SYNERGISE travels to Crete with Ed
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This article now includes an update I just hate arriving in new places in the dark, especially new countries — new to me, that is. But this was the case when the plane finally touched down at Crete's Heraklion Airport in early May. It's one of those airports that take advantage of the sea as a safe approach and you just hope the pilot knows where the land and runway begin, otherwise you're in for an early dip. After a prolonged wet spell in England I had high hopes of finding the sun in Crete, even though the season had barely kicked-off there. While I was away I missed a fine sunny spell in England, of course, while the weather in Crete was much the same as at home: nice, sunny, but not what you would call hot. The darkness meant that there was little to be seen during the bus transfer to the hotel at Rethymnon on the north coast. Only in the morning could I appreciate how green the country was. The nearby brooding mountains to the left were invisible, as was the sea to the right. The first stops were at the luxury hotels to the east of our destination; glad I wasn't at one of these for, luxury apart, they are out in the sticks. I do believe you need to be somewhere when you're on vacation; the middle-of-nowhere is a great place to relax, but if you want to easily see new things and embrace a new culture, the middle-of-nowhere becomes the middle of knowwhere! There is an alternative airport at Chania that is equally well served, to the west of Rethymnon; the main difference one would notice on a transfer from there would be brooding mountains on the right and sea on the left. Either road trip suggests population on the island is hardly dense: except in its cities. Chania is another place you might wish to say, but personally I'd choose Rethymnon any time. Our late arrival at the hotel was greeted by the tremendous booming of Greek music and dancing in the hotel lobby area, and being too late to eat an evening meal, peanuts and water from the bar were all H and I had to sustain ourselves with — although this didn't matter very much given the only things on our minds were to sink into oblivion on the admittedly comfortable bed. Even the elegance of Greek dance couldn't keep us from that for too long. Breakfast was a pleasant surprise, with buffet options as good as you might expect anywhere outside England — you can't really beat a 'full-English', but this hotel came reasonably close with some of its options. We later discovered the food was consistently good, with a good choice of evening meal and everything cooked to perfection. So good, in fact, it was truly memorable.
While H rested, I later ventured out and down the slight hill to the promenade. Both left and right I saw only boring bars and hotels. Had we come to the best place? We picked it because it was apparently near to the old town, but would we ever get to see it? Disgruntled, I returned to the hotel, ice bags, and sorrow. The physiotherapists magic worked quite quickly, however, and later that morning we were able to venture forth — although frequent rest-stops were specified and obeyed. Which was fine. We wanted a relaxing first day. And even with such a handicap, we made it to the old town of Rethymnon, and our spirits there were truly lifted. It is delightful. Like other islands in the Med, its strategic locations has led to a tumultuous history of invasion, and Rethymnon is no exception. Which, perhaps, also explains the multiplicity of names it and other places have around here. One of the confusing things about life abroad is this matter of different names. It is bad enough on maps. I mean, even in England, London is 'London', so why do the French need to call it 'Londres'? It sure makes road signs more complicated if different nations insist on calling the same places by different names, and this comes to a head in Greece. For example, Rethymnon is also called — and variously signed — Rethymnon, Pebymno and Peoymnoy (where the latter is a reasonable approximation, given I can't find the correct symbol for the third letter). All very well, but confusing when taking local buses, as we were to do. You had a ticket, but was it to the right place? The city I mentioned before, Heraklion, is also called Iraklion, and to the west you have Chiania or Hania (or Xania on the bus ticket). See the problem for nervous travellers? I never did get to pronounce the name of the place we were staying with any confidence. Rethymnon. You try saying it without sounding as if you've got a lisp, had eight beers, or been given a frozen jaw by the dentist! No matter, I digress... as usual. Let's get back to Rethymnon. What I call in my quaint English way 'the promenade' (or 'prom') stretches from distant hotels right to the old town, a long parade of lurking hotels at the rear of mainly bars, restaurants, gift shops and mini-markets. Just about every restaurant and bar has its own cheerful waiter out front trying to tempt you in to sample its delights. Given there are enough of these along the prom and in the old town to allow you to dine or drink at a different one every day for several years, and often outside, I guess you could call this café-culture. But although you are constantly assailed by these quick-talking people when you pass their establishments, they are humorous and mostly extremely polite, up for banter, and they are happy with excuses, unlike shop owners in certain other nameless countries... like Tunisia. Top tip: be polite to them and they will almost certainly smile and be polite back. One even thanked me for my smile! How nice is that? Sit at a café table with a drink and watch them all in action. Admire their skills at ascertaining the nationality of passers-by as they switch effortlessly, and with good humour, between English, French, German, whatever.
The old town is built on the site of ancient Rithymna of Mycenean times and became a city during the Venetian occupation after a period of relative obscurity when it was regarded as little more than a village. The Venetians needed a port for their shipping and it came in handy for that after their conquest in 1204. They built to the rules of Venetian architecture. They also needed an administrative centre, so Rethymnon became the third biggest city in Crete and an important cultural centre. It was destroyed in 1567 when Algerian pirates conquered, robbed and burned it. The Turks took over in 1646. During the period of Ottoman rule, Rethymnon fell into decline as did the other towns in Crete. During the difficult years of its struggle for independence many of its freedom fighters were executed. In 1897 the Russian army took Rethymnon and held it until 1909. In 1913 it became part of Greece, together with the rest of Crete. Not surprisingly, its architecture reflect this eclectic mix, and Venetian style is overlayed with the Turkish fetish for wooden paneling with upper-floors overhanging the lower floor (see the first picture in this article). The Venetian Fortress (fortezza) on the point, dating from the 16th century, is built of the site of the paleio kastro or old castle; archaeological excavations have found coins from the early Minoan period on this site. For an entrance fee you can go inside, marvel at its huge size, its two little churches and the Ibrahim Han Mosque; it's golden dome can be seen from the town and looks rather like a low moon hanging over the fort in the evening.
