Cretan student right now. I'd love to learn more about it though, find one of these villages and see how different it is. The world is so big and so small at the same time.

It turns out that Elena used to work at the restaurant we were having coffee at, and that her sister was still the chef, and her mother worked downstairs as well. I had met almost the entire family in the space of an hour. €5 for a jar [?] of iced tea is absurd and I'm not happy about it. I got more of an insight into Greek life back at the hostel when I ran into Raina [the owner] changing the sheets in my room. She's been working in her capacity as a hostel operator since she was 20, though technically she's a farmer with an olive Grove outside of Heraklion which she works at in the winter. Her son has a master's degree in engineering; he works for seven euro's an hour at the airport behind a desk and still lives at home. because there's just no money left in Greece anymore. Elina had much the same to say. She told me how all the children I see running around alone on the streets are gypsies, and that the gypsy population in Greece is given access to grants and financial support that the Greeks aren't given themselves. The same for the Albanian minority too. Shit’s crazy in Greek socioeconomics right now. To return to Renner, she essentially explained that Greece is a wonderful country to visit, but not to live. The hot days certainly aren't doing wonders for my writing either, my arms keep sticking to the page! Gross. No one needed to know that where did you include that.

A Shambles Ramble: Crete (Part 1)

13th July, 2021:

It’s bloody hot here. Salt Cay hot. 31°C hot. I get that I’m almost at the desert (compared to Hampshire at least) and I don’t even have sandals with me. Chunky black trainers are not my preferred footwear right now. But alas, earwax. The sea breeze is nice, though. I’m sat on the rooftop of my hostel in the centre of Heraklion, Crete. I know it best for the Venetian occupation and nearness to Knossos, which I plan on checking out while I’m here. Other than that, I’m not really sure what to expect. I don’t think its unfair to say that Crete isn’t exactly the bustling centre of Greece, not that that’s a bad thing. It’s actually a nice change of pace. There’s no rush to go out and see things before you run out of time. In fact, you could have all the time in the world if you’re not working, like me. I’ll try not to feel bad about that for the next day or two. It’s 13:18 and I’ve been up for about 4 hours (didn’t sleep so well) and managed to find a decent breakfast place with a beautiful view over the sea, as well as the island of Dia. The water here is clear but choppy. Drinking hot tea whilst downwind is very stressful, it turns out. The old Venetian port and fortress still form the basis of the modern harbour, which I stopped by after breakfast. All I can say is that there were many vloggers struggling to be heard over the wind. An accordion-player was lackadaisically busking on the rocks by the fortress, picking up and dropping songs as rhythmically as the waves crashing against the harbour wall. In the end I couldn’t escape the water, and was caught in the sea spray.

I need to buy some summer stuff before I go find a beach. Will write more later.

-

Apparently ‘later’ means 9 hours later. It’s now 10pm. My ear is all blocked because of sea water, so I’m sad. To finish the thought from this morning; the walk was nice. Now, I just need to catch up on yesterday night, before I talk about today.

I arrived at the hostel at around 7:30 in the evening, which counts as late afternoon in the summer, as we can all agree. The hostel was quite near to the main shopping street, which is easily identifiable as it’s the only street here that is large enough to be a main street. This makes Heraklion more personal, but confusing at the same time. If not for the sea acting as a constant to the north, you’d be forgiven for getting lost. Fortunately, I had a taxi to find my way to the hostel for me. The nice old lady that runs the place was very nice indeed. Wasn’t even bothered about me getting the cash to pay for the room immediately. She just encouraged me to settle in, drop my bags off, etc. The office behind the counter looked like an extension of a private residence, complete with old shirtless husband watching a beaten-up TV in the corner of the room. Since then, it has been made pretty obvious to me that this place is, in fact, an extension of a private residence, as the rest of the family bobs in and out occasionally.

14th July:

Insomnia is awful. Hard to write when you’re running on fumes, but I’ll try my best. No promises, though.

The room I would stay in had two lads that left the next day, leaving me almost alone. I met a super-friendly, super-bubbly American/ Haitian woman called Ketiya. Within around 5 seconds we were best mates, and she offered to show me around town, such as it was. As I mentioned before, there’s not really that much to see that I can see so far, so we were done before I knew it. It was as quick as a walk up and down the high street, and ended with a hand-on-hips sigh from Ketiya. The star of the show was the 10pm €3 gyro that was exactly what you need after a long day of travelling. That was my first night.

It is far too windy at the seafront; I feel like my food is going to blow away.

