Samaria Gorge Day
I started writing about this today in Paralia Taverna and the thought was with me that if am to finish writing about any day of this year on Crete let it be this one. While most of my days on the Island I consider special, more so the ones where I am out hiking on my own, however this one felt just that little bit different. While I felt I had nearly accomplished something that I started out to do in 2010, by leaving a bit more still to do I was already looking forward to returning, all going well next year 2017, to fill in the missing bit. You will have to read on to understand.
This day I was truly up like a Lark, it was just after 6 am. So I was going to walk the gorge today, at least as far as the old village of Samaria, which is about half way up, or down the gorge depending on your perspective, so about 8km either way.
Full of the joys of September I roused from the bed, being an unusually early hour for me ( unless of course I am on my way home) I felt if I did not leave the comfort of the mattress immediately I would nod off again.
So ablutions complete I am out the door for some fruit and yoghurt. The restaurant I sat in is just opposite the Tarra Taverna and it appears my fruit got lost in translation or is still hanging on its relative trees, not to worry, the yogurt is bountiful and beautiful and is overflowing the bowl , as for the honey, well that is just a drizzle but followed by a coffee it is enough to suffice and see me well and truly awake and on my way.
I got the makings of a couple of rolls in the supermarket and so once I had put them together, filling the platypus with 1.5 lt of water ( note to myself: must get a 3 lt one for next year ), and so armed with a couple of oranges, Prokopis had given me as I left his restaurant last night, a full hip flask I set out from the village at about 8:15 am.
I started snapping with the camera immediately and am so caught up in taking photos that as I wander to the right of the old village I hear a voice calling out to me:
It is a resident tending to some goats.
He asks; Are you going to the Gorge?
Yes?
You must go back and past the church and over the bridge. He tells me.
Efcharistó.
I ask him if it is okay that I take a photograph to which he says okay.
This is a great start; I have not even got to the gorge and I have already mislaid myself. This should be a fun day.
This day I was truly up like a Lark, it was just after 6 am. So I was going to walk the gorge today, at least as far as the old village of Samaria, which is about half way up, or down the gorge depending on your perspective, so about 8km either way.
Full of the joys of September I roused from the bed, being an unusually early hour for me ( unless of course I am on my way home) I felt if I did not leave the comfort of the mattress immediately I would nod off again.
So ablutions complete I am out the door for some fruit and yoghurt. The restaurant I sat in is just opposite the Tarra Taverna and it appears my fruit got lost in translation or is still hanging on its relative trees, not to worry, the yogurt is bountiful and beautiful and is overflowing the bowl , as for the honey, well that is just a drizzle but followed by a coffee it is enough to suffice and see me well and truly awake and on my way.
I got the makings of a couple of rolls in the supermarket and so once I had put them together, filling the platypus with 1.5 lt of water ( note to myself: must get a 3 lt one for next year ), and so armed with a couple of oranges, Prokopis had given me as I left his restaurant last night, a full hip flask I set out from the village at about 8:15 am.
I started snapping with the camera immediately and am so caught up in taking photos that as I wander to the right of the old village I hear a voice calling out to me:
It is a resident tending to some goats.
He asks; Are you going to the Gorge?
Yes?
You must go back and past the church and over the bridge. He tells me.
Efcharistó.
I ask him if it is okay that I take a photograph to which he says okay.
This is a great start; I have not even got to the gorge and I have already mislaid myself. This should be a fun day.
A sour puss in an amazing place.
So it is about 8:40 when I finally enter the gorge. I cannot even attempt to describe this place, it is just amazing. Look at the photographs to get an idea but in truth I do not think they do it justice. However rather than effuse superlatives and bullshit you too much I will just tell you about my experience and observations on the hike.
So for the first half hour I have the gorge, or at least my area of it, to myself. I try and not walk too fast, there is just so much to admire and try to take in, eventually you just have to give in and let the gorge absorb you. That is not B.S. by the way, at least not for me. This place is just amazing, special. I think you have to be here to have half an understanding of what I am trying to convey.
Eventually I meet the first person within the gorge: he says hello and I say Kamilera and I know he is French, how do I know this you ask: because he is my next door neighbour. He is responsible for my clothes peg envy.
