The Calm before the Storm, Part 2: Retreat from Reality (Early September in Southern Crete)

Greek Vacations

I’ve said that life in Greece is no vacation. Okay, I admit it; sometimes it is, for those of us with the time and means to temporarily escape from the reality of the socioeconomic crisis. We were fortunate enough to manage some modest trips this year. Many families did not leave town, instead limiting themselves to local beaches they once scorned (if they were lucky enough to live near a beach)—hardly surprising as the unemployment rate hovers around 25%, with something like half of youth unemployed, many salaries (including D’s) cut by 50% compared with two years ago, and taxes and utility prices climbing while rent and grocery costs haven’t dropped at nearly the rate of salaries, pensions, and benefits. And news reports suggest all of this will keep getting worse.

Greek vacation patterns differ from those of Americans. Or rather, those of the middle and upper-middle class Greeks I know have, in the past, differed from those of my American family and friends of the same class. Greeks are much more likely than Americans to live with or near their extended family members, so that they feel freer to travel away from family, rather than joining them for holidays. Before the crisis hit, some went skiing in the Swiss Alps or visited Euro Disneyland; others spent Christmas in New York City. Athenians tended to flee to the islands in August, while Salonicans headed to the northern resort of Halkidiki. Island dwellers sometimes explored other islands, but many spent vacations in “the village,” where they may have family and/or an ancestral home, often with olive groves or other produce attached. Living atypically far from our families, we have spent most of our vacation time with family and friends in the Athens area or, on the rare occasions when we could afford the trip, in the U. S. But for a brief escape, we’ve found that Crete has far more to offer than we could ever find the time or money to enjoy, so that there’s little reason to leave the island for vacations. Western Crete is famous for such gorgeous beaches as Falasarna, Elafonisi, and Frangokastello, and last year we first explored south central Crete, falling in love with its varied offerings of beaches, gorges, and scenery.

Heading Southeast of Chania, then through Kotsifou Gorge

This year, we again drove east through wooded hills toward Rethymno, then turned south to cross the mountains in central Crete, heading toward the Plakias area on the southern coast. The evergreen forested mountain views punctuated by villages and olive groves were sufficiently interesting that I was surprised how soon we reached the stunning little Kotsifou gorge, which runs from the village of Kanevos toward the coast. I enjoy passing through this gorge repeatedly, because its stark cliff faces feature such fissures, bulges, and variations in shape and altitude that upward gazes rival entranced stares between the narrowly separated towering rock walls, with their own bulges, turns, and fascinating irregularities. As the light changes toward late afternoon, deeper shadows create an even more spectacular show. A priest who worked for the foreman in charge of building a road through the gorge many years ago may have been as awed as I; he caused a church to be erected there, half built into the face of the gorge’s stone wall.

 

Lodging and Food:  Simple Choices

This year, we skipped the time-consuming study of internet sites and the repeated stops in Plakias to inquire at hotels and headed west of the village to Creta Spirit, the same medium-small, family-owned apartment/studio complex where we’d been pleased with our clean, roomy apartment last year (www.creta-spirit.gr). Then, we occupied the largest apartment they have: a large separate bedroom and spacious living/dining/kitchen area where the kids also slept, a large bathroom with a tub, and a short hall. Unfortunately, that wasn’t available on short notice this September, but Theodoros and Maria Arabatzis, the friendly, helpful multilingual owners, had added a comfortable, attractive new unit suitable for a family, with a good-sized living area plus a bedroom loft overlooking it. It’s not as big as the other, and the bathroom doesn’t include a tub (as opposed to an enclosed shower), but it’s just as clean, carefully designed, and well-equipped, down to the cooking and eating utensils, hair dryer, drying rack, wash tub, and clothespins. So aside from our little guy having trouble getting enough sleep—it’s hard for one to sleep when the others don’t, there—it was a pleasant place to stay. Its blonde wooden stairway and ceiling create a cozy atmosphere, and while the windows don’t offer impressive views, the spacious private balcony compensates with its panoramic view of the sea.

