A GREECE TRAVELOGUE - Western Crete (Chania, The Samaria Gorge, Loutro) Folegandros and Santorini - PART 1
Oct 2nd, 2007, 08:31 PM
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TRAVELS IN GREECE – PART 3 (a) – Wonderful Loutro – The Crescent of Tavernas – Greek Taverna Gods from Conde Nast - Walking from Loutro to Sweetwater to Hora Sfakion past Naked Campers - The Hike up the Mountain and down the Aradena Gorge – Dead Goats Have No Predators - Off to Heraklion – Tourist Traps (no really!)
This is a continuation of our Travelogue of our trip to Western Crete, (based in Chania and Loutro), Folegandros and Santorini in early May of this year. Please see Part 1(a) and (b) and Part 2(a)(b) and (c) for our earlier escapades and a description of who we are.
IN THIS INSTALLMENT we discover the following truths:
1. Goats have no natural predators in Crete, so if there is a dead goat at the bottom of the same, mostly-vertical, mountain path you are descending, chances are it died from a fall. In that case, it is best NOT to descend at the same rate that he did. (ie. don’t fall!)
2. The dashing, swarthy, handsome Greek Taverna Owner your wife saw pictured in the Conde Naste article on Loutro actually has a brother so TWO Greek Gods serving your wife’s dinner will make you, a middle-aged lumpy, follicle-impaired Canadian geezer-of-a-husband, all but invisible in their presence.
3. Naked people of all nationalities will ignore the sign that says “No Nude Bathing”.
4. In mid-may the city of Heraklion apparently rolls up the welcome mat and rolls out the “Tourist Traps” – which are dozens of open holes in the sidewalk apparently designed to lure unwitting visitors into breaking their legs while stepping in such holes.
5. The South-West coast of Crete, the Sfakia Region, is a beautiful, rugged, and unique part of Crete – and Loutro is a hidden secret apparently known only to some. We were lucky enough to find it.
We awoke Tuesday morning to yet another day of spectacular Aegean sunshine and the sound of fighter jets streaking overhead from the nearby air force base. We quickly packed the rest of our things and with a big breath, we wrestled the first of our two overloaded suitcases down the stairs on the way to breakfast. Fortunately the stairs supported the weight. After breakfast we brought the second bag down the stairs, paid the bill and we were off to the bus station for the 8:30 bus to Hora Sfakion. It was a little difficult maneuvering the bags on the cobblestone, but we managed – with an occasional curse here and there.
This time I remained conscious for the bus ride to Hora Sfakion and the drive was very enjoyable. Unlike the one on Sunday, our KTEL driver that Tuesday was a tad lighter on the gas pedal and a little more leisurely in negotiating the hairpin turns descending to the south coast so my backseat braking was unnecessary. We stopped at the top of the Imbros Gorge to let off a few hikers and continued on to the spectacular switchback descent to the port of Hora Sfakion.
In planning our trip, we had spent some time deciding on the location for our second “base of operations” in Western Crete. We had been looking for a place where we could explore the back roads of Crete, do some hiking, and forgo the necessity of a car. I was intrigued by the descriptions of the Sfakia region. Land of the blood feuds, Sfakia was home to some of the toughest and proudest Cretan people. I had read the “Battle of Crete and the Resistance” by Antony Beevor and marveled at the resilience and bravery of the Cretan people during the German occupation. From the time of the German invasion in May of 1941 until the liberation in 1945 this stretch of the south coast we had spread out before us, had been the point of evacuation for thousands of allied troops and, afterwards, the Cretan resistance had hidden allied personnel, maintained lines of communications and supplies to North Africa and orchestrated strikes against the Germans all along this area. The nooks and crannies of the White Mountains and the south coast belonged to the people who had lived here for generations, making it difficult for the Germans to find and control the resistance fighters or the entry of intelligence officers.
In contrast to this strength of valour I had also read of the fierce, stubborn blood feuds that had gone on for decades in the Sfakia region as families were violently pitted against families over often-forgotten arguments. The abandoned ghost town of Aradena is real-time proof-positive of the extreme effects of the blood-feuds. In Aradena, the story goes, an argument over a goat bell taken by a boy developed to the point where every family fled the town for fear of reprisals between the Greek equivalent of the “Hatfields and the McCoys”. To walk in this totally abandoned, and decaying, mountain village perched on the edge of a spectacular gorge is surreal.
It was a back-issue of Conde Naste magazine that led us to decide upon Loutro. The travel writer described a charming, isolated, seaside village, without roads and vehicles, with warm hospitality, and both leisure and active options. From Loutro, hiking trails radiate in different directions on the map, leading to the Aradena Gorge, isolated beaches, and small mountain villages. Top-notch tavernas were, according to the magazine, lined up one after the other on the waterfront waiting to serve up great meals after long hot treks into the hillside. It was exactly what I was looking for. As for Kathy, it was the picture of the young, dashing, handsome Greek taverna owner jauntily leaning against the counter at one of the tavernas that cinched the deal for her. Hell, she decided, if good-looking Greek God-like “eye-candy”, like the guy in the magazine, would be serving her kebobs and moussaka and batting his thick dark lashes at her, no one had to twist HER arm.
We arrived in Sfakion in time to do a bit of exploring, but the luggage hindered any chance to stray far from the dock, so we bought our ferry tickets and went down to sit on the rocks. That incredible turquoise and royal blue sea was sparkling in the sunshine. We saw our ferry, the trusty “Daskalogiannis” approaching from the west and before long the back door was descending and welcoming us aboard.
There were no Samaria Gorge Zombies – it was too early in the morning and the latest batch of victims would only now be feeling their calves explode after the first three kilometers. We wouldn’t meet the hordes until Thursday when we would be back in Sfakion after our coastal walk from Loutro. However, as we walked towards the ferry it seemed that, Hagrid…..from Hogwarts…..as in Harry Potter…was there to take our ticket. No really….the massive guy was the spitting image of Hagrid! Almost. I mean, minus the cigarette dangling from his lip, and the massive belly and the oil stained t-shirt – and the fact that he was speaking Greek, I would have SWORN it was Harry Potter’s Hagrid in person. Kathy reluctantly agreed there was a resemblance, but more or less humoured me.
Before long we were on deck with the wind in our face watching the coast go by on the short trip to Loutro. During the trip we again scouted out the hiking trail that was marked on our maps, extending from Loutro to Sweetwater beach, and then to Sfakion. The enormity of the steep mountainsides rising up from the sea made it difficult to accurately gauge the height of the trail as it ran along the coast, but we saw tiny specks of hikers on the trail and realized that near the end of the hike, if we were up to the challenge, there was a very interesting part of the trail hugging the cliff side. It looked like fun.
Loutro in mid-May was somewhat quiet, only just waking up from its sleepy winter siesta in time for the new summer tourist season. There were a few fellow-travellers joining us, but the village, over the next three days, was peaceful and crowd free. We had booked at the Hotel Porto Loutro which has two separate hotels in the village, one of them near the waterfront, and the other up on the hillside on the west side. There was no one to greet us, so we wandered through the side-by-side Tavernas, to the seaside location where we eventually found the Lady of the House who ran the place with her husband. I asked which one we were booked in and she said “Take your pick”. We elected an ocean-front room up the hillside which was great. Ours was dead-center in the Hotel on the second floor. All the rooms in the neat and tidy whitewashed hotel were tiled, with air conditioning, a fridge, and a private balcony overlooking the bay and the comings and goings of Loutro. The bathroom was of the “Stuck-In-The-Corner Spartan Class” (see Part 1 above) and there was plenty of hot water. The hotel had a large common room/bar/lobby area which we did not visit. The best part, for us, was the expansive patio overlooking the sea and the hills, where we enjoyed the continental breakfast and heaps of Greek Yogurt, fruit and honey each morning. All-in-all, Porto Loutro was a great choice and we would recommend it to anyone who was “Loutro-bound”.
We met the “Man of the House” when we returned to the wharf, and he kindly spared us the nightmare of hauling our suitcases up the stone stairs to the hotel by driving them in the tiny pick-up truck parked at the wharf, up the hillside and then up the stairs to our room. (We wondered what use the vehicle was in a village without roads, and realized later, that the owners, naturally, need the truck to haul supplies from the city, on the ferry, to Loutro.)
We decided to relax and enjoy the day in “rest mode”. My calves were still tight and we decided a day of rest was in order before tackling the hiking trails. We made a quick trip to one of the two Mini Marts and grabbed some bottled water, a bag of honey and sesame covered nuts (love those things) a couple of Mythos beers, and, intrigued, I brought back two 350 ml plastic bottles of “Local Wine” bottled in recycled plastic. It turned out to be terrific wine, perfect for sipping on a balcony and a bargain at a Euro and a half.
Early in the afternoon we went for a stroll along the waterfront to grab some lunch and scout out the points of departure up into the hills. On the way, we came across what had to be the ugliest chicken in Greece – not that I’m especially attuned to the aesthetics of poultry – but this chicken looked like it’s head had been through a leaf shredder and then pre-plucked. In addition to the butt-ugly chicken we discovered that Loutro seemed quite compact. Because the village is completely hemmed in by the mountain, and nestled against a steeply rising hillside, there is little area to expand and accordingly everything is within a stone’s throw of the waterfront. On both ends of the crescent, the side-by-side tavernas are lined up waiting for the visiting population to make their choice at meal time.
