Crete!!

There have definitely been some internet problems on this trip. I don’t blame them, really, for how long it has been since I’ve last written. On second thought, actually, I do. Anyway, tonight is out last night in the country of Greece until we come back to Athens for a few days before I leave Greece for home on April 20! I got to talk to my family on Skype last night for a while, and it really makes me look forward to seeing them for real. I can’t believe this trip is nearly over. It’s kind of frightening to realize how quickly three months can go when you’re not keeping track.

So, since it has been awhile, I think I’ll just give a couple of stories from each of the places we’ve been.

While on the island of Crete, we visited a very small town called Katalagari. I think I wrote how wonderful the accommodations were there. We had homemade meals every night for supper, our hotel “rooms” were more like suites, many of the equipped with, praise Jesus, washing machines. Katalagari. It’s a wonderful place. If you are ever fortunate enough to go there, Katalagari Country Inn and Suites receives a very high recommendation from me. I had my 21st birthday on this trip, on March 13th. March 12th was our last night in Katalagari.

We went to supper that night, feeling a little bereft already. It was our last night in Katalagari, which had to be the hotel apex of our trip. There is no way that any place left on this trip can even come close to this place. Supper was our favorite time, because it was clear that not only did our cook enjoy preparing the food for us, she liked watching our reactions to the delectable meals that were set in front of us to enjoy. And enjoy them we always did. This particular night, we started out with the traditional green beans in the red sauce (which somehow does not taste nearly as mysterious as it did at the Hotel Parthenon), bread, and a wonderful salad with the perfect mix of olive oil and vinegar on it. There were seconds on everything; if this had been our main meal, it would have been perfection in a course. However, luckily, there was more to come. Tonight, there was chicken with the best seasoned potatoes I have ever had. There was great conversation, discussing movies, music, cookies, former students, and what to do if ever your waiter at a restaurant is someone you once failed for cheating. We finished our chicken and potatoes, with our cook running around with more plates of everything, filling our constantly emptying dishes. Eventually, we had to say “no more.” We were nearly full, but we also knew that dessert was coming. The dessert at this particular meal had a lot to live up to. The night before was the best cake that many people on this trip had ever had in their lives. It was a moist chocolate cake, not underbaked but still warm and gooey in the middle. It was made with a type of exceptionally rich chocolate sauce drizzled into the middle of it, and the top had the perfect amount of chocolate liqueur to make that perfect brownie-like crust, just enough so that when you pushed your fork into the top, a couple of drops would make their way down to the plate. You could use the bottom of the cake to mop them up. That night, our cook had said that she “will make again,” but we waited with bated breath; had she again made the chocolate cake from the night before, the one that no fine restaurant should even dare to compete with? We did not have to wait long to find out. After we had stacked our plates and gathered our silverware and cleared out of the way, our cook came out; in her hands she held a circular baking pan. As the dessert plates made their way around the table, you could hear the gasps of surprise and pleasure and the salivating moans of anticipation of that first bite of chocolate: it was THE cake. If it was possible, it was even better than the night before. The first piece was over way too quickly, but our cook knew from experience the previous night that we were not at all opposed to seconds of this calorie laden decadence. We knew that we were getting spoiled and at that moment, we simply did not care. As she made her way around with the pan for the third time, my religion professor pointed out that my birthday was the next day. After answering the confirming question with a nod, she exclaimed the news to one of our other hosts; the lights went dim and the half-eaten cake with a single lit candle in it was presented in front of me. The room burst into an enthusiastic strain of “Happy Birthday.” After careful consideration, I made a wish and eventually blew out the candle.
When the cake was finally gone and more than few belt buckles were loosened, we were all ready to head into a night of relaxation, until one of the hotel owners said that we were not allowed to leave yet; the festivities had not yet begun. It was almost as if they knew it was my birthday the next day. We headed down to the basement to the sound of tuning bousiki and lyre (traditional Greek instruments) strings. There were two men sitting at the head of the table with different instruments, one pitched higher than the other. After the instruments were in perfect pitch with the obviously practiced hands, the music began. There was singing and playing, and plenty of food to go around. Fruit and pastries kept making their way from the kitchen down to the basement. There was also raki, a traditional Cretan drink, distilled from the skins of the grapes used for wine. Plain raki has a taste that is reminiscent of rubbing alcohol. As the night continued, the music became more and more intense and easy; it was clear how often these two had played together, how well that they could read each other by looking at the other’s face and reading their body language to determine tempo changes. Fingers flew over the strings as the music flowed from the belly of their instruments. Eventually, it was decided that we Americans would put our Greek dancing lessons to good use. We moved the tables out of the way and formed a circle, doing our best to try and remember the steps that, taught to us only a month ago, somehow had quickly found themselves in the backs of our minds. We had a great time, dancing around in two circles, dancing in groups of two or three, and finally just jumping around as the music grew too fast for our unpracticed feet to keep up. The men sitting in the corner of the basement invited us over to try some of their traditional Greek party food, which included artichoke hearts, which were quite good; wild greens, which were a nice compliment; wonderfully ripe tomatoes; and raw fish. I decided, well, what the heck, when else in my life will I be in this situation? So, I cut a piece of the fish and stuck it in my mouth, not knowing exactly what to expect. I was so glad that I had some raki sitting nearby; the fish was exceptionally salty and salmony-tasting, not exactly my favorite combination. I was wondering how these men could just continually put these putrid-tasting minnows in their mouths, but as I watched, I realized that they had come up with the same solution that had circumstantially come to me: raki can get the taste of anything out of the mouth. We naturally divided up after that, a few groups sitting around, drinking and conversing, other playing backgammon (the national game of Greece), others played cards, and still others attempting to chat with the Greek men at the couches. The music continued, both live and through speakers in turns. All of the Greek people at the party were singing along with the music, and all of the American people were wishing that they knew just a little bit more Greek. It was a great night, an unexpected birthday celebration, and one of my most cherished memories from Greece.

