Crete, Greece
A Mediterranean themed rendezvous with Kelton, which included amazing food and a rugged coastline, motivated us to move to a new Greek island—Crete. We felt pressure to actually have a plan, but luckily the beauty and ease of Greece doesn’t require too much thought to have a good time. However, if the rental car is too small to add four peaches from the grocery store after leaving the rental agency, perhaps more thought should have been dedicated to this area. Luckily, most of our week in Crete was on foot.
The rough outline of the trip included backpacking down the Samaria Gorge and up and back along the southern coast to a few towns only accessible by foot or boat. The Samaria Gorge was simple. It is a ten-mile hike dropping over 4,000 feet in elevation basically requiring just putting one foot in front of the other. The gorge starts out wide and mountainous and then funnels down to 13 feet wide with nearly one thousand-foot walls. Eventually the Tarraios river and the abundant pink oleander lead you to the Libyan Sea and the town of Agia Roumeli. The hike was beautiful, but because of its “decent only” status, it attracts hordes of rookie and veteran hikers alike. We were not alone. To add a bit more adventure and distance to our trek, we backtracked by ferry up coast to Sougia, where boat deck entertainment included watching and betting on which of the rookie hikers scrambling towards the last ferry were going to make it. The journey towards the ferry from town was at least one kilometer of exposed coastal terrain providing a long and painful view of those rallying, giving up, or arguing with their companions in attempts to make the final boat of the day. Our hustle and bit of experience prevented our own family dynamics from public scrutiny on that long walk of moderate humiliation.
When we arrived at our hotel in Sougia, the hotel owner asks us what we were doing the next day. We told him we were walking back to Agia Roumeli along the coast.
He simply said, “You are not going to make it.”
Wow, that was an insulting first assessment of our group fortitude. Does he know who we are? We are of the people who make the very last boat by at least a whole five minutes before departure. He explained to us we needed to take a boat about halfway back (yes, the way we just paid to journey by ferry) and then start hiking from there. He would call his friend and make a boat reservation for us. We nodded, brushed him off and told him we would let him know if we needed a reservation. Our people will call your people. Harumph! So, as all elite athletes do, we sauntered off and fully and completely gorged ourselves on abundant seafood, salads, dips, spreads, raki shots, breads and more. You name it, we tried it, we ate it, and it was really good. They get the food right in Greece. We were stuffed and exploding just like the multiple peppers we ate, and now that our waistbands were straining and shorts splitting down the backside, were we really the “elite hikers” we envisioned?
We investigated our upcoming hike. We saw comments like,
“the hardest section of the E4”,
“do not attempt in the summer”,
“takes ten to twelve hours to complete”, and
“carry more water than you think you need”.
It was at this point, I had to confess to the group, I did not dig deep into the specifics of this backpacking trip. My thought process and google search went something like this….”it would be fun to walk village to village.”
We looked around at each other seeking answers about our collective hiking prowess, but instead asked the magic eight ball, “Will we still be having fun on the twelfth hour tomorrow?”
The magic eight ball reply was non-committal, “Better Not Tell You Now.”
Clearly, according to Miller travel theory, disaster awaits.
So, with a bit of shame, we made a reservation for the boat to take us nearly halfway down the coast. The thinking was we would have more time to swim on the beaches, enjoy the views, and have a picnic. The series of benign excuses quickly stacked up to a pile of full fledged logic.
Ok, ok….the boat ride ended up being quite lovely, I suppose. The captain dropped us at a rocky outcropping, and we hunted around for the trail. We finally found the markings on the other side of some goats, and learned the trail started right down the rocky coast with a bit of bouldering. If we weren’t scrambling over boulders along the sea, the trail was climbing and clinging to sea cliffs hundreds of feet high. We could see the rocky coast undulate for miles with the brilliant blue sea glistening below. The terrain was tough and rocky, but gorgeous. We soared high up on the cliffs and dropped down to the sea multiple times. This was hilly, but doable. The views were absolutely splendid. I wondered why the trail wasn’t on a list of best coastal hikes in the world.
And then the sun slowly baked our souls.
After lunch, the trail scrambled uphill and uphill some more. We walked from small shady patch to “I think it might be cooler here” patch. The 11 liters of water we were collectively carrying ran dry. The fun-o-meter plunged. I melted into my shorts. Let this be a lesson to the reader…LISTEN TO THE LOCALS. The terrain was unforgiving, and the heat was brutal. The hotel owner was right. On that day, in that heat, we would not have made it, at least during daylight. (I can’t totally give up on proving him wrong). Luckily, the hotel owner saved us from ourselves, and quite possible, the vibe of the whole family trip. I can’t “Instagram-a-ify” this moment— it got ugly out there. Some spirits were dehydrated, and others of the female, middle-aged variety, were pretty much crushed. The last miles to the finish line were conversationless and dry mouthed.
We finally stumbled into Agia Roumeli for the night and nursed our bruised egos with cold water, an even colder swim in the sea, and the coldest shower possible. It was clear the Greek heat acclimatization process was not complete at this point. We rejuvenated with a delicious feast sitting on a terrace by the sea. Egos were restored—at least the portion related to competence in mezze eating.
The next morning, we continued our trek along more beautiful coastline, stopping at remote tavernas and swimming in sparkling seas. We continued to constantly remark on how high, steep and exposed the trail was at certain points, making it a truly phenomenal trek. We carried as much water as humanly possible and drank it all. We overnighted in Loutrov, a beautiful remote village, and of course, we feasted again. We loved the low-cost appetizers and tried to eat them all! If you only try one dish per restaurant, in our humble opinion, you seriously failed.
On the final day of our trek, we walked to the last village of Chora Sfkion, stopping to swim and lounge by the sea, and guess what, feast again on a terrace by the sea. To put this trip in technical terms, we walked and walked and we ate and ate. We had excellent rhythm.
Other days in Crete included visiting Chania, swimming in the sea, eating more mezze, and journeying to Matala, the 1968 hippie mecca chronicled on the cover of Life Magazine. Here we channel our nomadic selves and Joni Mitchell, who lived in the famous caves.
“The wind is in from Africa
Last night I couldn't sleep
Oh, you know it sure is hard to leave here, [G]arey.”
We get it Joni. We get it. Crete is hard to leave.