We only (sadly) had time for four meals during our three day stay, and they were all exceptional. There didn’t seem to be any “bad” places to eat in Loutro. We picked NOSTOS that afternoon, which was interesting in that the proprietor left us the menu, a pencil, and a thin pad (that corresponded to the menu) where we checked off the dishes we wanted. This was also one of the infamous mis-translated English menus you encounter occasionally in Greece. We feel a bit bad snickering at the occasional quirky errors in translation, considering that Greek restaurant hospitality is so gracious and welcoming and the staff almost always multi-lingual. We passed over the “Steamed muscles” and feasted instead on warm fava, the always-perfect Greek salad, deep fried zucchini fritters and fried cheese rolls in phyllo pastry, washed down with some great local white house wine. We were the only ones on the terrace (since it was early mid-day) and we listened to the waves lapping on the shore, soaked in the sunshine, and sighed contented sighs.
Afterwards, before returning to the hotel balcony (for more relaxing) we strolled out along the peninsula to some old ruin walls. We could see above Loutro on the small hill of the peninsula, the ruins of the Turkish fortress which seemed largely ignored. According to the history books, the fortress and Loutro harbour were used during the Dasakaloyannis rebellion (for which our ferry was apparently named) and the 1821 uprising against the Turks was declared in Loutro. Stretching high to the north, above Loutro, the mountainous hillside seemed to stretch forever, and like tiny ants, we could see hikers descending the switchback, obviously ending a day of hiking. Kathy graciously offered to massage my calves as we sat on the rock wall enjoying the view. We decided that we would postpone the “big hike” up the mountain and down the Aradena Gorge until Thursday, and take the more leisurely hike from Loutro to Sfakion the next day, (and take the ferry back to Loutro).
The rest of the afternoon was spent sipping wine, reading and watching the occasional hiker switch-backing down the mountain. In the evening we descended the stone steps to the waterfront in the twilight as the lights on the bay sparkled to life, and darkness surrounded Loutro. We picked “THE BLUE HOUSE” for our first evening, reputed to be one of the “best of the best” of the Tavernas. The taverna was about half-full and the staff were friendly and cheery. It was a beautiful night as we sat by the sea. There was little wind, and we could hear the soft “shush-shushing” of the waves mixing with the conversations and slow-buzz of activity on the waterfront. The lights in the taverna seemed warm and cozy in the surrounding blackness of the hills and sea. We opted for some of the “classic” comfort foods for dinner – moussaka, huge tasty Greek meatballs, Gigantus beans in tomato sauce, and some chicken and bacon crepes. A litre of the red house wine rounded out the meal, followed by…. Greek coffees, baklava and the complimentary ice cold tskoudis/raki fire water.
We stopped off to use the internet café before heading back to the room, to stay in touch with our daughters. By the time we finished it was just after ten, and the carpets were being rolled up around the bay. Loutro’s character, at least in May, was more like a sleepy summer camp, with “lights out at 10:00 Kids!” instead of a seaside party town. And that was just fine with us.
This is a continuation of our Travelogue of our trip to Western Crete, (based in Chania and Loutro), Folegandros and Santorini in early May of this year. Please see Part 1(a) and (b) and Part 2(a)(b) and (c) for our earlier escapades and a description of who we are.
IN THIS INSTALLMENT we discover the following truths:
1. Goats have no natural predators in Crete, so if there is a dead goat at the bottom of the same, mostly-vertical, mountain path you are descending, chances are it died from a fall. In that case, it is best NOT to descend at the same rate that he did. (ie. don’t fall!)
2. The dashing, swarthy, handsome Greek Taverna Owner your wife saw pictured in the Conde Naste article on Loutro actually has a brother so TWO Greek Gods serving your wife’s dinner will make you, a middle-aged lumpy, follicle-impaired Canadian geezer-of-a-husband, all but invisible in their presence.
3. Naked people of all nationalities will ignore the sign that says “No Nude Bathing”.
4. In mid-may the city of Heraklion apparently rolls up the welcome mat and rolls out the “Tourist Traps” – which are dozens of open holes in the sidewalk apparently designed to lure unwitting visitors into breaking their legs while stepping in such holes.
5. The South-West coast of Crete, the Sfakia Region, is a beautiful, rugged, and unique part of Crete – and Loutro is a hidden secret apparently known only to some. We were lucky enough to find it.
We awoke Tuesday morning to yet another day of spectacular Aegean sunshine and the sound of fighter jets streaking overhead from the nearby air force base. We quickly packed the rest of our things and with a big breath, we wrestled the first of our two overloaded suitcases down the stairs on the way to breakfast. Fortunately the stairs supported the weight. After breakfast we brought the second bag down the stairs, paid the bill and we were off to the bus station for the 8:30 bus to Hora Sfakion. It was a little difficult maneuvering the bags on the cobblestone, but we managed – with an occasional curse here and there.
This time I remained conscious for the bus ride to Hora Sfakion and the drive was very enjoyable. Unlike the one on Sunday, our KTEL driver that Tuesday was a tad lighter on the gas pedal and a little more leisurely in negotiating the hairpin turns descending to the south coast so my backseat braking was unnecessary. We stopped at the top of the Imbros Gorge to let off a few hikers and continued on to the spectacular switchback descent to the port of Hora Sfakion.
In planning our trip, we had spent some time deciding on the location for our second “base of operations” in Western Crete. We had been looking for a place where we could explore the back roads of Crete, do some hiking, and forgo the necessity of a car. I was intrigued by the descriptions of the Sfakia region. Land of the blood feuds, Sfakia was home to some of the toughest and proudest Cretan people. I had read the “Battle of Crete and the Resistance” by Antony Beevor and marveled at the resilience and bravery of the Cretan people during the German occupation. From the time of the German invasion in May of 1941 until the liberation in 1945 this stretch of the south coast we had spread out before us, had been the point of evacuation for thousands of allied troops and, afterwards, the Cretan resistance had hidden allied personnel, maintained lines of communications and supplies to North Africa and orchestrated strikes against the Germans all along this area. The nooks and crannies of the White Mountains and the south coast belonged to the people who had lived here for generations, making it difficult for the Germans to find and control the resistance fighters or the entry of intelligence officers.
In contrast to this strength of valour I had also read of the fierce, stubborn blood feuds that had gone on for decades in the Sfakia region as families were violently pitted against families over often-forgotten arguments. The abandoned ghost town of Aradena is real-time proof-positive of the extreme effects of the blood-feuds. In Aradena, the story goes, an argument over a goat bell taken by a boy developed to the point where every family fled the town for fear of reprisals between the Greek equivalent of the “Hatfields and the McCoys”. To walk in this totally abandoned, and decaying, mountain village perched on the edge of a spectacular gorge is surreal.
It was a back-issue of Conde Naste magazine that led us to decide upon Loutro. The travel writer described a charming, isolated, seaside village, without roads and vehicles, with warm hospitality, and both leisure and active options. From Loutro, hiking trails radiate in different directions on the map, leading to the Aradena Gorge, isolated beaches, and small mountain villages. Top-notch tavernas were, according to the magazine, lined up one after the other on the waterfront waiting to serve up great meals after long hot treks into the hillside. It was exactly what I was looking for. As for Kathy, it was the picture of the young, dashing, handsome Greek taverna owner jauntily leaning against the counter at one of the tavernas that cinched the deal for her. Hell, she decided, if good-looking Greek God-like “eye-candy”, like the guy in the magazine, would be serving her kebobs and moussaka and batting his thick dark lashes at her, no one had to twist HER arm.
We arrived in Sfakion in time to do a bit of exploring, but the luggage hindered any chance to stray far from the dock, so we bought our ferry tickets and went down to sit on the rocks. That incredible turquoise and royal blue sea was sparkling in the sunshine. We saw our ferry, the trusty “Daskalogiannis” approaching from the west and before long the back door was descending and welcoming us aboard.
There were no Samaria Gorge Zombies – it was too early in the morning and the latest batch of victims would only now be feeling their calves explode after the first three kilometers. We wouldn’t meet the hordes until Thursday when we would be back in Sfakion after our coastal walk from Loutro. However, as we walked towards the ferry it seemed that, Hagrid…..from Hogwarts…..as in Harry Potter…was there to take our ticket. No really….the massive guy was the spitting image of Hagrid! Almost. I mean, minus the cigarette dangling from his lip, and the massive belly and the oil stained t-shirt – and the fact that he was speaking Greek, I would have SWORN it was Harry Potter’s Hagrid in person. Kathy reluctantly agreed there was a resemblance, but more or less humoured me.
Before long we were on deck with the wind in our face watching the coast go by on the short trip to Loutro. During the trip we again scouted out the hiking trail that was marked on our maps, extending from Loutro to Sweetwater beach, and then to Sfakion. The enormity of the steep mountainsides rising up from the sea made it difficult to accurately gauge the height of the trail as it ran along the coast, but we saw tiny specks of hikers on the trail and realized that near the end of the hike, if we were up to the challenge, there was a very interesting part of the trail hugging the cliff side. It looked like fun.