For all of you wondering (Grandma, Mom, Dad . . .), I spent my 21st birthday playing cards and catchphrase. Not one drop of alcohol was consumed. : )

The next place we went was a town called Rhthymnon. It was a touristy town, a spot known for its long stretch of beach; in fact, it has the longest stretch of beach in Crete. So, what else could we do but go to the beach? We had a few free days while we were there, so we shopped and went to the beach. And wrote a couple of papers.

We were only in Rhthymnon for two days. After that we headed to the Northwest side of Crete to the Orthodox Academy. It’s not a school, as the name implies. It is a building where conferences are held often, 300 days out of the year. Stephen Hawking has been there. They have conferences there to reconcile science and religion, and they have speakers come, and they have dorm-like rooms for people to stay at when they are there attending the conferences. We had a tour of the academy right away when we got there. There was a guy who wandering out by this area, out along the beach, when he saw a skull lying near his feet. He asked the skull “who are you?” which would not be my first reaction when coming across a skull, but according to tradition, the skull answered the guy that he used to be a person, but he now resides in hell. Being curious, the guy asked the skull what hell was like. The skull answered back that hell was everything that humans think it is, with flames and fire and all that, but the worst thing about hell is that the damned souls are tied back to back, not being allowed to see each other; however, when people pray for these souls, they get some relief. The cords slacken enough that the souls are able to turn and see each other. While we were there (Palm Sunday for Western Christianity), the Orthodox Church celebrated Icon Sunday. We went to a small church, dedicated to the Virgin Mary, and people brought their favorite icons from home and had them blessed by the priest and paraded them around the church. After that, we went back to the Academy and sat down for lunch. We spread out around the tables so that we have to sit next to and then presumably (hopefully) converse with a Greek person. It was kind of awkward at first, because the Greek people were kind of uncomfortable with us, sitting in their own little cliques and conversing with their friends, but eventually we started a conversation with a woman who spoke just a little bit of English, more than anyone else in her foursome. We did learn the correct way to peel an orange: using a knife, cut off the top and bottom peel, and then cut the peel off around the edges. It does work quite nicely, with less orange under your fingernails. After that, we headed up to the monastery that was first founded in the area; it reminded me of Laura Ingalls Wilder in some ways, because it was built into a cave on a cliff. The water looked very blue and nice from up there, and so I decided that I wanted to at least go down there and stick my feet in.
Emily and I went down there after we were done exploring the small chapel in the cliff. I changed out of my nice church clothes into jeans and a tank top. I took off my sandals and rolled my jeans and waded in. I just kept walking in, and pretty soon I was near mid-calve-high in the water, feeling the waves sneak their way higher and higher up my leg. It was almost unconsciously that my feet moved farther and farther out in the ocean so that the waves were licking at the top of my rolled up jeans. It was probably at that moment that I seriously thought about getting all wet. It was almost like I unconsciously had decided that I was going all the way in when I first put my feet in the water. I gave Emily my camera and just kept walking in. The sand gave way easily under my feet, and the stones at the bottom were large, but not exceptionally stable by any means, making it really difficult for me to keep my balance in the water. I kind of stumbled my way out up to my waist. My jeans were completely wet and I started swing my arms in the water, then, realizing that I still had my watch on, quickly took it off, wading back to the rock that Emily was standing on and giving her my watch. I turned around and continued my journey back out to the ocean, noticing that the water wasn’t nearly as cold as it had been the first time in. I was up out to my waist and then decided that it was now or never; I had already decided that it was going to be now. I stood still for a second, filled my lungs with air, and went under. It was absolutely great. I felt exceptionally alive and energized, swimming out in the ocean. The water was calm, not warm, but not frigid either. Just . . . really salty. : )

