Final Days - Sfakia to Akrotiri

What's the worst day to travel in Greece? Possibly (Greek) Easter Sunday, which is exactly when we blithely set out from our hidden cove by small boat to Loutro. The ferry into Loutro disgorged a motley crew who'd come from an all night beach bonfire in Agia Galini. This included our musical friends from Britain, who somehow still had enough spark to send us off with a spirited scarf dance on the pier as we pulled away. Sadly no photos of a classic moment in folklore...
After the beautiful ferry ride to Chora Sfakion, things got a little ugly at the bus stop, as 3 different walking tour guides tried to make sure their clients got seats on the bus. We luckily squeezed on at the end, and stood up in the sweaty heat, hanging on as the bus wound its very slow way up the steep mountain switchbacks.
However, we made it back to Chania, and are now in a little studio on the Akrotiri peninsula near the village of Tersanas. Not quite the remote charm of the south coast, but pleasant enough, and a kitchen for cooking our own meals. We've befriended two young British women, Zoe and Hannah, exploring the coast and driving inland with them, and more importantly introducing them to our word-breaking game, at which they excel, the little rats! Yesterday we climbed from the monastery at Gouvernetou down a cliff-hanging path to the ruins of the older monastery in the gorge below, abandoned 300 years ago due to repeated pirate raids. Never a peaceful century in Cretan history!

Unorthodox Easter

As you likely know, Easter is a huge deal in the Eastern Orthodox Church, bigger than Christmas or any other holy day, and it was late this year, so we got to see the celebrations. Lots of family visiting and feasts, and the national TV channels showed 48 hours straight of people filing through a cathedral kissing the feet of Jesus, while priests with huge beards intoned.
So far not too surprising, but what we hadn't experienced was the gleeful burning in effigy of Judas. Everywhere, even at our little hotel in a remote cove, giant bonfires were built at the base of large crosses, and a dummy representing poor Judas strung up. At midnight, or earlier if there were children to consider, the fires were set ablaze, and soon Judas was consumed, to the accompaniment of fireworks built into the cross. A bit macabre, and dare I say with echoes of the KKK, but it was a spectacular piece of theatre, similar to Britain's Guy Fawkes day, making our Easter egg hunts look a little tame and lacking in vengeance!

Kayaking the Caves

The shoreline where Phillipe, Jenny and I are staying, on the south coast of Crete near Loutros, is spectacular in many ways: crystal clear turquoise water, steep sparsely vegetated mountains rising abruptly, picturesque villages accessible only by boat, and rugged walking trails along the coast and up the gorges. Our favorite beach is Marmora, at the base of the Aradena gorge, with its little taverna sitting on smooth marble cliffs. The cliffs are riddled with caves, both up high where the goats hang out and along the water, where you can swim or paddle into them. Sunlight penetrates deep into some of the caves, creating a beautiful blue glow underwater. The sea has been calm for our whole stay, but the gentle swell sucks air in and out of crevices, causing eerie breathing sounds in the dark recesses.
The crowd of boats in one photo is unusual - it was Greek Easter Sunday, so the normally quiet cove was buzzing.

Cretan Music

For 3 months I've been packing my tiny ukulele around, keeping my fingers a bit in shape and hoping to stumble on a jam situation. There were a few interactions in Africa, but nothing of the north-meets-south variety I was fantasizing.
However, last night in a little taverna on Crete, we had a bit of magic that made the lugging worthwhile. Manilos, son of the family running the hotel in the next cove, invited us to play and sing with him, us being Jenny and me and some British rogues we ran into. A few Germans rounded out the UN, and we played into the wee hours, fuelled by good vibes and Raki.
Manilos played fabulous traditional Greek music on his laouto, a large lute with odd tuning, and we provided inappropriate background chords and riffs. He also picked up my uke and soon made it sound like something from the mountains of Crete - he was great! A guitar was passed around, and we sang folk tunes, reggae and rock'n'roll favourites. Steve and Mark, pictured below, were particularly excellent to play with on harp and guitar. Jenny's voice and spoons were highly appreciated, as were Ian Tyson and Bruce Cockburn songs. A beautiful meeting of world music lovers under a warm night sky, and we agreed to repeat the whole thing yearly...

Also pictured is Jannis, another local son who's very talented on the Cretan Lyra, a 3 string fiddle. I sat with his mother Natasia on her porch, listening to him improvise for half an hour - wow! I have a recording if anyone wants to hear it.

Surefooted As Aaaaaaaaaaaaa........!

None of the hiking on the south coast of Crete is on the flat, and much of it is rugged and at times precipitous. As you creep along a ledge, trying not to dislodge a rock or even look down, it's humbling to see goats cavorting high above you, leaping from rock to crumbling rock. Apparently their vocation is to eat and make us look clumsy and inept. We did come across a number of goat carcasses at the bottom of canyons however, and at least one poor billy stuck on a high ledge, although perhaps he was just taking a brief break from strutting his stuff, still taunting us merely by his ridiculous position.

The Aradena Gorge

This chasm is carved by water through the limestone and conglomerates of the mountains above our cove. Starting in alpine meadows, pines and cypresses, it plunges over a thousand meters in about 5 kilometers. 6 of us hired a man with a truck to carry us up the zig-zagging track, a vertigo-inspiring affair from the back of a bouncing pickup.
The village at the top has a sad history, according to our driver. In the local tradition of vendettas, 50 years ago a boy was slapped. Soon after the slapper was shot by the family of the slapped; revenge was taken on the family of the shooter, and so on until 27 people had been killed. Today only a few members of one family live there among the crumbling buildings. This was an area of very tough people, and was never fully subjugated by the Venetians, Turks or Germans. But to throw away that proud history in a meaningless feud seems a travesty.
Anyway, the exhilarating climb down soon erased the somber mood of the ghost village. Tall canyon walls often shaded us on a hot day, and you can see how gorgeous the scenery was. As finale the gorge spits you out onto a perfect stone beach, with clear blue water and caves of marble.