Loutro in mid-May was somewhat quiet, only just waking up from its sleepy winter siesta in time for the new summer tourist season. There were a few fellow-travellers joining us, but the village, over the next three days, was peaceful and crowd free. We had booked at the Hotel Porto Loutro which has two separate hotels in the village, one of them near the waterfront, and the other up on the hillside on the west side. There was no one to greet us, so we wandered through the side-by-side Tavernas, to the seaside location where we eventually found the Lady of the House who ran the place with her husband. I asked which one we were booked in and she said “Take your pick”. We elected an ocean-front room up the hillside which was great. Ours was dead-center in the Hotel on the second floor. All the rooms in the neat and tidy whitewashed hotel were tiled, with air conditioning, a fridge, and a private balcony overlooking the bay and the comings and goings of Loutro. The bathroom was of the “Stuck-In-The-Corner Spartan Class” (see Part 1 above) and there was plenty of hot water. The hotel had a large common room/bar/lobby area which we did not visit. The best part, for us, was the expansive patio overlooking the sea and the hills, where we enjoyed the continental breakfast and heaps of Greek Yogurt, fruit and honey each morning. All-in-all, Porto Loutro was a great choice and we would recommend it to anyone who was “Loutro-bound”.
We met the “Man of the House” when we returned to the wharf, and he kindly spared us the nightmare of hauling our suitcases up the stone stairs to the hotel by driving them in the tiny pick-up truck parked at the wharf, up the hillside and then up the stairs to our room. (We wondered what use the vehicle was in a village without roads, and realized later, that the owners, naturally, need the truck to haul supplies from the city, on the ferry, to Loutro.)
We decided to relax and enjoy the day in “rest mode”. My calves were still tight and we decided a day of rest was in order before tackling the hiking trails. We made a quick trip to one of the two Mini Marts and grabbed some bottled water, a bag of honey and sesame covered nuts (love those things) a couple of Mythos beers, and, intrigued, I brought back two 350 ml plastic bottles of “Local Wine” bottled in recycled plastic. It turned out to be terrific wine, perfect for sipping on a balcony and a bargain at a Euro and a half.
Early in the afternoon we went for a stroll along the waterfront to grab some lunch and scout out the points of departure up into the hills. On the way, we came across what had to be the ugliest chicken in Greece – not that I’m especially attuned to the aesthetics of poultry – but this chicken looked like it’s head had been through a leaf shredder and then pre-plucked. In addition to the butt-ugly chicken we discovered that Loutro seemed quite compact. Because the village is completely hemmed in by the mountain, and nestled against a steeply rising hillside, there is little area to expand and accordingly everything is within a stone’s throw of the waterfront. On both ends of the crescent, the side-by-side tavernas are lined up waiting for the visiting population to make their choice at meal time.
We only (sadly) had time for four meals during our three day stay, and they were all exceptional. There didn’t seem to be any “bad” places to eat in Loutro. We picked NOSTOS that afternoon, which was interesting in that the proprietor left us the menu, a pencil, and a thin pad (that corresponded to the menu) where we checked off the dishes we wanted. This was also one of the infamous mis-translated English menus you encounter occasionally in Greece. We feel a bit bad snickering at the occasional quirky errors in translation, considering that Greek restaurant hospitality is so gracious and welcoming and the staff almost always multi-lingual. We passed over the “Steamed muscles” and feasted instead on warm fava, the always-perfect Greek salad, deep fried zucchini fritters and fried cheese rolls in phyllo pastry, washed down with some great local white house wine. We were the only ones on the terrace (since it was early mid-day) and we listened to the waves lapping on the shore, soaked in the sunshine, and sighed contented sighs.
Afterwards, before returning to the hotel balcony (for more relaxing) we strolled out along the peninsula to some old ruin walls. We could see above Loutro on the small hill of the peninsula, the ruins of the Turkish fortress which seemed largely ignored. According to the history books, the fortress and Loutro harbour were used during the Dasakaloyannis rebellion (for which our ferry was apparently named) and the 1821 uprising against the Turks was declared in Loutro. Stretching high to the north, above Loutro, the mountainous hillside seemed to stretch forever, and like tiny ants, we could see hikers descending the switchback, obviously ending a day of hiking. Kathy graciously offered to massage my calves as we sat on the rock wall enjoying the view. We decided that we would postpone the “big hike” up the mountain and down the Aradena Gorge until Thursday, and take the more leisurely hike from Loutro to Sfakion the next day, (and take the ferry back to Loutro).
The rest of the afternoon was spent sipping wine, reading and watching the occasional hiker switch-backing down the mountain. In the evening we descended the stone steps to the waterfront in the twilight as the lights on the bay sparkled to life, and darkness surrounded Loutro. We picked “THE BLUE HOUSE” for our first evening, reputed to be one of the “best of the best” of the Tavernas. The taverna was about half-full and the staff were friendly and cheery. It was a beautiful night as we sat by the sea. There was little wind, and we could hear the soft “shush-shushing” of the waves mixing with the conversations and slow-buzz of activity on the waterfront. The lights in the taverna seemed warm and cozy in the surrounding blackness of the hills and sea. We opted for some of the “classic” comfort foods for dinner – moussaka, huge tasty Greek meatballs, Gigantus beans in tomato sauce, and some chicken and bacon crepes. A litre of the red house wine rounded out the meal, followed by…. Greek coffees, baklava and the complimentary ice cold tskoudis/raki fire water.
We stopped off to use the internet café before heading back to the room, to stay in touch with our daughters. By the time we finished it was just after ten, and the carpets were being rolled up around the bay. Loutro’s character, at least in May, was more like a sleepy summer camp, with “lights out at 10:00 Kids!” instead of a seaside party town. And that was just fine with us.
Oct 2nd, 2007, 08:34 PM
#44
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TRAVELS IN GREECE – Continued – PART 3(b)
THE SOUTH COAST WALK, SWEETWATER BEACH AND NAKED CAMPERS
The next morning, we opened the door to the balcony and let the sun come streaming in along with the melodic sounds of the tinkling and clanking of the goats on the hillside above Loutro. We took it easy, and planned to depart for Sfakion around 9:30 a.m. We read, enjoying breakfast on the terrace, opting to ‘mmmmmmm’ our way through some creamy Greek yogurt and honey on the side. With our hiking poles extended, and our daypacks stocked with water we headed off towards the east end of the village and found the path to the hiking trail. The goats were bleating in the paddock, and we walked through the gate and headed off to the east.
The hike to Sweetwater beach and Sfakion is a fairly easy walk, with only the last kilometer or so being a little precipitous – to the extent that someone with vertigo might be a little unnerved. The first stretch of the walk was fairly level, with an easy undulating gentle grade, up and down, and up again, anywhere from 20 to maybe 150 feet above sea level. The path brought us down to a small rocky beach about halfway between Loutro and Sweetwater, and then rose again to a hillside where the isolated church of Agia Stavros is located above the sea. As we emerged over a little knoll the roof of the church came into view and beside it a “Kodak moment”: there were two wooly goats standing beside the church’s bell steeple. Out came the cameras and we spent the next few minutes snapping picture of the “locals”. As it turned out there were a few of the critters huddled around the church and judging from the copious quantities of goat poop in the immediate area, there were a large number of the “faithful” who had made the church their stomping grounds. At one point, Kathy was resting on a rock wall and engaged in a staring contest with three goats perched on the wall. The goats won.
Shortly after the church, the path rose up and then descended to Sweetwater beach – a lovely isolated expanse of coarse sand and rocks completed surrounded by rising rock walls and accessible only by boat or entry from the walking path we were following. There was a little building used as a taverna in the summer for the tourists brought by boat to the beach – it wasn’t yet open for business. The rule against camping was obviously not enforced as a group of four naked people had tents pitched in an encampment on the beach and seemed quite settled in. We briefly explored the ruins of a church built into a rocky cave, but the discarded plastic bottles, broken plastic chairs, and various piece of plastic flotsam and jetsam spoiled the romantic notion that the faithful might have once made pilgrimage to this beach. The only good thing was that all the crap was hidden from view.
We stopped to enjoy the beach briefly and sat by the water enjoying another of the “tiny” greek oranges. Just as before, the orange tasted like an orange on speed. Not just an ordinary North-American crafted, scientifically cultivated and artificially nurtured orange that looked great but lacked flavour. These were oranges as god intended oranges to taste.
I dipped my feet in the Libyan sea just to say that I had done so. Kathy opted to keep her hiking shoes on. The water temperature was a tad “fresh” and my toes were soon numb. As I stood in the 8 inches of water gazing out to sea, I was a little surprised to see an older naked man cavorting in the water farther along the beach. One of the campers. As he emerged from the chilly water, he looked a little…..floopy….and pale. He seemed invigorated. Well maybe not all of him. The water WAS pretty cold.
The path rose steeply from the Sweetwater beach to the most memorable part of our hike that day. The steep hillside quickly gave way to rocky outcroppings and cliffs and the trail was now obviously “carved” into the rock by craftsmen intent on preserving a route along the coast. In some cases the path was only a two or three feet in width, running along the cliff. Steps had been carved into some parts of the ascent. A misstep would be deadly, but for the most part it was more vertigo than anything. I went on ahead, at one point so that Kathy could take some pictures of me on the edge of the cliff and I could get some shots of her coming up the rocky path (we had two cameras). They were great photos and our friends and family were, I must say, a little impressed. The one shot that didn’t work was the one where Kathy was standing under this unique outcropping of pink nettles and thistles. I tried to get her to smile but all I got was abject fear since she was hugging the wall for dear life staring at the edge of the cliff that plunged hundreds of feet to the sea.
The last stretch of the route was a little bit of a let-down as the trail emerged onto a paved switchback road leading up from Hora Sfakion. It was also partly under construction. We were hot and a little dusty as we descended into Hora Sfakion and found one of the Tavernas on the waterfront called LIVIKON. We had about two hours before the ferry back to Loutro, so we relaxed with a litre of water and a litre of wine that Kathy declared, tasted “Almost like Freshie” it was so refreshing. We got a chance to try “Borecki” which was a great egg, potato zucchini and cheese pie – like a super-sized quiche, only better. Slow roasted lamb was on the menu with potatoes. Followed by a cake dubbed: “Too Much Honey” cake. You can never have too much Greek honey on anything, we declared. It was awesome.
