West Crete, 2015

I first went to Greece in 1968. A kebab in pitta bread, bought from an Athens street vendor, cost the
drachma equivalent of four pence and a bottle of wine was around 12 pence. Despite such prices, I ran out of money and ended up sleeping on a hotel roof (12 pence a night with illicit use of the cold showers). Some of my fellow guests regularly sold their blood for cash.

This year, beginning to feel as old as the Acropolis, I thought I deserved better, so we flew to West Crete and moved into Villa Iro, with its three bathrooms, private pool and outdoor jacuzzi. We were in the countryside, about 15 miles west of Chania, one of the longest continuously inhabited towns in the world. Chania has two harbours with many restaurants (far from crowded) and an old town with narrow streets packed with quality leather goods, wine, and olive oil (not the usual tourist tat). To get to Chania I had to adopt the unnerving Cretan habit of driving on the hard shoulder while watching out for stray foliage and boulders.

 

From our villa we could look down to the coastal plain where the Battle of Crete took place in 1941. German paratroopers were shot in the air as they descended, but the invading army soon made sure they got their own back in a series of bloody reprisals. Despite this violent chapter of World War Two, the coastal village of Maleme has an immaculate cemetery containing the remains of some 4,500 German soldiers.

Even in June and July, West Crete has near-empty roads (winding among mountains of over 4,000 feet), acres of peaceful olive groves and woodland. On the twisting road south from Villa Iro is the sleepy village of Kandanos. Only a stone monument lets you know that it was completely destroyed as a reprisal for the deaths of 25 German soldiers. In a taverna, we met John who is engaged in writing a book based around the Battle of Crete. He has the valuable assistance of his Greek partner Vicki; she’d recently interviewed a 103-year-old woman who had entertained German troops in her kitchen while resistance fighters hid upstairs.

However, Kandanos has a new (though very old) claim to fame. Within walking distance (on a cool day) you can find around 20 Byzantine chapels, with some of the structures dating back to the tenth century. The chapels are in olive groves, woods or at the end of dusty tracks. Though lined with thirteenth- and fourteenth-century frescoes, they are invariably unlocked. We encountered no other visitors at any of them. It is strange to leave the sunlight to stand in the semi-darkness and be watched by the staring eyes of saints. This, though, is not always the case as invading Turks had a habit of gouging out the eyes of the saintly images.

 

Back towards the north coast, and above the village of Spilia, we visited the cave of St John the Hermit. This John is not a biblical John but an eleventh-century ascetic evangelist. The cave has been converted into a church, complete with rough wooden pews, and is an important place of pilgrimage. An additional attraction is a panoramic view across olive groves to the north coast. Buzzards wheel and soar in the warm air currents. While exploring the site, being again the only visitors, we turned a corner to be met by the current priest and accompanying family sitting round a huge table piled high with grilled lamb and vegetables. We politely apologized and were about to leave but couldn’t. They insisted we sat down and ate. No excuses. We were treated to wine and olive oil (on toast with oregano) produced by the family. The wine tasted better than anything we’d bought at the Inka supermarket and was somewhere between a red and a rosé. When I said that I had to drive my protests were dismissively waved aside.

I love retsina but decent stuff with a powerful  kick of resin is increasingly difficult to get where we live in East Scotland.  Crete has always specialized in the wine; some stores had six or seven different varieties, often in the traditional 500 ml bottles.  We sampled a fair number, all at around £1 each. Our favourite was produced in the Chania district.

Despite all the problems the Greeks are facing we found the Cretan hospitality unstinting. You couldn’t decide to have a quick one-course lunch as there was invariably a complimentary dessert or a plate of cherries brought to the table along with an ice-cold flask of raki (drink as much as you want or dare). When we first arrived at Villa Iro we were presented with a large and delicious homemade chocolate cake. All this, while the banks were shutting down and the future is a possible financial abyss. Thousands have killed themselves through despair.

We’d been warned to take lots of ready cash; our only worry was when, on a day of panic-buying, most of the garages ran out of petrol and closed. Litsa, who runs a restaurant in tiny Afrata, told us she’d voted OXI (no) because she felt it was time to start out again from the bottom and build; she also wanted her dignity back. 62% of voters (70% in Crete) obviously agreed with her.  I wish them luck. They need it. And Greece needs us to visit.

As an oldie in West Crete I suddenly felt quite young when I visited the famous olive tree at Ano Vouves.  Proof states it is 4,000 years old.  It is still producing olives.

 

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