-

The second day (yesterday) was exciting, because we went to the beach. Chersonissos/ Hersonissos is where all the hip restaurants are, with the hip hotels and the tourist-clogged beaches On the coaches they had a lady shouting out the destinations. . It was funny, actually, how much power she put into her voice. Chersonissos was absolutely a tourist trap, unsurprisingly. What tiny beaches there were, were absolutely packed with beachgoers, and the promenade was stacked with restaurants and hawkers press-ganging you in for food. Can’t say that I wasn’t tempted by some of what was on offer, but the beach would come before all else. After months of wanting to totally submerge myself in water, the ability to finally do it was wonderful. So, so good. The non-tourist food for dinner was, unfortunately, not so good, despite it being recommended by a local. The end result was a rather underwhelming meal of something similar to a lasagne, except arranged like a shepherd’s pie. In fairness, it did feel like we’d walked into someone’s kitchen and asked for whatever leftovers they had from the day. Their style of service was ‘if you’d arrived earlier, you’d have more choice. If you want something else, come back tomorrow.’ This was a chef who made the food, and if you arrived too late to have your preferred choice, then tough luck. What I will say for the food is that Cretan olive oil is the absolute best. My god, it’s good. With some balsamic vinegar and salt with the good bread? Ugh.

Nevertheless, the meal was atmospheric. The cicadas here are loud enough to require you to raise your voice, but the sunsets are gorgeous enough to leave you speechless. It’s a cruel happenstance I find myself in. Perhaps it’s best to have conversations at night instead.

That conveniently leads me onto my final point, which was a long conversation that stretched into the deep night. I was finishing my entry yesterday, when the last man in my room, whom had slept all day until this point, came outside to sit next to me at the patio table in the small space between the outside sink, and the steps up to the balcony. Over the next hour and a half, he communicated his story through broken English and Google Translate. It really deserves its own entry, so I’ll hold off for now, but it was a fascinating conversation. I hope my writing does it justice.

And then finally, today has been a mixture of sleeplessness, small local walks, aborted naps, and catching up on some writing. Oh, and I saw an adorable sleeping cat. Now it’s time for some food.

A Shambles Ramble: Pairs (Part 7)

(Continued from Part 6)

10th July

I was stressed out over booking flights yesterday, so nothing really happened outside of going to the cinema in the evening, which I’ll talk about later.

But never mind that! The Sainte-Chapelle is one of the most incredible churches I have ever seen! I can hardly draw my eyes away from the stained-glass windows to write anything down, it’s so unbelievably beautiful. Hundreds of windows illuminating 14 separate scenes from Christianity, in the very brightest colours, each scene given different shapes and dimensions to make them unique. The 12 disciples of Christ extend towards the central dedication: the former resting place of the crown of thorns. The evidence is still in the reliefs: two angels hold a representation of the crown underneath the home of the relic. Key scenes including Genesis and Revelation are presented here, the figures in what once was contemporary dress, as is so often the case in medieval art. Two closed spiral staircases lead up to the gilded altar where the crown once sat, presumably. Some of the facades have faded or are fading. The floor decorations are worn after centuries of steps. Royalty has been here. I’m walking in the footsteps of the grandest ghosts, of the saints themselves. I cannot believe it is as intact as it is. Restoration works have been ongoing since the 1800s, but I seriously doubt it applies to any of the windows. If so, then it’s imperceptible to my ignorant eyes. I’ve said ‘wow’ many times in the last two weeks, but after ascending the stone staircase and being greeted with this masterpiece, I am struggling to find the right exclamation. “Oh my god” will have to do. Not entirely inappropriate either considering the subject. I could stay in here all day.

-

Shockingly, I left. The boulangerie was closed which threw my lunch plans out the window. I came home hungry and defeated. Let me finish off yesterday evening quickly. After panicking over flight bookings for most of the day, and a cancellation that cost me the entire €187 fare (no compromise), I was feeling exhausted and slightly demoralised. €450 in one day because I was too cheap to pay for the insurance. Wasting money trying to save money. Massively upsetting. I’ve never going to financially recover from this.

By the time it was all over Nicholas had arrived back home, and he suggested I come with him to the cinema. I was absolutely in the mood to get away from my funk and the flat, so we scrambled together a quick carbonara before heading out. The ticket-seller didn’t believe I was 25 when he saw my ticket, and I was completely at a loss as to what was happening or what to say in response. Nicholas later told me he had been trying to work out how I could be 25 if I was born in 1995. A thrilling story completely worthy of retelling.

The film was “Annette”, which to both of our surprise was a musical! A rather predictable musical at times but I still enjoyed it quite a lot. Adam Driver is insanely talented. What a step up from The Big Bang Theory for that one guy. The film was subtitled in French, and though I tried to pick up a few phrases here and there, my heart wasn’t in it. I was quite tired.

To be honest that’s about it as far as yesterday and today is concerned. I’m all ready for Heraklion on Monday, and hopefully I can pick up some swimming shorts and sandals at the airport, or when I’m there. I feel very unprepared, but practically speaking, I’m perfectly prepared for it. I just wish I had better fitting shoes. Damn, I thought I had more to write about today, but I guess not. Huh.

