Note: I've posted more photos of the islands at kwilhelm.smugmug.com.
Athens at Easter, aside from the religious ceremonies, is a dead city, even some of the tourist shops were closed. I took it easy, a little sightseeing, a little eating. I enjoyed two risottos, one at "Eat at Milton's" in the Plaka, and one, with chicken and sun-dried tomatoes, in the restaurant atop Lykavittos hill, where the attraction is supposed to be the view (of the Acropolis) rather than the food. In fact, I had the best views of the Acropolis strolling slowly down the hill after lunch, not from the restaurant - going up I rode the funicular, easier on the legs, but providing no view at all as it is enclosed in a tunnel.
One last tendril of the tour - walking yet again through the Plaka Sunday on my way to dinner, I met David, who had been celebrating Easter with friends, and we ate a last dinner at the little taverna Bruce and Mia had shown me. But Monday evening I was definitely back to solo travel, boarding a night ferry to Crete at Piraeus - a strangely quiet Piraeus, with only a handful of boats in port. My boat was big, and it was quite a hike from the dock to my room, an outside quad. Paying extra for the outside room was a waste, as I watched our departure from the windy upper deck, and we were already docked at Hania by the time I woke up.
Crete held three quite different attractions for me: the formerly Venetian towns of Hania (or Chania) and Rethymno; the Samaria Gorge, and the Minoan palace of Knossos. Only one lived up to my expectations. On the mainland I had seen few other tourists outside of Athens, but now I was back on the tourist trail with a vengeance. I found Hania charming in the morning, its buildings decorated with flowers and backed by snowcapped mountains, but overrun in the afternoons. Rethymno, with a smaller old town, was crowded all day, and over-provided with souvenir shops, although the castle was worth a visit for its many wildflowers, and the views down onto rocks and breaking waves.
Still, my Hania hotel, the 600 year-old Porto del Colombo, was comfortable, atmospheric, and very close to the waterfront cafes. And Hania worked fine as a base for hiking the Samaria Gorge. Lonely Planet gave instructions for getting to the Gorge by bus, returning to Hania by ferry and bus, but it wasn't clear how far I might have to hike from the bus to the Gorge itself. Plus, since the hike would be something like 16 kilometers straight down, I felt some backup might be prudent and paid a few dollars over the cost of public transport for a guide and a coach. Actually, the young, blond, muscular guide's principal job seemed to be to issue all the health warnings that were not given when I bought my ticket. After we left the bus I didn't see him again until the hike was over.
The coach left downtown Hania at 6:15, and I quickly acquired a companion, an Irishman who had hiked the Gorge ten years earlier at speed, with a hangover. This time he was taking it slowly with a pack, as the start of a week's hiking holiday along the south coast. I envied his ability to pack light, a mere 4 kilos, until he mentioned buying and discarding clothes along the way. We started off, last of our group, in the cool of early morning, shaded by pine trees clinging to the soaring slopes of the White Mountains. In season, thousands hike the Gorge, but on this day only 300 followed the trail, spread out enough that you could imagine yourself alone.
With so many visitors, the park authorities have things well organized. The first and steepest part of the trail is on a virtual staircase, switch backing down the mountainside. Fresh water and toilet facilities are available at regular intervals. Early on, we were passed by a ranger on horseback, headed for the halfway point, where we lunched (I was carrying sandwiches and not much else). The Gorge was as spectacular as I had hoped, but hard work. After the first two hours, my right knee started hurting. After the third hour, my left knee also hurt. It took me another three hours, including rest stops, to make it to the beach and cafes at Agia Roumeli.
The second half of the hike is not so steep, but follows a river bed, with no shade. Trekking over the uneven stones was more difficult than the staircase, but also brought me to the most dramatic stretch, where the gorge narrowed, and narrowed again, until the walls were a mere 3.5 meters apart, but looming impossibly far above me. I can't imagine doing this hike in July or August, but at the end of April, despite the pain, and even though I didn't catch a glimpse of the rare Cretan ibex, it was a magical experience - blue skies, water in the stream bed, wildflowers in full bloom, birds calling, and magnificent mountains. (For some tempting photos, see this site.) I was lucky to experience few aftereffects - my legs complained about the stairs at my hotel the first evening, but a hot shower seemed to fix my knees.
I arrived in Iraklio, the capital of Crete, just in time for another public holiday, May 1. Fortunately I was able to visit the Archaeological Museum the day before, and Knossos the day after. I found both less impressive than their photographs. The signature snake goddess is very small, and dusty. The wonderful frescoes are faded and fragmentary - much more is missing than I expected. Sir Arthur Evans' restorations among the ruins at Knossos are now controversial, but they make up only a small part of a large site, and do help with visualization.
I paid for a guide at Knossos, but after the tour and a sandwich I spent the afternoon wandering the site on my own, dodging groups and seeking shade. Our images of Minoan civilization, with its graceful women, daring bull dancers and unprotected palaces are seductive, and fit the site, or at least the site as Evans' envisaged it. I felt sad that this culture had fallen - to fire, to flood, to invaders or to some combination, and glad that so much has survived an impressive 3,500 years.