We also returned to some favorite restaurants this year. Iliomanolis Taverna, at the edge of the Kotsifou gorge in Kanevos, is so well known and oft praised that some people drive an hour or more out of their way just to eat there. It’s a simple, modestly priced family run enterprise which continues to flourish in spite of the death of its namesake last year. One can always find a dozen or so Cretan foods ready, including tender meats cooked in a tomato and olive oil sauce. The home-made spoon sweets there are the best and spiciest I’ve had, almost good enough to eat without yogurt (although such things have always been too sweet for my American palate). Closer to the coast, two restaurants in Mirthios, a village in the hills above Plakias, feature striking views of other villages, hills full of olive groves, and the sea. One is recommended in tourist guides, but we happened to try the other and enjoyed the food as well as the view both this year and last.

Souda Beach: Pebbles by Clear Water, Caves, River, and View

The beauty of southern Crete may be rivaled by other spots in Crete, the rest of Greece, and other parts of the world, but for overall picturesqueness I doubt it can be surpassed. One beach after another yields its charms to the slightest inspection, and as long as the wind hasn’t stirred up the water too much, the sea is wonderfully clear, clean, and blue or blue green—far more so than in northern Crete. Arriving at our hotel close to sunset, we hurried on to Souda beach, the nearest one with a bit of sunlight left. We struggled over the pebbles next to the sea, then delightedly immersed ourselves in the cool waters. Swimming out beside the irregular rock walls that rise sharply next to a small, palm-lined river, I disappeared—to D’s distress—in search of a sea cave I remembered from last year. I must have visited it earlier in the day then, for I recall that the white, lavender, and green rock inside it was brilliantly lit by rays shining through gaps between the piles of boulders that form the cave. This year, the cave seemed farther out—quite a swim—and more dimly lit. Seeking a resting spot, I welcomed the chance to step onto algae-covered stones, explore the pile of boulders inside, and peek through the frame of the cave’s opening. A small cave on the beach doesn’t offer quite the same fascination or fresh cleanliness, but it does provide another picturesque frame for our view of the sea and the distant hills still lit up by the sinking sun.

Plakias Beach: Big Waves and Little White Lilies in the Sand

Plakias initially appears to be an unremarkable Greek tourist resort, with the usual restaurants and cafes, shops full of souvenirs and beach goods, so-called “super” markets, and hotels facing a long, narrow, partly sandy and partly pebbly beach in a large bay. But we continued past all of that toward the stark cliffs, where I thought the waves might be less dangerous for the kids as the wind picked up, and discovered that nudists had claimed the best part of the beach: a glorious, wide expanse of soft sand, partly in dunes full of white sand lilies I’d never seen in such abundance. With waves substantial enough to teach our kids how to handle the Atlantic (as I did during childhood trips to Delaware), and a gorgeous view of hills and mountain villages in the misty distance toward sunset, Plakias beach turned out to be both a children’s and a photographer’s paradise. There is plenty of room for everyone there, modest or free-spirited.

Exploring to the East:  Toward Agios Pavlos on a Blustery Day

We’d truly enjoyed the tonal separation between layers of hills and peaks visible at sunset from Schinaria beach last year, as well as the hike down into the Helidonion (Swallow) Gorge at Preveli, with its palm-lined stream and “forest” (by Greek standards) near the beach. However, curiosity and increasingly strong northerly and westerly winds impelled us to bypass those and explore farther east this year. Our map, the most detailed I’ve seen of the island, suggested a “scenic route” on an “unpaved road of good quality,” as far as we could determine. Branching off toward Ammoudi beach, away from the road to Preveli, we inquired at a café and were told that our Nissan sedan could handle the road. However, after struggling along for a kilometer or two over dirt and stones, ruts and bumps on a winding single lane next to an unguarded free fall into a gorge, we met an old farmer with his daughter in a 1970s or 80s era pickup truck. They debated the wisdom of our continuing in our ten year old “nice car.” Should we go on, at least heading downhill rather than struggling upwards, or should we retrace our painfully accomplished route, which had already upset our daughter’s stomach?