Being part of Greece, you cannot get far away from Greek legend and myth. Zeus has his thunderbolt, Poseidon his trident, Athena her spear, Apollo his golden arrows, Hermes his caduceus (insignia), Dionysus 2 his thyrsus (flower cluster), Heracles his club, and Priapus his penis - a pole of enormous fertility. And guess which one of these symbols is displayed so obviously in many of the gifts. So if you are buying a present for Grandma, be sure you take a good look at that wooden bottle opener or she may die of shock when she opens it. The children here must be pretty broad-minded. There are many trips you can take from the town, and places to visit include hiking through the Samaria Gorge — one of Europe's longest gorges, cutting through the White Mountains, an 8km walk through the Imbros Gorge, the Samaria Gorge, the Palace of Knossos if you like Greek myth and legend, or perhaps a visit to the capital of Crete, Heraklion.
Firstly we went to Loutra, a medieval village a few kilometres out of town. The trip passes through placid Cretan countryside of green and ancient olive groves and villages where, you are frequently told, "The people live mainly off the land." That much is patently obvious. Most grow olives, some grow vines, and here and there ancient carob trees provide pseudo-chocolate lovers with a chewy alternative to my preferred treat: it lasts longer in the mouth... but do you really want it to? Personally I'd stick to quick-melting chocolate any time.
Another little train trip was to the Monastery of Arkadi. This trip faltered early at one of its staging posts when it was discovered some people were on the wrong train and others didn't have tickets. Cretans are not great at checking paperwork, and this took three inspections of everybody's tickets — which were finally confiscated — before we could resume slow motion. But everyone was reasonably laid-back — if you so interpret a loud but humorous chant in German from the back carriage. Because this trip goes farther, and the train just as slow, the only stop-overs, apart from the destination, is the 'free lunch' stop. After stiffly getting off the train, walk to see inside the tower of the outside wall, for therein a shock awaits: a cupboard-full of skeletons, a brutal reminder of the troubles times Crete has seen. This is no Turkish delight...
There is a good and efficient bus service on Crete, and you can do worse than use it to visit nearby towns, wherever you stay. I hear they even put extra busses on if the occasion demands so, apart from the fact they can be a bit relaxed about timetables, and sometimes start a few minutes before the appointed hour to add interest and allow for delays, travel is reasonably comfortable. In Rethymnon there is also a hotels bus that goes from the bus station to local areas.
The walk took around a couple of hours, but it is easier than the more arduous Imbros and Samaria Gorges where you have to contend with walking across boulders and rough stones. Do not underestimate Mili, though. It may not be a walk in the park, but our trip — all of whom survived by helping each other — included a delightful gentleman of 87 years sporting a heavy back-pack; I know it was heavy because I found myself supporting it from the rear at time to help him survive some of the inclines. Despite falling backwards at least three times (but not while I was supporting it, I hasten to add), all of which was done with extremem grace. Now judge for yourself whether you are up to this. The old man had had three previous heart-attacks and was stone deaf, dependent upon lip-reading. The guide did not realise this at the outset, but she did insist of carrying his pack after his third fall - but he was resolute all the while he could manage and preferred not to take a helping hand unless there was no option. He only looked about 75. A resolute, proud, but exceedingly nice gentleman - one of life's risk takers, on vacation on his own after his wife died some nine years previously. Give him credit for guts.
Another adventurous bus trip from Rethymnon was to a more famous destination on the north coast: Chania (Hania, Xania — historically, called Kythonia). Remember that thing about confusion with place names? Well, the bus says it goes from Pebymno to Xania. The history of this place is so complex an article could be written about this alone. Suffice it to say that Kythonia became Chania somewhere early along the line of its progression from the 1st millennium BC, the 1st Byzantine Period (3-823), the Arabian occupation (823-961), the Byzantine Period (961-1204), the Venetian Occupation (1204-1645), and the Turkish Occupation (1645-1898). Complicated enough for you? To say the place has some history is an understatement.
We sat with them and watched the local buzz. The men seemed to make a big thing of flicking strings of large black beads to and fro. It was a big thing. At first I thought they were rosaries, although, if so, they seemed to be treating them with considerable disrespect. Then I realised they didn't have any divisions. Subsequent research suggested they were Greek worry beads. As if these men had anything to worry about when they were in their big family groups, men and women separately, the women chewing the fat like their husbands. Worry? On the other hand... They constantly flicked and tossed them around. Yes, I think they were Greek worry beads. Apparently they are called Komboloi and are an ancient remedy for stress and bad habits: like stopping smoking, dieting, etc. Boy, now I look back at what I took to be a calm and laid-back scene at a harbourside bar and I realise it was a hotbed of stress and worry. Greeks, eh? Buzz is what the entire holiday gave us, to be honest. Crete is a lovely island, most of the people are lovely, and so was the food. In May the weather can be unpredictable, and the green scenery comes at some cost; but the days were like an English summer day for us (good ones), and the pace was just right — extremely laid-back. The sea was cool enough to keep most people out of it — although the morning we left it had clearly improved. Typical. Anyway, whatever the weather, so long as it is mainly fine, I can thoroughly recommend Crete! And 'Rethminon'. There, I can say it now. (I think.) Why not watch the 5 minute video about Rethymnon below, or learn more about Crete from the recommended websites?
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