This was also the first day that we were served octopus tentacles. It was pretty interesting. They tasted a lot like salmon with the texture of overcooked pork. It was pretty tough, in other words. It will not ever be my favorite food, but it wasn’t horrible.

On March 17th, we travelled to Chania (Hahnya) which was only about 30 minutes from the Orthodox Academy. Chania is a town with a harbor which was very instrumental during the battle of Crete during World War II. It was a very touristy town, being on the coast and all. While shopping, we met a young woman who had grown up in New Jersey; her mother had been in Crete during a travel abroad program during school and met and married a Cretan man. They live in New Jersey now, but Anna came back to Chania to work for a couple of years. You would be amazed at how many people we’ve met who came to Crete and/or Greece because they met someone here while traveling for school or pleasure or whatever. There have been at least ten instances of that, mostly where an American girl met a Grecian man, fell in love, got married, and moved to Greece.

After Chania, we went to a small village called Vamos, population 600. There is a co-op type project going on in Vamos where some men, Georgos (Yorgos) our guide as the leader, are fixing up the old houses/apartments here, and turning them into guest houses for the “guests” (tourists) who come and visit here. Many people come and visit, and then decide that they want to own and house and live there. There is a pretty substantial British population in Vamos, actually. One of my favorite nights in Vamos was when we all got together at a little art café to listen to a band called “Big Fish.” It consisted of these ex-pats who were about 65 years old, playing songs that they wrote on their guitars. As the night went on, however, they started playing familiar songs to the American audience, like “Johnnie B. Goode” and some Chubbie Checker. There was this group of British women in a corner totally dancing in a very 60’s-hippie type way, just kind of bopping around. It reminded me a little of the Charlie Brown Christmas Story when they’re all dancing during the pageant practice. Eventually, they had the whole group up on their feet, dancing all together in a very small space. There were people of all ages, from nine-year-olds to eighty-year-olds, Greeks, Americans, and Brits all dancing together. It was a pretty great night.
We had our Easter service at Vamos, since Orthodox Easter occurs on April 27, a week after we get home from Greece. So, we held a rooftop sunrise service, complete with “Now the Green Blade Rises” and “Christ the Lord is Ris’n Today.” It was a good service, but it made me miss the good ol’ Lutheran organ music and the Alleluia Chorus.

We went on some hikes in Vamos, visiting churches and talking with the locals. It was mostly a time to relax and recharge in a small town, not surrounded by the frenzy that usually accompanies the larger, more visited areas.

Right now it’s 5 am, and I’m packing to head to Turkey. If possible, I will finish up my island adventures while I’m there!

Love
Alicia