  

The father’s arguments prevailed, and we reached the windy, lonely Ammoudi beach, where we discovered an even more scenic route that was apparently unknown to our mapmakers, or newer than the map: a better gravel road running right along the coast. There I encountered the most spectacular seaside drive I’d seen since Oregon’s coastal highway in the 1980s. While the well-paved American highway surface certainly provides a smoother ride than the rutted Greek gravel road, the views are reminiscent: a rugged coastline with layers of cliffs and hills, impressive boulders, and expanses of luminous, turbulent sea. In southern Crete, we traded safety (a single lane with no guard rail) for proximity, often driving quite close to the water toward Agia Irini and Agia Fotini. We took a break at the tiny pebbly beaches on either side of immense boulders at Agia Fotini. My daughter and I tried to swim there, but the sea churned up such a lot of seaweed and sand in its strong crosscurrents that she just drifted back and forth in the shallow water that washed over the pebbles, while I exercised away the stiffness of our drive in cautious four-stroke laps through rushing waters, toward and away from shore. We enjoyed a seaside meal at the well-known taverna in what used to be carob warehouses before proceeding on paved roads toward the three boulders of Triopetra—a beach far too open to the elements to stop at, as gusts created small sandstorms that swept out to meet powerful waves in a sea full of whitecaps and suddenly shifting, windswept currents.

We wandered aimlessly for a while, lost on the paved but inadequately marked mountain roads, passing unconnected swaths of burnt land where the wind must have been as strong as we saw it back on the day of the fire, no doubt wildly blowing flaming leaves and branches, lifting them up and setting them down some distance away. We eventually located Agios Pavlos, with its protected cove and the only beach that looked calm enough on that tempestuous day. On the far side of the beach, a long staircase led up the cliffside. After a refreshing swim, we climbed the tempting steps, which led toward a massive sand hill and another beach. Armed with a picnic supper and some argumentative children, we continued along the promontory to the far edge of sand above us so we could witness the sunset where the world seemed to end. It was breathtakingly worth it; even the children were awed into peace. Directly below us, a long, steep dune led down to a sandy beach; beyond, sea, more sea, yet more sea, and the rising and falling lines of hills behind which the sun was almost ready to sink. I used to claim that the island of Santorini was the sunset capitol of the world, but now I’d say Agios Pavlos is just as amazing a spot for watching the approach of darkness, as we did perched high above sand and sea.

Hiding from the Wind:  Calm in Two Sheltered Coves 

We knew that was our best day for exploring, since the forecast called for even stronger winds the next day, and indeed we got them. In some places, it was too windy to even sit or stand outside and enjoy a view (5, 6, 7 on the Beaufort scale—up to 38 mph winds and 19 foot waves, whole trees moving on land, rough to very rough sea, near gale force). I’d seen trees, grasses, and other plants violently blown and bent by almost hurricane-like winds many times in northern Crete, and I’d seen plenty of whitecaps on winter days when boats weren’t allowed to sail (so that we received no fresh cow’s milk on the island). But this was the first time I saw the wind pushing so many warring currents one way and then, suddenly, another, and the first time I witnessed misty curtains of sea water raised by the wind in the distance. It was a fascinating sight, but not one to encourage lounging on a sandy beach. However, the two small coves within 10 minutes’ walk of our hotel were adequately enclosed by cliffs—about 20 steps’ worth, I suppose—to offer some protection from the squalls and the current. Knowing the forecast, we’d saved them for our last days in southern Crete, and then we rediscovered their charms: clean, clear turquoise waters; picturesque boulders to climb; appealing views toward and beyond Plakias; and bits of shade next to the cliff walls and (with a bit of scrambling over rocks) under a tree. The pebbles and rocks destroyed my flip flops last year, so I came better prepared this time for quaint little beaches without umbrellas, showers, or other frills. On our last morning, we really hated to leave that little bit of neverland. It was harder to go than last year, perhaps because we were aware that the reality we had to face after returning from our retreat was much harsher. More on that soon.

The Calm before the Storm, Part 1: August in Athens

I am just now looking back to August and September, because life intervened to steal my writing time, as it has for mothers across the continents and centuries. In my case, the more there is to write about, the less time there is to write.