We returned on the ferry, happy and content, having enjoyed a terrific day and a terrific extended lunch. I’ve already recounted to you, our encounter with the Samaria Gorge Zombies on our way back.
Back in Loutro, we did more heavy-duty relaxing on the balcony and headed out to ILIAS for dinner. By this time, I had forgotten about the Conde Naste Greek God of Loutro. But there he was, in all his glory, just like the magazine. He had apparently shaved for the Conde Naste people. Turns out – he has a brother…who, according to Kathy’s wry observation, “got the good looks in the family”. He was there too, escorting us to our table and helping me pick out the fresh fish of the day for our dinner, and oozing hairy machismo. I couldn’t help but razz Kathy that it was unlikely that I was to receive any attention for the remainder of the evening now that she had two swarthy Greek men oozing Mediterranean testosterone serving her meal, (beside whom the balding, graying middle-aged, pasty-white wimpy Canadian husband paled in comparison). She assured me I had nothing to fear, but I kept her close. I felt all the more inadequate in my soft yuppie identity when the “ugly” brother jauntily jumped aboard the skiff tied up beside the taverna, brought the motor to a roar with a mighty pull of the outboard, and sailed away into the night like some sea-faring Greek captain. “Sigh”, said I.
Once again, the Tavernas quickly wrapped things up, and quiet descended on Loutro. By the time we got up to the hotel it was deathly still and it seemed that we had missed curfew and were almost the last ones to bed in the rockin’ and rollin’ town of Loutro. We were out cold in no time ready for the “Big Hike” to the Aradena Gorge the next day. The only Macho Man Kathy would see tomorrow would be me leaping tall mountain peaks with a single bound! Hah!
UP THE MOUNTAIN, DOWN THE GORGE, OVER THE DEAT GOATS, PAST THE BEACH AND STRAIGHT ON TO LOUTRO.
I jumped out of bed, threw open the door and stepped out into the growing light of morning to size up my opponent. There it loomed above Loutro– all 2,150 feet of brown, craggy rock towering above my middle-aged body. It taunted me. Challenging my calves and knees to an ascent that would be only the starting point of a twenty-two kilometer trek that would take us up the mountain, across to Aradena, down the mighty Gorge to Maramara beach, and then east along the coast, over the peninsula and back to Loutro.
“Hah!” I spat derisively. I had done Samaria, and lived to tell the tale. This would be a piece of cake, thought I with great bravado. Realizing that my morning balcony scene was being enacted in my skivvies, I retreated into the room to get dressed, wake Kathy and get organized for the day’s hike.
We had decided to start the hike with the 1 ½ hour climb first and go down the Gorge rather than reverse, thinking that at the end of the roughly 22 km hike, we would not be wanting a steep descent (memories of Samaria lingered). After a quick breakfast we headed back behind the village but instead of heading east along the coastal trail we hung a left and headed up the mountain. It was aerobically challenging and invigorating, but spectacular. With each switchback, Loutro became smaller and smaller, and the panoramic views of the south coast of Crete to the west and east, came into view. It was awesome. The island of Gavdos was visible. It was a gorgeous day. Except for the occasional goat, and fellow hiker, we felt like we had the island of Crete to ourselves on the climb. We were doing the switch-back on an angle heading north-east.
As we approached the top we emerged along a dirt road, large numbers of goats and sheep, and a rather ferocious looking dog that was fortunately penned. Soon we were walking a paved, winding road through the sleepy village of Anapolis. Ahead, in the distance loomed the massive towering White Mountains, which seemed to make the 2,100 foot “mini-mountain” we had just climb seem rather inconsequential. We somehow missed the shortcut off the paved road to Aradena, which was no real hardship except that we were on paved roads. The cicadas were serenading us with their rhythmic buzzing and we fell into step with the click-clicking of our trekking poles. Just before the bridge across the Aradena Gorge we came across a Greek gentleman parked on the side of the road. He greeted us, asked us where we were from and chatted about the area. He was from Rethmynon and was out for the day, on his way to the beach. He pointed up to the peaks of the White Mountains and said that if we really wanted to enjoy the scenery of Greece, we should drive up into the mountains. If only we had time.
Just around the bend the earth just seemed to plummet away into a rocky chasm of astonishing depth. I’ve described the Aradhena Gorge as a “gash in the earth” and it looks especially so from the water looking north. Here were were, on the beginning edge of that great gash! The Aradena Gorge strikes north from Marmara beach and then jogs inland east and then north up to where the abandoned village of Aradena is perched on the north edge of the Gorge. In days gone by, the industrious Sfakions had created this very steep switchback trail down the south side of the Gorge and back up the north side of the Gorge for access. A few years back some kind ex-pats had donated a steel bailey bridge across the Gorge to the abandoned village on the north side. As we crossed the bridge, the wind howled, and although there were very large size timbers lining the bed of the bridge, it wasn’t the timbers that caught your attention – it was the gaps in between that you noticed – and the 300 feet, or so, of nothingness below. Halfway across the views to the west and east, and straight down, were both breathtaking and unnerving. It was hard to believe that during the summer months, there were people voluntarily jumping off this bridge within nothing more than a large elasticky rope tied to their legs. I supposed this was Bungee Jumping, Sfakia Style.
On the other side of the bridge, at the entry point into the ghost-town of Aradena was a small canteen selling drinks and a few assorted food offerings. We decided to take a break and were so glad we did. We ordered up a couple of Fantas, another litre of water and two Sfakia Pies – which are large warmed crepes stuffed with the creamy myzithra cheese and sugar and smothered in honey. Out here, in the middle of no-where I expected a rather limited version but this self-respecting Cretan served a full sized version that tasted wonderful. We wolfed them down sitting on a picnic table in the shade. Every so often my heart exploded and I went airborne as small vehicles thundered over the timbers of the bailey bridge, scaring the crap out of me. Yikes.
We went off to explore the abandoned village which was fascinating. Aradana is now little more than a mixed jumble of crumbling stone walls, roof tiles, twisted concrete, faded wooden doors and shutters and wrought-iron fencing. Here and there wildflowers poked out from walls and cracks. A few buildings seemed to be intact, but were padlocked and deserted. It all looked so forlorn in the bright sunshine. The views were spectacular – white topped mountain peaks stretched away to the north against a blue sky, and to the south the natural wonder of one of Crete’s mighty gorges was literally at their doorstep. And yet there was no one here to enjoy any of it – it was wasted. Abandoned, isolated and utterly forgotten except for the curious tourists. I felt like I was trespassing upon someone’s misery in the aftermath of a natural disaster and that they might come home at any time and wonder why these Canadians were standing in what was once their kitchen.
In the middle of the village, tucked against the cliffside, was a pretty little stone church with a red-tiled roof, within a fenced courtyard. I wondered who came to church here anymore. After each wandering in our own direction, we met back at the road and decided it would be best to move on, since it was already mid day and we had much more trekking ahead. The question whether we were going to do the entire Gorge down to the sea or opt for the alternate route down the road and across the hillsides to access the Gorge near the small village of Livaniana located on the east side of the Gorge about half-way down. We had read that there were a few parts of the upper section of the Gorge that were a bit challenging, so we opted for striking across the road and hills to Livaniana.
We re-crossed the bridge and followed the road towards the village. It was a bit longer trek than we anticipated but we emerged high on the hillside overlooking the southwest coast. The paved switchback road curved back and forth and from this vantage point we could see where the trail went off from the road and down to the village. Over an hour later, when we veered off the roadway, we could now appreciate that we still had a fair distance to go just to get to Livaniana where the trail would descend to the bottom of the Aradena Gorge. This was where we really appreciated those uber-hikers who have blazed the hiking trails in places like this by dabbing small spots of paint at regular intervals. From high above, the trail had been easily visible but now, walking amongst the scrag, thyme bushes and rocks it was more difficult to “pick-the-path”. Soon we got the hang of following the Blue Dots. It became a game as to who could find the dot. And reliably, each time you got to one dot, the trailblazers had cleverly made sure you were within sight distance of the next blue dot. And so it went.
continued....
THE SOUTH COAST WALK, SWEETWATER BEACH AND NAKED CAMPERS
The next morning, we opened the door to the balcony and let the sun come streaming in along with the melodic sounds of the tinkling and clanking of the goats on the hillside above Loutro. We took it easy, and planned to depart for Sfakion around 9:30 a.m. We read, enjoying breakfast on the terrace, opting to ‘mmmmmmm’ our way through some creamy Greek yogurt and honey on the side. With our hiking poles extended, and our daypacks stocked with water we headed off towards the east end of the village and found the path to the hiking trail. The goats were bleating in the paddock, and we walked through the gate and headed off to the east.
The hike to Sweetwater beach and Sfakion is a fairly easy walk, with only the last kilometer or so being a little precipitous – to the extent that someone with vertigo might be a little unnerved. The first stretch of the walk was fairly level, with an easy undulating gentle grade, up and down, and up again, anywhere from 20 to maybe 150 feet above sea level. The path brought us down to a small rocky beach about halfway between Loutro and Sweetwater, and then rose again to a hillside where the isolated church of Agia Stavros is located above the sea. As we emerged over a little knoll the roof of the church came into view and beside it a “Kodak moment”: there were two wooly goats standing beside the church’s bell steeple. Out came the cameras and we spent the next few minutes snapping picture of the “locals”. As it turned out there were a few of the critters huddled around the church and judging from the copious quantities of goat poop in the immediate area, there were a large number of the “faithful” who had made the church their stomping grounds. At one point, Kathy was resting on a rock wall and engaged in a staring contest with three goats perched on the wall. The goats won.