In general I found the food, and, alas, the coffee, on Crete no better than on the mainland. I gave up totally on cappuccino, and switched to espresso. There were a few bright spots. Tamam, in Hania, followed an unimpressive risotto with memorable minced meat kebabs. In Iraklio Ippokampas, a small taverna near the water, served me excellent fried "small fish", and at the 1866 Cafe, in the heart of the market, I enjoyed delicious shrimp saganaki. Otherwise I filled up on souvlaki washed down with retsina.
Having had my night ferry experience on the way to Crete I opted for the one hour flight to Rhodes, where I found the airport full of Brits just arrived from Gatwick and Cardiff. I had to take a taxi from the airport into Rhodes Town, which gave me all too good a view of the resort hotels lining both sides of the road. I was glad I was staying in the heart of the old town, and since I was arriving in the evening my taxi was able to drop me in a square close to the Spot Hotel - basic but cheap and convenient. The owner told me that at the beginning of May most tavernas closed early, but one nearby would be open - take a right at the fountain, a right through the ruined church and it would be just down the road on the left. So it was, and served me a somewhat tough mixed grill.
I went to Rhodes for more recent history: from 1309 to 1522 this was the island of the Crusading Knights of St. John, although, of course, its history goes back much further. I found the old town a place of extremes: pick the wrong street at the wrong time, and it would be mobbed by cruise ship passengers, camcorders and wallets at the ready. Turn a couple of corners, and a deserted medieval street would beckon. I wandered the cobbled paths, under the stone arches, frequently lost but enchanted. Early or late enough and I could even walk the famous, 600 meter long Avenue of the Knights almost alone, examining the coats of arms carved on the tall, stone buildings that once housed the knights of seven nations.
The new town, outside the medieval walls, failed to attract me, although I did visit the supposed site of the Colossus of Rhodes, one of the Seven Wonders of the Ancient World, marked by two bronze deer on pillars, and enjoyed a coffee overlooking an empty, pebbly beach washed by brilliant blue water. I had thought of renting a car and driver to tour the island, but instead took the public bus 90 minutes to Lindos, the island's other historic site. A mistake. Lindos is small, its streets narrow, the path up to its Acropolis narrower still. And all lined with souvenir stalls. No problem, you might think - just walk past. Not possible when everyone else in town wants to stop and browse. Neither the Acropolis itself, crowned by a ruined medieval castle and the Doric columns of a 4th century B.C.E. temple, nor its views, are worth the aggravation. Perhaps in winter....
It's a short walk from the Spot Hotel to the main dock, where the huge Blue Star 2 ferry waited to leave for its run back to Piraeus via Kos and Amorgos. Two escalators took passengers up to the main decks, and I trekked all the way forward to find a place in the nearly empty observation lounge. With two minutes to go I started to feel the vibration of the engines, followed by the rumble-clunk of the anchor chain coming up. Seated in front of tall, slanted, narrow windows, mirrored ceiling above and patterned carpet below, I took off my boots and propped my feet on a nearby chair, ready to admire the "wine dark" sea.
Alas, I still get bored on boats, and was glad this trip took only two and a half hours. Two hopeful women met the boat, but I had a reservation at the Hotel Afendoulis, and shook them off. My room was fairly big, with a balcony, but as on Rhodes I actually needed the heater turned on at night. Alexis, the owner, was full of helpful information, and offered to arrange my onward ferry ticket.
Kos town itself offered a fortress with views of the truly beautiful blue sea and carpets of wildflowers, and a collection of Roman ruins including some nice mosaics and a charming, small theater. But Kos island itself was the birthplace of Hippocrates, and the Asklepion, where he practiced medicine, is its most important attraction. The Asklepion is on a hillside, with three main levels reached by wide staircases, and more wonderful views. I hiked through the trees above the third level and found a smaller, more ruined temple, even more evocative than the peaceful main site, which I loved.
Coming down from the Asklepion I stopped to eat in the little village of Platani. Alexis had recommended the Arap, and it was full of Greeks settling in for a big Sunday lunch. I ordered cheese-stuffed courgette flowers and a Greek salad, and wished I had room for a second order of the melt-in-your-mouth courgette flowers. Back in Kos Town I ate dinner each night at the taverna across the street from the hotel, chatting with fellow-guests. The food varied - good spicy chicken one night, but a sole that had not been fully thawed the next.
I had now been in Greece for six weeks, and it was time to move on. In fact, I was on Kos principally because it was a stepping stone to Turkey, which in turn was a stepping stone to the Crimean peninsula. While I quite enjoyed my time on Kos, it certainly didn't make my must-revisit list. Rhodes Town, on the other hand, I would be happy to revisit, although not in season, and I would like to spend more time on Crete - but on the southern coast, where the cliffs drop so steeply into the lovely Libyan Sea that some places can only be reached by boat - or foot. And I still want to enter Santorini's harbor by ferry, and perhaps explore Sappho's home island Lesbos, or steep, northern Samothrace. I would discard Lonely Planet's "World Food Greece", but not my Greek phrase book - I might need it again.
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