One vaporetto, one
bus, and one soul-crushingly long check-in line later, I boarded a plane bound
for Athens. Upon arriving in
Athens I was greeted outside baggage claim by a wiry old Greek man holding a
hand-written sign that read “MR. LUCE WILLIAMS.” Naturally, I assumed this sign
was meant for me. I was correct.
Kostas, the sign-holder, and I waited a few minutes before my long lost
sista Kath emerged from behind two glass doors wearing *almost* the same outfit
as me. Reunited at last.
Kostas drove wildly
through the Athenian highways toward our hotel and all the while gave us tips,
restaurant recs, and anecdotes for the road. He was borderline appalled when he
learned Katherine and I had not seen each other since Christmas, as indicated
by hand flailing and gasps.
Athens consisted of
the best Greek yogurt of muh lyfe, exploring the city on foot, Greek salads,
free white wine, tzatziki for dayyysssss, visiting the Acropolis, etc. Also
included was a trip to the Athenian poet / sandal-maker, Stavros Melissinos,
as well the discovery of a shop run by two lovely Greek women who make custom
scents from organic oils for the price of a sandwich. Thanks to them, I now
smell like a magical autumn morning full of happiness and sunshine, or
something similar.
We made it to Chania,
Crete via overnight ferry. Chania is where I have enjoyed one of my first
pleasant beach days (save for the mad face-burn that thankfully has since
faded). Usually I just get hot and annoyed that I have sand stuck to my face
and in my swimsuit and bored after a couple hours. Not in Chania. The chatter
of nearby beachers was surprisingly pleasant, largely because it was all in
languages I could not understand and thus, had no inclination to eaves drop on.
ALAS, I just lounged on a chair and read East of Eden and ate pita bread and
splashed around in the ocean every now and then.
After
nearly – but NOT – missing the bus to the trail head, Kath and I hiked the
Samaria Gorge. 14km, saw a satisfactory amount of kir-kri (Cretan Mountain
Goats), met one Canadian, no rockslides, finished strong. Spent the night in
Agia Roumeli, and the next day took a ferry to Loutro.
LOUTRO. What a gem.
Tucked away into a tiny inlet on a scrubby hillside in the south of Crete lies
Loutro, a small, whitewashed fishing village. We spent our time in Loutro
swimming along the coast, testing baklava, kayaking in the Algerian Sea – the
bluest I have ever seen, paddling into shaded caves for snack breaks – caves
like the ones where St. Paul was washed up in southern Crete. Maybe the same
one… who’s to say? We also spent an impressive portion of our time sifting
through the brilliantly colored and patterned rocks on the shore. We sprawled
face-down, like beached toddlers, collecting these stones. This was also a
great idea because we had overweight baggage to begin with, and everyone
knows the best thing to do with overweight luggage is to add rocks!
Loutro to Sfakia,
Sfakia to Rethymno, Rethymno to Heraklion. One night in the Heraklion Youth
Hostel. Sometimes you just have to ignore Trip Advisor reviews and hope for the
best. It worked! No trauma OR diseases. How’s that for beating all odds?
One ferry ride
later, Santorini.
Santorini: See
Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants. It was essentially the same, only with more
legitimate sisterhood and fewer angry grandparents. Similar amounts of
forbidden love and magic jeans.
Our host in
Santorini was a bold, hospitable Greek woman named Maria who spoke broken
English and often referred to herself in third person. “Maria make you coffee
now.”
We took the island
by storm. Said storming was made possible by our decision to rent an ATV for
the few days. Our bright yellow steed of an ATV carried us across the island
along stretches of open road where I continued to fall more and more in love with the desert landscape, and through villages like Megalochori where we stumbled
upon what is apparently the oldest winery in Greece. We walked the high trail from Imerovigli to Oia, spent the
afternoon on a rocky beach, and got a ride back into town from a Serbian
electro-pop DJ just in time for dinner and the sunset.
A note on sunsets: They’re a pretty big deal over there.
Hundreds, if not thousands, of people all migrate to the hillside to watch the
sun go down every night – as though the sun were a rare sight and had not had the
same routine every day from the beginning of time. But nonetheless, the hot pink sun
slowly sank until it dipped below the horizon into the glittery sea, without
even the faintest hint of stage fright, and the spectators walked home, not one
of them disappointed by the show.