Shortly after the church, the path rose up and then descended to Sweetwater beach – a lovely isolated expanse of coarse sand and rocks completed surrounded by rising rock walls and accessible only by boat or entry from the walking path we were following. There was a little building used as a taverna in the summer for the tourists brought by boat to the beach – it wasn’t yet open for business. The rule against camping was obviously not enforced as a group of four naked people had tents pitched in an encampment on the beach and seemed quite settled in. We briefly explored the ruins of a church built into a rocky cave, but the discarded plastic bottles, broken plastic chairs, and various piece of plastic flotsam and jetsam spoiled the romantic notion that the faithful might have once made pilgrimage to this beach. The only good thing was that all the crap was hidden from view.
We stopped to enjoy the beach briefly and sat by the water enjoying another of the “tiny” greek oranges. Just as before, the orange tasted like an orange on speed. Not just an ordinary North-American crafted, scientifically cultivated and artificially nurtured orange that looked great but lacked flavour. These were oranges as god intended oranges to taste.
I dipped my feet in the Libyan sea just to say that I had done so. Kathy opted to keep her hiking shoes on. The water temperature was a tad “fresh” and my toes were soon numb. As I stood in the 8 inches of water gazing out to sea, I was a little surprised to see an older naked man cavorting in the water farther along the beach. One of the campers. As he emerged from the chilly water, he looked a little…..floopy….and pale. He seemed invigorated. Well maybe not all of him. The water WAS pretty cold.
The path rose steeply from the Sweetwater beach to the most memorable part of our hike that day. The steep hillside quickly gave way to rocky outcroppings and cliffs and the trail was now obviously “carved” into the rock by craftsmen intent on preserving a route along the coast. In some cases the path was only a two or three feet in width, running along the cliff. Steps had been carved into some parts of the ascent. A misstep would be deadly, but for the most part it was more vertigo than anything. I went on ahead, at one point so that Kathy could take some pictures of me on the edge of the cliff and I could get some shots of her coming up the rocky path (we had two cameras). They were great photos and our friends and family were, I must say, a little impressed. The one shot that didn’t work was the one where Kathy was standing under this unique outcropping of pink nettles and thistles. I tried to get her to smile but all I got was abject fear since she was hugging the wall for dear life staring at the edge of the cliff that plunged hundreds of feet to the sea.
The last stretch of the route was a little bit of a let-down as the trail emerged onto a paved switchback road leading up from Hora Sfakion. It was also partly under construction. We were hot and a little dusty as we descended into Hora Sfakion and found one of the Tavernas on the waterfront called LIVIKON. We had about two hours before the ferry back to Loutro, so we relaxed with a litre of water and a litre of wine that Kathy declared, tasted “Almost like Freshie” it was so refreshing. We got a chance to try “Borecki” which was a great egg, potato zucchini and cheese pie – like a super-sized quiche, only better. Slow roasted lamb was on the menu with potatoes. Followed by a cake dubbed: “Too Much Honey” cake. You can never have too much Greek honey on anything, we declared. It was awesome.
We returned on the ferry, happy and content, having enjoyed a terrific day and a terrific extended lunch. I’ve already recounted to you, our encounter with the Samaria Gorge Zombies on our way back.
Back in Loutro, we did more heavy-duty relaxing on the balcony and headed out to ILIAS for dinner. By this time, I had forgotten about the Conde Naste Greek God of Loutro. But there he was, in all his glory, just like the magazine. He had apparently shaved for the Conde Naste people. Turns out – he has a brother…who, according to Kathy’s wry observation, “got the good looks in the family”. He was there too, escorting us to our table and helping me pick out the fresh fish of the day for our dinner, and oozing hairy machismo. I couldn’t help but razz Kathy that it was unlikely that I was to receive any attention for the remainder of the evening now that she had two swarthy Greek men oozing Mediterranean testosterone serving her meal, (beside whom the balding, graying middle-aged, pasty-white wimpy Canadian husband paled in comparison). She assured me I had nothing to fear, but I kept her close. I felt all the more inadequate in my soft yuppie identity when the “ugly” brother jauntily jumped aboard the skiff tied up beside the taverna, brought the motor to a roar with a mighty pull of the outboard, and sailed away into the night like some sea-faring Greek captain. “Sigh”, said I.
Once again, the Tavernas quickly wrapped things up, and quiet descended on Loutro. By the time we got up to the hotel it was deathly still and it seemed that we had missed curfew and were almost the last ones to bed in the rockin’ and rollin’ town of Loutro. We were out cold in no time ready for the “Big Hike” to the Aradena Gorge the next day. The only Macho Man Kathy would see tomorrow would be me leaping tall mountain peaks with a single bound! Hah!
UP THE MOUNTAIN, DOWN THE GORGE, OVER THE DEAT GOATS, PAST THE BEACH AND STRAIGHT ON TO LOUTRO.
I jumped out of bed, threw open the door and stepped out into the growing light of morning to size up my opponent. There it loomed above Loutro– all 2,150 feet of brown, craggy rock towering above my middle-aged body. It taunted me. Challenging my calves and knees to an ascent that would be only the starting point of a twenty-two kilometer trek that would take us up the mountain, across to Aradena, down the mighty Gorge to Maramara beach, and then east along the coast, over the peninsula and back to Loutro.
“Hah!” I spat derisively. I had done Samaria, and lived to tell the tale. This would be a piece of cake, thought I with great bravado. Realizing that my morning balcony scene was being enacted in my skivvies, I retreated into the room to get dressed, wake Kathy and get organized for the day’s hike.
We had decided to start the hike with the 1 ½ hour climb first and go down the Gorge rather than reverse, thinking that at the end of the roughly 22 km hike, we would not be wanting a steep descent (memories of Samaria lingered). After a quick breakfast we headed back behind the village but instead of heading east along the coastal trail we hung a left and headed up the mountain. It was aerobically challenging and invigorating, but spectacular. With each switchback, Loutro became smaller and smaller, and the panoramic views of the south coast of Crete to the west and east, came into view. It was awesome. The island of Gavdos was visible. It was a gorgeous day. Except for the occasional goat, and fellow hiker, we felt like we had the island of Crete to ourselves on the climb. We were doing the switch-back on an angle heading north-east.
As we approached the top we emerged along a dirt road, large numbers of goats and sheep, and a rather ferocious looking dog that was fortunately penned. Soon we were walking a paved, winding road through the sleepy village of Anapolis. Ahead, in the distance loomed the massive towering White Mountains, which seemed to make the 2,100 foot “mini-mountain” we had just climb seem rather inconsequential. We somehow missed the shortcut off the paved road to Aradena, which was no real hardship except that we were on paved roads. The cicadas were serenading us with their rhythmic buzzing and we fell into step with the click-clicking of our trekking poles. Just before the bridge across the Aradena Gorge we came across a Greek gentleman parked on the side of the road. He greeted us, asked us where we were from and chatted about the area. He was from Rethmynon and was out for the day, on his way to the beach. He pointed up to the peaks of the White Mountains and said that if we really wanted to enjoy the scenery of Greece, we should drive up into the mountains. If only we had time.
Just around the bend the earth just seemed to plummet away into a rocky chasm of astonishing depth. I’ve described the Aradhena Gorge as a “gash in the earth” and it looks especially so from the water looking north. Here were were, on the beginning edge of that great gash! The Aradena Gorge strikes north from Marmara beach and then jogs inland east and then north up to where the abandoned village of Aradena is perched on the north edge of the Gorge. In days gone by, the industrious Sfakions had created this very steep switchback trail down the south side of the Gorge and back up the north side of the Gorge for access. A few years back some kind ex-pats had donated a steel bailey bridge across the Gorge to the abandoned village on the north side. As we crossed the bridge, the wind howled, and although there were very large size timbers lining the bed of the bridge, it wasn’t the timbers that caught your attention – it was the gaps in between that you noticed – and the 300 feet, or so, of nothingness below. Halfway across the views to the west and east, and straight down, were both breathtaking and unnerving. It was hard to believe that during the summer months, there were people voluntarily jumping off this bridge within nothing more than a large elasticky rope tied to their legs. I supposed this was Bungee Jumping, Sfakia Style.
On the other side of the bridge, at the entry point into the ghost-town of Aradena was a small canteen selling drinks and a few assorted food offerings. We decided to take a break and were so glad we did. We ordered up a couple of Fantas, another litre of water and two Sfakia Pies – which are large warmed crepes stuffed with the creamy myzithra cheese and sugar and smothered in honey. Out here, in the middle of no-where I expected a rather limited version but this self-respecting Cretan served a full sized version that tasted wonderful. We wolfed them down sitting on a picnic table in the shade. Every so often my heart exploded and I went airborne as small vehicles thundered over the timbers of the bailey bridge, scaring the crap out of me. Yikes.
We went off to explore the abandoned village which was fascinating. Aradana is now little more than a mixed jumble of crumbling stone walls, roof tiles, twisted concrete, faded wooden doors and shutters and wrought-iron fencing. Here and there wildflowers poked out from walls and cracks. A few buildings seemed to be intact, but were padlocked and deserted. It all looked so forlorn in the bright sunshine. The views were spectacular – white topped mountain peaks stretched away to the north against a blue sky, and to the south the natural wonder of one of Crete’s mighty gorges was literally at their doorstep. And yet there was no one here to enjoy any of it – it was wasted. Abandoned, isolated and utterly forgotten except for the curious tourists. I felt like I was trespassing upon someone’s misery in the aftermath of a natural disaster and that they might come home at any time and wonder why these Canadians were standing in what was once their kitchen.