Back to August 16, when we were lucky enough to travel from Chania to Pireas on a much newer ANEK ferry boat than usual: the Elyros, rather than another that appears to be decades old. So we spent part of our seven hour journey admiring impressively curving stairways and gleaming railings, eating our lunch in a cafeteria with a glittering sea view and expansive mirrors. That was the day after the holiday celebrating the Assumption of the Virgin—the major holiday of midsummer, the most important of several days honoring the Virgin Mary (Maria or the Panayota), and name day for many of the Greeks named “Maria,” “Panayota,” or “Panayotis.” We were doing things backwards, leaving a Greek island to vacation in Athens just as most Athenians with adequate means left Athens to vacation on the islands. While this exposed us to the scorching heat of an Athenian summer, it also left us with more parking spaces than we’d find at any other time of the year and, in some places and times, an astonishing sense of solitude and quiet in a city that’s now in turmoil. Whether businesses were closed for an August vacation, or they had gone bankrupt due to the economic crisis, I sometimes felt like I was walking through a ghost town.

The day after our arrival, we gave in to our kids’ echoing appeals and took them to their favorite place: the three-block-long series of playgrounds near the Parko Flisvo tram stop in Paleo Faliro. When I first saw those colorful climbing, running, sliding, hiding castle- and boat-like creations, I was amazed by their scale and variety. My childhood self retrospectively envied my children—how I would have delighted in such playgrounds! Unfortunately, the municipality partly ruined the effect by inserting in the middle of an open space a number of completely unnecessary electric kiddy rides for which we must pay a euro or two if we decide to appease the desires they create. I have complained to the attendant about this devious plot to extract money from parents and distract children from healthy exercise. But we still arrange to meet friends with children at this spot where the kids are delighted to spend time—even if actually keeping track of them can be challenging enough to make conversation difficult. This August was the first time we unexpectedly chanced upon friends there—one of my oldest Greek friends, whom I’d met in 1991, with her husband and young son.

One evening at a restaurant, four couples, plus our own two kids, savored the best meat I’d eaten in a decade—steak from Kansas, where my grandfather once raised beef cattle! While another mother kindly distracted my daughter, I attempted a mental juggling act that caused me great confusion: I struggled to resurrect my long-lost Spanish, conversing with a Spanish woman who’s learning Greek but—as I then mistakenly believed--didn’t know English. Since my Spanish seldom came to mind, I tried Greek and then asked for the Spanish translation. I’d known for years that my limited Greek had usurped the space in my brain that Spanish once occupied. Never a very successful foreign language scholar, I felt my mind tied in knots by multilingual gymnastics conducive to much worse than mixed metaphors. However, my new Spanish friend and I enjoyed laughing over our efforts and taught my young son a few Spanish words. Meanwhile, others in our group—economists, an engineer, a scientist, all with graduate degrees—debated the political situation in Greece. They argued about whether Greece will still leave the euro, whether it might end up with two currencies, whether the euro zone will disintegrate, whether a new political party or only a martyr could save Greece, what could make most Greek people accept necessary changes to the current entitlement mentality and society. I don’t think this was so much about whether to help needy people, but more about so many Greek people believing they are entitled to a great deal, without necessarily contributing to society. This brings to mind a typical situation at a public office recently: while a long line of citizens waited in vain for assistance, two employees engaged in casual conversation.

Given the economic situation, we needed to buy as many as possible of our kids’ shoes and clothes for the coming school year in the Athens area; Chania’s prices are simply insane to anyone who hasn’t lived there all her life (49 euros for kids’ canvas sneakers that don’t last half a year, for example; 70 and up for better kids’ shoes). In Pireas, though, within a ten minute walk of D’s mom’s house, there’s a sort of outlet mall with many durable brands at very low prices. After many hours of careful, tedious, tiring shopping, mostly at Orchestra for the kids, I emerged triumphant with 32 items for 189 euros. We managed to buy the kids some good fall/winter leather shoes for 25 euros each at the nearby Crocodilino, and found some 20 and 30 euro partly leather Puma sneakers at the outlets. As long as one doesn’t mind sale items from last year’s stock—which is all the same to me, since I prefer the comfortable, durable, economical, and practical to the fashionable—those are the places to shop. And indeed these very affordable stores are the ones that thrive now, while others are nearly deserted, and many businesses have closed.

