The Time Crete Was Totally Enchanting

Santorini may be a once in a lifetime destination, but Crete… Crete is the island you dream about returning to again and again. Like the one that got away, you will lust after its white beaches and palm trees, and daydream about the allure of Chania by night long after you have parted.

I like the way the boats bob in the old Venetian harbour.

Tania and I arrived in Crete in the late afternoon, and were pleased to find that it was just a 1km walk to our host’s home in Heraklion. Despite every intention of going out to get some food, we settled in on our respective devices, and didn’t move again all evening. The next morning, however, we got a decently early start, making our way down to the old Venetian harbour, where we stayed awhile listening to the surf breaking on the rocks, and then up through the market, teeming with tourists and locals alike. We wandered through cobble stone passageways with great open air displays of fresh fruit and fish, and browsed tourist and trade shops with wares overflowing into the walkways. Having reached our threshold for ancient ruins for the time being, we opted not to visit the ancient Minoan site at Knossos and instead get a head start towards Chania, a 3 hour bus ride away. (By the way, the C in Chania is more or less silent… for pronunciation, think “Tania”, but replace the T with a pleghmy H sound).

Love me some market-fresh produce.

Making the trip in full daylight proved to be a solid choice, as the drive from Heraklion to Chania was a relaxing sightseeing adventure of its own. Immediately outside Heraklion, the coastal road climbed steeply, not quite so high over the sea as Santorini, but high enough to provide a dazzling bird’s eye view over the many bays and coves below, where the turquoise water swelled and swept against the dark rock outcroppings with a mild ferocity. Further along, white sand beaches prevailed, with identical palm frond umbrellas running a couple dozen across and half a dozen thick, providing the very picture of a tropical holiday. But it was the deserted coves that caught my eye and filled me with exploratory longing. On the other side of the highway agricultural pursuits dominated the landscape. Unbound by topography, patches of growth stood gathered in terraces, or gamely ascending the steep rise of the landscape itself. Olive groves, in particular, covered the steep hillsides, their carefully spaced rows the only telltale sign of human interference. Closer to Chania, the road dropped right down to sea level and ran parallel to the shore, some 200 meters from the beach. The only thing marring the effect was the great abundance of unsightly litter lining both sides of the road.

The sound of the waves in Heraklion made me so happy.

I could sit and listen to the sea for hours. In this case, Tania only sat for a few minutes.

Arriving at our next guesthouse in Chania, we were greeted by our host, Yannis; a tall, large and gregarious man who typifies the Greek’s distinctive brand of hospitality—at once warm and brusque. He invited (read: instructed) us to sit down and proceeded to give us a mini history lesson on Crete, describing at one point the vast destruction caused by German bombing during the Second World War. As it turns out, his building, an old family home, was one of just two original buildings in the neighbourhood that stood intact, while many others had their roofs blown off. To this day, many haven’t reconstructed completely, adapting instead to create pretty, and surprisingly elegant open-air restaurants in the reinforced ruins. To his great credit, he followed that up by pulling out a large map and giving us personalized recommendations on what to see, where to eat, and perhaps most importantly, which beaches to visit.

How can you not be charmed by settings like this?

By this point, we were starving and all too pleased to take our host’s suggestion of restaurant. Even so, wandering into the heart of Chania, our appetites were momentarily forgotten under the allure of the old town. It was well after 9 and the market streets were all still brightly lit, alive with activity but deserted enough as to give the illusion of wandering in an enchanted setting, where everything and everyone else is suspended in time. The old town is a seemingly endless network of criss-crossing little streets and alleys running between tall pastel homes draped in vines and flowers, lined with cafes and restaurants spilling out onto the uneven cobblestone.

Tania was really feeling the Staka, a melty goat and sheep cheese dip.

When we emerged from dinner, it was approaching midnight and a warm breeze still drafted through the crevices between the buildings. Drawn by lights and music, Tania and I stumbled upon the harbour, and looked at each other with big eyes and goofy grins. Chania by day was charming, but by night it was pure magic. The buildings all around the harbour were lit from roof to foundation, while street artists and buskers were scattered around the crescent of the old harbour, sharing their respective talents, and every restaurant and café was packed to the brim with laughing people leisurely sipping on digestifs or coffee. It was all the allure of a summer night in Paris, with the added mystique of the gentle lapping of the Mediterranean a few feet away. It was all we could do to tear ourselves away to get ourselves off to bed in preparation of the full day ahead.

No photo of Chania by night would ever do it justice, so here is one where you can at least see what the harbour looks like under the full light of day.

Inspired by Yannis’ ringing endorsement of Balos, Tania and I decided another beach day was exactly what the doctor ordered. (In my case, perhaps more literally, as I had been instructed to soak my injured toe in salt water). We found a tour company that provided passage to the remote lagoon and set off, not entirely sure what to expect. The boat in this case was not nearly as exciting or luxurious feeling as the one we’d been on in Santorini, but the ride was every bit as beautiful, as the crystalline water, an impossible shade of blue, shimmered in the sunshine.

"I literally can't even"-- Every basic white girl ever.

Our first stop was the island of Gramvousa, where the shallow bay held water of a turquoise dreams are made of, and an old venetian fortress held court on the highest point of the island. After wandering out to a far point of the beach to inspect a wrecked and rotting ship, I decided to make the climb, simply because I wanted to see the view from above. Tania, having a beast of a blister declined to go up in favor of some extra time in the water. While this meant I could huff and puff upwards at entirely my own speed, it also meant I literally had to give myself a pep talk every 100 meters or so to keep going, hot as it was under the midday sun. But when I arrived at the top, I was not disappointed. A warm, gusting wind cut across the flat top of the plateau, providing some relief from the heat and the cliffside perches of the old castle walls provided the perfect vantage point to take in the exquisite sights stretching in every direction below.

One of the most rewarding climbs of the whole trip.

I plodded back down just in time to dunk myself in the ocean before re-boarding for the short boat ride to Balos. We disembarked the boat onto a rocky outcropping connected to a bathwater-warm, ankle-deep lagoon, which we waded across to reach the strip of sand connected to the bay itself. I won’t lie—while the image looks perfect, it’s not actually soft sand crunching under your feet. Packed by the salt-dense water, it is actually quite hard (kind of like sand-baked clay), so not ideal for lounging on towels, though that is easily forgotten once one is in the low surf. The shallow bay stretches out for a couple hundred meters, never more than waist deep before beginning its gradual decline to greater depths. Tania and I worked our way out until we could no longer touch, and just floated. I could physically feel the strain disappearing from my body as I bobbed in the waves—the rigors of travel, concerns related to field research prep, it all just floated away from me. It was all I could do to wrench myself from the soul-rejuvenating waters when the time came to head back to the city.

Picture us in paradise. Oh wait, we did that for you.

We took our time getting up and getting moving for our last day on the island, enjoying a leisurely brunch at a café overlooking the old harbour, and then exploring the area on foot. We took our last browse through the shops, ventured outside the historic core a little ways and wandered along the shore. We marveled over how fast the two weeks had gone, while simultaneously both feeling like we had been in Greece for a long time. And then, the time came to make our way to the ferry landing, to board the overnighter that would take us back to Athens. The next day, Tania would board her long flight home, but my adventure was just hitting its stride…

How freaking quaint, right?