In the middle of the village, tucked against the cliffside, was a pretty little stone church with a red-tiled roof, within a fenced courtyard. I wondered who came to church here anymore. After each wandering in our own direction, we met back at the road and decided it would be best to move on, since it was already mid day and we had much more trekking ahead. The question whether we were going to do the entire Gorge down to the sea or opt for the alternate route down the road and across the hillsides to access the Gorge near the small village of Livaniana located on the east side of the Gorge about half-way down. We had read that there were a few parts of the upper section of the Gorge that were a bit challenging, so we opted for striking across the road and hills to Livaniana.
We re-crossed the bridge and followed the road towards the village. It was a bit longer trek than we anticipated but we emerged high on the hillside overlooking the southwest coast. The paved switchback road curved back and forth and from this vantage point we could see where the trail went off from the road and down to the village. Over an hour later, when we veered off the roadway, we could now appreciate that we still had a fair distance to go just to get to Livaniana where the trail would descend to the bottom of the Aradena Gorge. This was where we really appreciated those uber-hikers who have blazed the hiking trails in places like this by dabbing small spots of paint at regular intervals. From high above, the trail had been easily visible but now, walking amongst the scrag, thyme bushes and rocks it was more difficult to “pick-the-path”. Soon we got the hang of following the Blue Dots. It became a game as to who could find the dot. And reliably, each time you got to one dot, the trailblazers had cleverly made sure you were within sight distance of the next blue dot. And so it went.
continued....
Oct 2nd, 2007, 08:35 PM
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TRAVELS IN GREECE – Continued – PART 3(c)
Suddenly, there was a drop and we were soon navigating a somewhat more challenging section with some dicey drops in elevations along the rock faces. Sections had obviously been carved out of the rock with the artful placement of stacks of boulders and stones. It was steep. As in….”Gulp” steep. I was in the lead, and came round a little corner to see a bit of a challenging descent. (Remember these are two middle-aged Canucks from the Hudson Bay Lowlands, exploring their “wild adventurous side” whose routine included coming home from the gym to jump on the couch and cheer on the contestants in the Elimination Challenge on “Survivor”. I stopped.
The exchange went something like this:
Kathy: “What is it?”
Me: “Ummmmmm….”
Kathy: “Is this not the way down?”
Me: “Oh it’s the way down alright”
Kathy: “And…”
Me: “There’s a dead goat at the bottom”
Kathy: “Goats don’t have natural predators in Greece do they?”
Me: “I don’t think so”
Kathy: “That means the goat fell”
Me: “Yup”
Kathy: “A Mountain Goat, lost it’s footing and fell down the path WE are going down?”
Me: “Yup”
Kathy: “And that’s the only way down right?”
Me: “Yup”
And away we went. Carefully. Slowly. Me worried about Kathy. Kathy worried about me. Both of us eyeing the dead goat at the bottom. It really wasn’t so bad, just a bit unnerving. We concluded that the Goat had been some kind of Evil-KaNeevel-Goat, taking silly chances. Or maybe he had just given up on life. Packed it in and left a note.
The trail didn’t bring is into Livaniana and instead we veered around back and down into the Gorge. We had another Orange Break. (If this is Crete, and we’re on a hike, it MUST be time for an Orange!!!) The descent was a blast. We stumbled onto the floor of the Gorge and began walking to the sea. It was a Buzz!!! Literally. There were a million bees buzzing and the drone reverberated in the depths of the canyon with a deep resonating hum. So THIS explained the plentiful supply of the Cretan honey! We were completely alone. We were all alone….except for the dozens of bleating and crying goats, whose pitiful wails echoed off the walls. One little bugger was stuck up on the rock face and it was impossible to see how he had even got up to his perch. He seemed to be yelling at us, giving us heck for intruding onto his turf. The goats weren’t at all skittish and most eyed us with looks of boredom. Huge swaths of pink flowers cascaded in thick blankets or formed canopies over our head. Massive boulders were scattered on the Gorge floor, but the path zigged and zagged around the rock falls. We eventually met the only other people we encountered in the Gorge that day, travelling in the opposite direction. They seemed equally as awestruck with the beauty of the place and we smiled and compared notes briefly on what was ahead. Amidst all of this, we could hardly ignore the massive rock walls soaring straight up to the sky on either side. It was quite different from the Samaria Gorge because of the plentiful sights and sounds of the goats and bees and birds, the comparatively lush vegetation, the cool shade, and the changing landscape of rocks and boulders. The lower end of Samaria is certainly equally as awe-inspiring and humbling with the “Gates” of stone, but relatively barren by comparison to the Aradena Gorge.
It was a great afternoon. We eventually stumbled on to the approach to Marmara beach. We agreed that this final part of this Gorge walk was also much nicer than Samaria (where the last stretch had been a tedious walk along a hot tarmac road). The tiny beach at Marmara is bounded by steep rock sides to the west and east. Here you can “catch” the coastal path that runs from Sfakion westwards to Loutro and on to Agia Roumeli. There were about 15 to 20 people at Marmara beach, sunning and swimming. Up on the cliff, overlooking the beach, is a very pleasant Taverna that seemed to be just opening up. We were in need of water refills, so I left Kathy to climb up on the east side, ready to continue our trek along the coast and back to Loutro, and I climbed up the west side to the Taverna. The enterprising Taverna owners had carved a set of steep steps up to the Taverna. It was very nice and if we had the time, it would have been a great place to enjoy a two hour mid-afternoon stretch of mezes and wine. It was not in the cards however, and I shudder to think how a hiker would navigate the route with ANY amount of alcohol affecting their balance.
From the vantage point of the Taverna I could see down to the three naked ladies lounging just below the sign prohibiting Nude Bathing. I would have liked to have taken a picture for the comic irony of it, but likely they, and Kathy, would have disapproved.
We continued on along the coast which turned out to be a bit more of a challenge than we expected. We still had about 7 kilometers to go along the coast, over the peninsula hill and back down the other side to Loutro Bay. We were beginning to tire. We were both soaked in sweat and the sun was beating down. The trail was a bit dicey in places, on a steep angle, a hundred feet or so above crashing rocky surf. Eventually there was another rather steep descent down to the beach near the little group of buildings forming the hamlet of Phoenix and as we came to the top of the path there was…..
….another dead goat. Okay, this was getting a bit ridiculous. How crazy were these Sfakia Goats!!! Had some of these goats been skipping out on Mom’s lessons on “Goat Safety 101?”. With a deep breath we climbed down, fortified somewhat by the two French hikers that whizzed by us with little hesitation. We were off in the direction of Loutro, cognizant of the fact that before we could go down to Loutro, and the cold Mythos beer waiting for me, we had to go UP the top of the hill. We got a little misdirected and ended up in someone’s yard, but a nice fellow sent us in the right direction. We were soon rising up above Loutro and walking past a Turkish fortified castle. While it would have been nice to stop and appreciate this bit of “modern” history (considering that the original castle was being built the year before Canada decided to become a country in 1867!!!) we were just too pooped. As we walked down the steps into Loutro, we were welcomed by the ugly chicken, whose looks had not improved in the past two days.
Before long we were washing away the sweat and dust, showering side by side, in an effort to maximize the hot water and minimize the time before we would be sitting down to enjoy a long relaxing dinner. In the course of doing so we managed to drench every square inch of the bathroom, and it’s belongings, including the toilet located inches away from the open shower, and all towels capable of being used to dry off.
Dinner that evening was a celebration of an accomplishment. Twenty-two kilometers, and mountain paths that challenged even frisky goats had been mastered by two amateur trekkers. We were proud. We had our last Loutro meal under yet another perfect starry sky at PAVLOS (Paul’s) where the grilled meats are the specialty. This included some grilled goat – no doubt picked from the bottom of the nearest cliff. Pavlos himself was presiding that evening – a distinguished bearded gentleman easily identified as the modest fellow pictured on his own home-bottled, and complimentary tskoudis. It was smooth and soothing.
After stopping for a quick email to our daughters, we stumbled back to the room in the now familiar evening wind-down of Loutro. I lasted about five nano-seconds longer than Kathy and we were soon both happily mimicking the buzzing drone of the Adradena Gorge army of bees.
A DAY IN HERAKLION – TOURIST TRAPS
We had planned on heading out on the early boat to Hora Sfakion so we could connect by bus to Heraklion in time to take in Knosssos. It was not to be. Inasmuch as some good ancient history and a bit o’ Minotaur would have been some good intellectual stimulation, rushing to Heraklion would also have meant cutting short our time in Loutro by even a few hours. It was (as always) a beautiful morning so we enjoyed our last breakfast on the terrace. Across to the east, the early morning light created a perfect frame for the layers of hills along the coast and we got some great pictures.
We were soon off to the ferry and once again, the owners kindly offered to bring our suitcases down to the dock by pick-up truck. Greek “Hagrid” was there to greet us again as we boarded and we watched Loutro recede into the distance as we steamed towards Chora Sfakion.