I can’t decide whether there were more beggars or wandering immigrant salespeople in the Athens area this time, or not. For years, any time we’ve sat at a café in a tourist area, we have been beseeched by Roma children with flowers or instruments and outstretched hands, strong mothers carrying heavy babies, and immigrants selling cheap watches, CDs, or toys, one after another, in a procession of appeals and sales pitches. Most urban train rides continue to feature musicians, individuals selling tissue packs, or people who are disabled and/or unemployed, or have sick family members, telling their stories and appealing for help, moving from one car to another at the stations. Many display ID cards and some sort of medical documentation. In August, one middle aged man tried to convince train passengers that he deserved assistance because he was an unemployed Greek, rather than a foreigner. Two dark-skinned teenage accordionists surprised me with their unusually beautiful duet. Near Thisseio metro station, an unaccompanied five or six year old musician wore an oversized cowboy hat. And in the resort town of Xylocastro, an energetic foursome entertained taverna patrons with a miniature circus of contortion, music, dance, clowning, and juggling with fiery torches. That I'd never seen before. Nor had I seen dark-skinned immigrants selling sunglasses and hats on beaches in the Athens area and beyond, as I did this year.

There probably are more people begging for help, or desperately trying to sell whatever they can, and there are certainly more police on the streets and sidewalks, more security personnel in bullet-proof vests around stores and the metro, and more security scanners in stores. D’s mom lives close to the neighborhood police officers’ favorite corner, not far from one of the many new pawn shops that have sprung up in the Athens area. I was surprised to see its window proclaim that it deals in not only gold, but also cars and real estate. They’re ready for any level of Greeks’ desperation. At the other end of Athens, on a trip to the Best Wildlife Photography of the Year exhibit, which inspired me to take better, more careful photos—with a better, more expensive camera than I’m likely to have in the foreseeable future--I managed one or two quick shots of the cool, impressively massive Mall of Athens before a security guard informed me that I must turn off my camera. I’d never heard of photos being prohibited in malls, but apparently that’s another security measure meant to stop thieves from finding ways to scale four or five story walls unseen by security personnel, so they can enter through skylights James Bond style to steal some expensive shoes or handbags…. 

 Graffiti in Athens and Pireas has become more colorful and pointed than I remember, with the exterior of some trains almost completely covered in rainbows of designs and nearly illegible lettering. The interiors feature such hastily scribbled comments (in Greek) as “Fascists we don’t wait for you we look for you,” an anarchist’s call for confrontation with the neo-Nazi extremists who have gained in popularity during the economic crisis. Another message urges, “F-ing idiot Greek wake up, stop the idiocy.” On the other hand, outside the Olympiacos soccer stadium in Neo Faliro, where we attended a free practice session with the kids, one wall advertised “Olympiacos fanatics,” while a block away “Olympiacos fans against fanatics” responded. The best painting under a highway underpass near the soccer stadium—a site surrounding the Theater Under the Bridge which is always filled with street art rather than quickly spray-painted slogans—is the most elegantly significant graffiti I’ve seen this year: two blue and white hands nearly cupped, raised up to catch a falling, flaming euro coin—or have they just released the coin and thrown it up, ablaze?

As part of my escape from the Eurozone crisis, I enjoyed rambling around the semi-familiar narrow streets of Plaka and Monastiraki, whose main thoroughfares seemed full enough of tourists, past the handsome neoclassical buildings and houses juxtaposed with tourist shops. I appreciate striking glimpses of the Acropolis and other pillars, towers, arches and walls, which are particularly imposing in their dramatic illumination at night. Since we’d completely upset our kids’ (and our own) sleep schedule by hiding from the heat wave until after 6:00 p.m. and then returning home around midnight (after which we’d sleep through most of the morning), we ended up visiting the magnificent Acropolis Museum during its extended hours on a Friday evening. We’d been there before by day, when the kids were too young to allow us more than a quick survey of the museum’s amazing architecture, its fascinating views of ongoing archeological digs under the floors, outside and in, its extensive collection of ancient marble and bronze sculpture, its re-creation of the top of the Parthenon, and its awe-inspiring views of the Acropolis. This time, I was even more entranced by the views and reflections of night. On the top floor, the radiant white of the marble that Lord Elgin did not take to England—the sculptures of men and women, goddesses and gods, horses and symbols--compete for attention with the lit-up Parthenon that once housed them, which we view through windows that reflect back the sculpture as if to reunite monument and adornments separated by people and time. 