11th July

Yesterday evening, Nicholas and I made dinner together; a cous-cous salad with onion, tomatoes, and courgettes. To go along with it, Nicholas also made up these fancy cheese on toast things using baguette, a nice soft cheese I forgot the name of, and honey. Not a bad meal considering it was slapped together. Nicholas also took the opportunity to introduce me to Georges Brassens, a legendary French musician that, of course, I’d never heard of. His life story sounded like the epitome of an Epicurean lifestyle. Born in the south of France, he came to Paris and lived in a shoebox. He made a fortune and became a celebrity, but never moved out to a better home. Then, for the last few years of his life, he moved back to the south of France. The songs we played were so positive and light-hearted that it had me asking myself when the last time I had listened to anything quite so sincere. I’ve been informed that not all his songs are as upbeat, but that spoils the narrative I’m going for if I acknowledge it too much. The music was a perfect accompaniment to French bread and cheese. All we were missing was some wine, but somehow, we struggled through.

The conversation turned to topics such as the surprisingly resilient Royalist movements in France. There’s a Bonaparte and a Bourbon who claim the French throne. Nicholas personally considers the Bonaparte to be the better candidate, considering Napoleon’s legacy. People who support Bonaparte do so partially because it supports the idea of French Exceptionalism in Europe. Napoleon did so much in such a short amount of time domestically and internationally, that surely France can only reclaim its proper place in the world when a Bonaparte is in charge again, goes the theory. To my mind, the idea that there are pretenders to the French throne in 2021 sounds so alien, it’s like it’s slipped out of place and time to 200 years in the future. When Nicholas asked about the British monarchy, I explained how there are three factions. First, there are the Royalists, then the Republicans, and finally everyone else who literally could not care less.

And, of course, Brexit was brought up again, but the joke’s so old now that I’ll say no more. Mari le Pen isn’t interested in taking France out of the EU, only hoping to untangle some of the shared elements such as a shared currency, according to Nicholas.

Today is my last full day in Paris, which I’ll have to appreciate despite a lack of sleep. I swear to god, if I get insomnia on this trip I will cry. I think we’re going out to watch the footie tonight. I’m expecting a ton of England fans in Paris tonight.

12th July

And that’s it! 2 weeks in Paris done! Whilst I’m on the way to Crete, I might as well finish things up. The man next to me on the flight is so large that his torso is squeezing me up against the window. Tragic. Actually, I’m really uncomfortable right now so I think I’ll wait until I’m at the hostel.

-

Crete is slowly emerging outside the plane window. Mountains in the mist, except we’re just that high and Crete is already that pretty. It’s like brushstrokes have dragged the black ink outline down to suggest what landmass may lurk beneath the clouds. Even this simple outline disappears into white again before anything is given too much definition. The evening sun reflects brilliantly off a calm sea. I am rather keen to stand up and stretch my legs after this. From the sky, Crete looks, quiet, rustic, and mountainous. Even Heraklion looks hardly the tourist trap. Then again, that’s hard to judge from 10,000ft.

After all that stress I’m finally where I wanted to be. Olive groves. Tiny dots of white buildings. Jagged landscape of cliffs and sweeping valleys. The dynamism of the terrain is awesome. God, I love Greece. Wish I could speak any Greek at all. Coming in for landing now over azure water. Sides of the runway have hay bales ready in the fields, which are almost immediately adjacent to the runway. Time to get off the plane now, bye!

-

So, yes, Paris. Yesterday evening, with less than 20 minutes to go before the match began, Alice and Nicholas jumped out of bed and declared that we were going to a pub named The Auld Alliance. Alice tried to soothe my impatience by assuring me that “nothing happens in the first 15 minutes anyway.” Lo and behold, we arrive at the pub to find England one goal up. There was a decent England fanbase there, surprisingly. Must’ve been the entire resident English population in one place that night. It felt very much like a British pub as a result – right down to the shitty Strongbow on tap. There were highs and lows, and then some really low lows for which I sunk to my knees. In the end, it was all good fun.

Then finally, this morning was subdued, domestic. Nicholas had left for work before I got up, so I didn’t manage to say goodbye in person, but Alice passed on his and mine in turn. She asked me, at the end, what I’d thought of Paris, honestly. I thought it was enjoyable, and I told her as much, but to go more in-depth here, I would say that Paris has the same depth that any large city has. You can’t deny that it is an incredibly pretty place. Every window has a Juliet balcony, most with flower boxes. Every bare building wall is covered in beautiful street art, or tiny mosaics of Looney Tunes characters. Every now and again, you’ll see mosaics filling gaps in the pavement too. Parisians were generally very welcoming as well. I think one person called me a putain, and the security guard at Sainte-Chapelle was a bit of a dick, but other than that there weren’t any real worries. Of course, the language barrier meant that I may simply have not registered any rudeness, but that didn’t matter so much in the end. Homelessness was prevalent, but what can you expect from a big city?

I think my conclusion was fair. Paris was genuinely enjoyable. I didn’t suffer the dreaded “Paris Syndrome”, and I certainly never felt the urge to visit the Eiffel Tower. I let Alice know how much I’d appreciated the invitation to visit. Hopefully I can return the gesture at some point. Now here I sit in Crete at the end of a long day. 10/10 would recommend a visit to Pars, but only if you have a pocket Alice to help show you around.