The wait for the bus was a little longer than expected but it turned out that it was possible to make a connection to an express buss to Heraklion at the small town of Vryses. (We had thought we would have to go back to Chania, which would have meant back-tracking to Heraklion). While waiting for the Heraklion bus in Vryses we sat and people-watched at the café taking in the comings and goings at a tiny Greek gas station across the street and the constant flow of people to the four or five cafes and tavernas and small shops all within a stones throw of the busy little intersection in the middle of this busy little cross-roads town. Children and teenagers were everywhere in school uniforms obviously let out from their studies. In our own little town of 5,000 people in Northern Ontario, which is buried beneath heaps of snow and frozen solid for at least six months of the year, we hide indoors and interact socially mostly in warm indoor spaces wherever possible, democratically sharing the latest flu bugs with each other. I wondered how much more healthy the social life must be in a Greek village such as this, where the warm weather, and taverna and café culture encourages family life to be lived and shared out in the open. Unless we win the lottery, we’ll never know.
The rest of the bus trip to Heraklion, along the north coast, was uneventful. We got a brief glimpse of Rethmynon and the long stretches of villas, hotels, timeshares, resorts and heavily advanced commercial development that we had read about, and purposely avoided by staying in Chania and Western Crete. The bus was filled with university students heading home to Heraklion, and the discussions were quite animated.
I had imagined Heraklion would be like Athens, as the largest and busiest city on the island. It was indeed busy, and traffic congested, and a very active city, much like Athens. However, most of the place seemed to be under construction, and there were few streets that didn’t seem to have some curb, surface, sign, wall, post or piece ripped up or under construction. The stone tiled sidewalks and pedestrian walk-ways were filled with missing tiles, making walking extremely hazardous and dangerous. Sight-seeing while walking on the streets meant risking an extremely bad fall if you stepped into one of dozens of holes in the sidewalk. At one point Kathy was fortunately watching out for me as I narrowly missed plunging into a meter-by-meter square hole that was at least a foot deep. There were no posts or protective fences. These multiple holes were, in essence, the perfect Tourist Trap. Perhaps May is Rehab Month in Heraklion, but it made for a poor impression of Crete’s capital city.
Also making a poor impression was the graffiti. It seemed to be everywhere, marring the surfaces of what would have been beautiful historic buildings with ugly, unsightly (and sometimes disgusting) vocabulary scars. We stopped in to see the Cathedral, with it’s ornate decorations, chandeliers, and frescos. It was beautiful. Beside it, the tiny medieval church of Ayios Minas had scrawled on its back wall, the ugly marks of vandals. I’m not a fan of graffiti in any location, but destroying the aesthetics of buildings which are a part of a country’s heritage and history seems inexcusable.
We one day want to return to Crete and would definitely go back to Heraklion to see Konossos and the Archaeological Museum. However, there are so many other places to visit in Crete and the Greek Islands, we agreed that Heraklion didn’t warrant much more attention than that.
We headed down to the waterfront, to a small square adjacent to the Historical Museum where we found a quiet seafood Taverna with good fresh fish laid out on shaved ice and decided that we weren’t in the mood for exploring the city much further than we had already. We relaxed away the afternoon with an “interesting” tableside view of a young Greek couple that were so much into each other (and on each other, and under each other….), they seemed just short of going carnal on the tabletop! This was the one-and-only time we’d seen somewhat “overly-excited” (and inappropriate) displays of affection in public in Greece.
Our itinerary had us on the 9:45 a.m. High Speed ferry to Santorini the next day, so we decided to call it a day and head back to the hotel. We had picked the Lato Boutique Hotel, partly because of its proximity to the Bus Station and Ferry Terminal. That alone makes it an excellent choice for anyone passing through Heraklion by ferry. The hotel has a very modern European air, designed with sleek wood, glass, steel and chrome design. The rooms are very simple, fairly small, and very comfortable. Our balcony overlooked the Venetian Fortress and I sat for a while watching the constant hub-bub of traffic in the congested streets. The beds were comfortable, there was lots of hot water, and the feather and cotton sheets and duvets were a treat. There was also a TV in the room and we watched television for the first time in over a week. There was lots of coverage of “Eurovision” that interesting battle of the music stars from around Europe. The Greek participants, it seemed, were doing well. We even had a Greek porn channel! The picture was blocked, but it was immediately clear that porn moans are universal in any language.
Breakfast the next morning was exceptional and obviously went above and beyond the ordinary Greek morning offerings. There were a large number of German and Swiss guests as well as Greek businessmen and families. The buffet was enormous with all manner of pastries, cereals, juices, jams, yogurt, eggs, bacon, waffles, fresh fruit, and lots of everything. Overall, the Lato Boutique was a great hotel, especially for our purposes as a stopover.
We were soon at the front door waiting for the taxi. We were off for the next half of our vacation. A brief stopover in Santorini and then on to Folegandros.
FINAL INSTALLMENT – A day in Oia - Off to Folegandros, the Best Converted Penal Colony in the Mediterranean – Amazing Anemomilos Apartments – More Great Meals and Folegandros Freshie – One Last Hike. Back to Santorini…and Torrential Rains. Home and some Thoughts.
Suddenly, there was a drop and we were soon navigating a somewhat more challenging section with some dicey drops in elevations along the rock faces. Sections had obviously been carved out of the rock with the artful placement of stacks of boulders and stones. It was steep. As in….”Gulp” steep. I was in the lead, and came round a little corner to see a bit of a challenging descent. (Remember these are two middle-aged Canucks from the Hudson Bay Lowlands, exploring their “wild adventurous side” whose routine included coming home from the gym to jump on the couch and cheer on the contestants in the Elimination Challenge on “Survivor”. I stopped.
The exchange went something like this:
Kathy: “What is it?”
Me: “Ummmmmm….”
Kathy: “Is this not the way down?”
Me: “Oh it’s the way down alright”
Kathy: “And…”
Me: “There’s a dead goat at the bottom”
Kathy: “Goats don’t have natural predators in Greece do they?”
Me: “I don’t think so”
Kathy: “That means the goat fell”
Me: “Yup”
Kathy: “A Mountain Goat, lost it’s footing and fell down the path WE are going down?”
Me: “Yup”
Kathy: “And that’s the only way down right?”
Me: “Yup”
And away we went. Carefully. Slowly. Me worried about Kathy. Kathy worried about me. Both of us eyeing the dead goat at the bottom. It really wasn’t so bad, just a bit unnerving. We concluded that the Goat had been some kind of Evil-KaNeevel-Goat, taking silly chances. Or maybe he had just given up on life. Packed it in and left a note.
The trail didn’t bring is into Livaniana and instead we veered around back and down into the Gorge. We had another Orange Break. (If this is Crete, and we’re on a hike, it MUST be time for an Orange!!!) The descent was a blast. We stumbled onto the floor of the Gorge and began walking to the sea. It was a Buzz!!! Literally. There were a million bees buzzing and the drone reverberated in the depths of the canyon with a deep resonating hum. So THIS explained the plentiful supply of the Cretan honey! We were completely alone. We were all alone….except for the dozens of bleating and crying goats, whose pitiful wails echoed off the walls. One little bugger was stuck up on the rock face and it was impossible to see how he had even got up to his perch. He seemed to be yelling at us, giving us heck for intruding onto his turf. The goats weren’t at all skittish and most eyed us with looks of boredom. Huge swaths of pink flowers cascaded in thick blankets or formed canopies over our head. Massive boulders were scattered on the Gorge floor, but the path zigged and zagged around the rock falls. We eventually met the only other people we encountered in the Gorge that day, travelling in the opposite direction. They seemed equally as awestruck with the beauty of the place and we smiled and compared notes briefly on what was ahead. Amidst all of this, we could hardly ignore the massive rock walls soaring straight up to the sky on either side. It was quite different from the Samaria Gorge because of the plentiful sights and sounds of the goats and bees and birds, the comparatively lush vegetation, the cool shade, and the changing landscape of rocks and boulders. The lower end of Samaria is certainly equally as awe-inspiring and humbling with the “Gates” of stone, but relatively barren by comparison to the Aradena Gorge.
It was a great afternoon. We eventually stumbled on to the approach to Marmara beach. We agreed that this final part of this Gorge walk was also much nicer than Samaria (where the last stretch had been a tedious walk along a hot tarmac road). The tiny beach at Marmara is bounded by steep rock sides to the west and east. Here you can “catch” the coastal path that runs from Sfakion westwards to Loutro and on to Agia Roumeli. There were about 15 to 20 people at Marmara beach, sunning and swimming. Up on the cliff, overlooking the beach, is a very pleasant Taverna that seemed to be just opening up. We were in need of water refills, so I left Kathy to climb up on the east side, ready to continue our trek along the coast and back to Loutro, and I climbed up the west side to the Taverna. The enterprising Taverna owners had carved a set of steep steps up to the Taverna. It was very nice and if we had the time, it would have been a great place to enjoy a two hour mid-afternoon stretch of mezes and wine. It was not in the cards however, and I shudder to think how a hiker would navigate the route with ANY amount of alcohol affecting their balance.
From the vantage point of the Taverna I could see down to the three naked ladies lounging just below the sign prohibiting Nude Bathing. I would have liked to have taken a picture for the comic irony of it, but likely they, and Kathy, would have disapproved.
We continued on along the coast which turned out to be a bit more of a challenge than we expected. We still had about 7 kilometers to go along the coast, over the peninsula hill and back down the other side to Loutro Bay. We were beginning to tire. We were both soaked in sweat and the sun was beating down. The trail was a bit dicey in places, on a steep angle, a hundred feet or so above crashing rocky surf. Eventually there was another rather steep descent down to the beach near the little group of buildings forming the hamlet of Phoenix and as we came to the top of the path there was…..