A short film in English and Greek (alternately, every 12 or 13 minutes) explains the history of the Acropolis, with such a moving appeal for the return of the surviving Parthenon sculptures that our young son expressed outrage at the destruction of some and removal of others—the son who’d been drawn into the museum by the film in the lobby that gave him things to look for in the collection and helped divert him when he began to get bored. (Look, here’s an owl! There’s a horse! Oh, a calf! And some arrows!) Our daughter, who’d started studying Greek mythology and ancient history in school last year (they really do begin at the beginning in third grade history here!), was so interested that she wanted to look at every item in the museum, but we couldn’t manage that either before closing time or before our younger son ran out of patience. I thought we did well to last an hour and a quarter before emerging to admire the museum’s architecture in front of the Acropolis, with both dazzlingly illuminated in the total darkness. If people visit one museum in Greece, the Acropolis Museum should be the one. If Greeks can build a museum like this, perhaps they can make their way out of this crisis to build a better society. Like two of the promising young boys in my neighborhood, the Acropolis Museum gives me hope for Greece.

D and I enjoyed another breathtaking view of the Acropolis one night when we left the kids (at last!) with their grandmother and aunt to join some old Princeton friends at a penthouse apartment in Kolonaki featuring balconies with views of much of Athens. On one side, the church of St. Dionisis; on another, Mt. Lykavittos; across from that, the Acropolis; below and around it all, the city lights. There we discussed the future of Greece (with some former advisors to two Greek prime ministers unassumingly present among friends). The conclusion of these well to do intellectuals seems to be that the current course of austerity and reform intended to keep Greece in the euro zone is the best of the evils—or at least they can offer no better alternative. However, some admit that more attention needs to be paid to fairness to those in need, vs. the wealthy who can better afford—and, literally, survive—“belt tightening” which can mean life or death for the impoverished and depressed rather than merely an end to selected luxuries. Everyone here knows that the suicide rate in Greece has risen dramatically in recent years, as people who once lived decent lives are reduced to scrounging through garbage bins for food, hoping to find space in homeless shelters instead of sleeping on the streets, while others can’t afford train or bus fare for transport to doctors’ appointments, and may not be able to afford or find the medications they need.

 

We, on the other hand, are fortunate enough to have friends who invite us to visit them in lovely places, and so far we can still afford to get to some of them. So we managed to even escape from our escape by driving to Xylocastro, one of the beach resort towns within one or two hours’ drive of Athens. While I wouldn’t say the pebbly beach or deep blue waters rival those of Crete, the pine forest and view of Mt. Parnassus across the Corinthian Gulf provided a refreshing site for our more or less relaxed visit—more or less depending on how cooperative our kids were, and especially how much the other two couples’ two one year olds were crying, fussing, or otherwise demanding attention. So we lounged on seaside sunbeds and swam, trying to keep the kids in the shade of the palm frond umbrellas, or walked through the long leaf pine forest next to the beach to rock one of the babies to sleep in his stroller (bringing back vivid memories of such times with my kids). Returning to Athens in the dark, we drove past the spectacular lights and fire-shooting smokestacks of the Elefsina oil refineries by full moonlight for a much more intriguing view than the exhaust we see and smell there by day. Then, to my astonishment, the flashing lights of a police car slowed traffic ahead of the first night-time road construction site I’d ever seen in Greece—at 11:00 p.m. in August, month of vacations, no less (although D is sure the workers were not actually Greek, but immigrants). We continued past the Vromiko (meaning “Dirty”) café, followed by the “Godfather of the Dirty One’s” café, toward the illuminated Mt. Lykavittos. But our most impressive landmark was the Straits of Corinth, where we stopped to show the kids the deep canal illuminated by both electricity and the full moon.

Coming soon: The Calm before the Storm, Part 2:  Retreat from Reality (Early September in Southern Crete).  Then back to real life.