….another dead goat. Okay, this was getting a bit ridiculous. How crazy were these Sfakia Goats!!! Had some of these goats been skipping out on Mom’s lessons on “Goat Safety 101?”. With a deep breath we climbed down, fortified somewhat by the two French hikers that whizzed by us with little hesitation. We were off in the direction of Loutro, cognizant of the fact that before we could go down to Loutro, and the cold Mythos beer waiting for me, we had to go UP the top of the hill. We got a little misdirected and ended up in someone’s yard, but a nice fellow sent us in the right direction. We were soon rising up above Loutro and walking past a Turkish fortified castle. While it would have been nice to stop and appreciate this bit of “modern” history (considering that the original castle was being built the year before Canada decided to become a country in 1867!!!) we were just too pooped. As we walked down the steps into Loutro, we were welcomed by the ugly chicken, whose looks had not improved in the past two days.
Before long we were washing away the sweat and dust, showering side by side, in an effort to maximize the hot water and minimize the time before we would be sitting down to enjoy a long relaxing dinner. In the course of doing so we managed to drench every square inch of the bathroom, and it’s belongings, including the toilet located inches away from the open shower, and all towels capable of being used to dry off.
Dinner that evening was a celebration of an accomplishment. Twenty-two kilometers, and mountain paths that challenged even frisky goats had been mastered by two amateur trekkers. We were proud. We had our last Loutro meal under yet another perfect starry sky at PAVLOS (Paul’s) where the grilled meats are the specialty. This included some grilled goat – no doubt picked from the bottom of the nearest cliff. Pavlos himself was presiding that evening – a distinguished bearded gentleman easily identified as the modest fellow pictured on his own home-bottled, and complimentary tskoudis. It was smooth and soothing.
After stopping for a quick email to our daughters, we stumbled back to the room in the now familiar evening wind-down of Loutro. I lasted about five nano-seconds longer than Kathy and we were soon both happily mimicking the buzzing drone of the Adradena Gorge army of bees.
A DAY IN HERAKLION – TOURIST TRAPS
We had planned on heading out on the early boat to Hora Sfakion so we could connect by bus to Heraklion in time to take in Knosssos. It was not to be. Inasmuch as some good ancient history and a bit o’ Minotaur would have been some good intellectual stimulation, rushing to Heraklion would also have meant cutting short our time in Loutro by even a few hours. It was (as always) a beautiful morning so we enjoyed our last breakfast on the terrace. Across to the east, the early morning light created a perfect frame for the layers of hills along the coast and we got some great pictures.
We were soon off to the ferry and once again, the owners kindly offered to bring our suitcases down to the dock by pick-up truck. Greek “Hagrid” was there to greet us again as we boarded and we watched Loutro recede into the distance as we steamed towards Chora Sfakion.
The wait for the bus was a little longer than expected but it turned out that it was possible to make a connection to an express buss to Heraklion at the small town of Vryses. (We had thought we would have to go back to Chania, which would have meant back-tracking to Heraklion). While waiting for the Heraklion bus in Vryses we sat and people-watched at the café taking in the comings and goings at a tiny Greek gas station across the street and the constant flow of people to the four or five cafes and tavernas and small shops all within a stones throw of the busy little intersection in the middle of this busy little cross-roads town. Children and teenagers were everywhere in school uniforms obviously let out from their studies. In our own little town of 5,000 people in Northern Ontario, which is buried beneath heaps of snow and frozen solid for at least six months of the year, we hide indoors and interact socially mostly in warm indoor spaces wherever possible, democratically sharing the latest flu bugs with each other. I wondered how much more healthy the social life must be in a Greek village such as this, where the warm weather, and taverna and café culture encourages family life to be lived and shared out in the open. Unless we win the lottery, we’ll never know.
The rest of the bus trip to Heraklion, along the north coast, was uneventful. We got a brief glimpse of Rethmynon and the long stretches of villas, hotels, timeshares, resorts and heavily advanced commercial development that we had read about, and purposely avoided by staying in Chania and Western Crete. The bus was filled with university students heading home to Heraklion, and the discussions were quite animated.
I had imagined Heraklion would be like Athens, as the largest and busiest city on the island. It was indeed busy, and traffic congested, and a very active city, much like Athens. However, most of the place seemed to be under construction, and there were few streets that didn’t seem to have some curb, surface, sign, wall, post or piece ripped up or under construction. The stone tiled sidewalks and pedestrian walk-ways were filled with missing tiles, making walking extremely hazardous and dangerous. Sight-seeing while walking on the streets meant risking an extremely bad fall if you stepped into one of dozens of holes in the sidewalk. At one point Kathy was fortunately watching out for me as I narrowly missed plunging into a meter-by-meter square hole that was at least a foot deep. There were no posts or protective fences. These multiple holes were, in essence, the perfect Tourist Trap. Perhaps May is Rehab Month in Heraklion, but it made for a poor impression of Crete’s capital city.
Also making a poor impression was the graffiti. It seemed to be everywhere, marring the surfaces of what would have been beautiful historic buildings with ugly, unsightly (and sometimes disgusting) vocabulary scars. We stopped in to see the Cathedral, with it’s ornate decorations, chandeliers, and frescos. It was beautiful. Beside it, the tiny medieval church of Ayios Minas had scrawled on its back wall, the ugly marks of vandals. I’m not a fan of graffiti in any location, but destroying the aesthetics of buildings which are a part of a country’s heritage and history seems inexcusable.
We one day want to return to Crete and would definitely go back to Heraklion to see Konossos and the Archaeological Museum. However, there are so many other places to visit in Crete and the Greek Islands, we agreed that Heraklion didn’t warrant much more attention than that.
We headed down to the waterfront, to a small square adjacent to the Historical Museum where we found a quiet seafood Taverna with good fresh fish laid out on shaved ice and decided that we weren’t in the mood for exploring the city much further than we had already. We relaxed away the afternoon with an “interesting” tableside view of a young Greek couple that were so much into each other (and on each other, and under each other….), they seemed just short of going carnal on the tabletop! This was the one-and-only time we’d seen somewhat “overly-excited” (and inappropriate) displays of affection in public in Greece.
Our itinerary had us on the 9:45 a.m. High Speed ferry to Santorini the next day, so we decided to call it a day and head back to the hotel. We had picked the Lato Boutique Hotel, partly because of its proximity to the Bus Station and Ferry Terminal. That alone makes it an excellent choice for anyone passing through Heraklion by ferry. The hotel has a very modern European air, designed with sleek wood, glass, steel and chrome design. The rooms are very simple, fairly small, and very comfortable. Our balcony overlooked the Venetian Fortress and I sat for a while watching the constant hub-bub of traffic in the congested streets. The beds were comfortable, there was lots of hot water, and the feather and cotton sheets and duvets were a treat. There was also a TV in the room and we watched television for the first time in over a week. There was lots of coverage of “Eurovision” that interesting battle of the music stars from around Europe. The Greek participants, it seemed, were doing well. We even had a Greek porn channel! The picture was blocked, but it was immediately clear that porn moans are universal in any language.
Breakfast the next morning was exceptional and obviously went above and beyond the ordinary Greek morning offerings. There were a large number of German and Swiss guests as well as Greek businessmen and families. The buffet was enormous with all manner of pastries, cereals, juices, jams, yogurt, eggs, bacon, waffles, fresh fruit, and lots of everything. Overall, the Lato Boutique was a great hotel, especially for our purposes as a stopover.
We were soon at the front door waiting for the taxi. We were off for the next half of our vacation. A brief stopover in Santorini and then on to Folegandros.
FINAL INSTALLMENT – A day in Oia - Off to Folegandros, the Best Converted Penal Colony in the Mediterranean – Amazing Anemomilos Apartments – More Great Meals and Folegandros Freshie – One Last Hike. Back to Santorini…and Torrential Rains. Home and some Thoughts.
Oct 3rd, 2007, 05:51 AM
#47
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Splendid, every word of Part II!! It took me back to the Loutro walk and Kathy's "look of fear" whilst staring down a sheer cliffside to the water. Also confirmed our decision not to try the Aradena... or you probably would have found the bleached bones of a Connecticut woman lying beside that goat.
Cannot wait for your take on Folegandros and Santorini -- I'm guessing that, with Western Crete scenery for comparison, u will not react like so many visitors to Santorini (and ONLY Santorini) who say it's the most beautiful Greek isle. It's lovely I grant u, but Crete and others are the places that draw you back again.
BTW, just got back from a visit to Vancouver Island, and now understand why Canada is leaning heavily to the West, under the weight of umpty-thousand Canadians who are wanting to move there!
Cannot wait for your take on Folegandros and Santorini -- I'm guessing that, with Western Crete scenery for comparison, u will not react like so many visitors to Santorini (and ONLY Santorini) who say it's the most beautiful Greek isle. It's lovely I grant u, but Crete and others are the places that draw you back again.
BTW, just got back from a visit to Vancouver Island, and now understand why Canada is leaning heavily to the West, under the weight of umpty-thousand Canadians who are wanting to move there!
Oct 5th, 2007, 09:35 AM
#49
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Yipper:
Funny you should ask...I'm actually just in the process of setting up a set of pictures go go along with the trip report on Flickr. Was going to do that before posting the last section on Santorini and Folegandros.
Dave
Funny you should ask...I'm actually just in the process of setting up a set of pictures go go along with the trip report on Flickr. Was going to do that before posting the last section on Santorini and Folegandros.
Dave
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