Another twenty minutes on and I meet the next three people..…. there are two men whom not only look like but are also dressed like Wim and Mike ( Wim and Mike are friends of mine who somehow manage to always appears neat in both self and attire: I mean that as a compliment to you both, if you cannot take it as such then cross me off your Christmas lists, while I may be hurt by your doing so forgive me if I do not notice the lack of xmass cards, kinda not into the whole card thing and all) and then there is the lady with a puss following them up and what a puss it is with a capital Puss.
There could be various reasons for this distorted visage.
1) She is born with it.
2) She is of the brand of people who are only truly happy if they are unhappy.
3) Her friends told her it would be a good idea to walk part of the Gorge. Nice looking people can turn ugly into an artform when they are duped into something that they are told is cool but turns out to be sweaty hard work.
I would suggest it was the latter of the three. I cannot remember what she was wearing because of the puss, it was just that kind of maw that draws you in. In fairness when I say what a puss I am saying: That while this person was possibly normal and may have under different circumstances appeared pretty or even good looking, as we passed each other she just happened to be wearing the most unhappy face available to her. The face could have being saying something like : I have a splitting hangover and I am constipated and just got a text to say that my cat at home has run off with my neighbours dog and they have cleaned out my bank account….
So I also recognise these three from the village last night.
So again I find myself with the myself and nobody else and this is the way for about another hour until I eventually meet the first person who is descending from the Xyloskalo ( Wooden Stairs ) at the northern entrance to the gorge. After about another 10 / 15 minutes I start to meet a steady trickle of bodies coming down. And it is around now that I see the first of the runners; in all throughout the day I see four people jogging down the track. The first person is wearing running gear and has his platypus so I assume this was his plan while the other three that I encounter along different parts of the track; have clothing tied around their midriff and are carrying their bottles and none of them are wearing running shorts. So I assume they decided sometime on the way to Omalos or upon entering the Samaria that they wanted to see how fast it would take them to run down this amazing, beautiful place ………...and so fools rush on.
Then I met a fifth person running along; they were kitted out somewhere in between the pro and loops.
So about two hours in and I arrive at the Samaria village. Though still early enough in the day it is fairly busy with around the 100 bodies or so milling around. I stop here for twenty minutes and have the first of my squashed rolls of cheese and crisps.
So it is about 8:40 when I finally enter the gorge. I cannot even attempt to describe this place, it is just amazing. Look at the photographs to get an idea but in truth I do not think they do it justice. However rather than effuse superlatives and bullshit you too much I will just tell you about my experience and observations on the hike.
So for the first half hour I have the gorge, or at least my area of it, to myself. I try and not walk too fast, there is just so much to admire and try to take in, eventually you just have to give in and let the gorge absorb you. That is not B.S. by the way, at least not for me. This place is just amazing, special. I think you have to be here to have half an understanding of what I am trying to convey.
Eventually I meet the first person within the gorge: he says hello and I say Kamilera and I know he is French, how do I know this you ask: because he is my next door neighbour. He is responsible for my clothes peg envy.
Another twenty minutes on and I meet the next three people..…. there are two men whom not only look like but are also dressed like Wim and Mike ( Wim and Mike are friends of mine who somehow manage to always appears neat in both self and attire: I mean that as a compliment to you both, if you cannot take it as such then cross me off your Christmas lists, while I may be hurt by your doing so forgive me if I do not notice the lack of xmass cards, kinda not into the whole card thing and all) and then there is the lady with a puss following them up and what a puss it is with a capital Puss.
There could be various reasons for this distorted visage.
1) She is born with it.
2) She is of the brand of people who are only truly happy if they are unhappy.
3) Her friends told her it would be a good idea to walk part of the Gorge. Nice looking people can turn ugly into an artform when they are duped into something that they are told is cool but turns out to be sweaty hard work.
I would suggest it was the latter of the three. I cannot remember what she was wearing because of the puss, it was just that kind of maw that draws you in. In fairness when I say what a puss I am saying: That while this person was possibly normal and may have under different circumstances appeared pretty or even good looking, as we passed each other she just happened to be wearing the most unhappy face available to her. The face could have being saying something like : I have a splitting hangover and I am constipated and just got a text to say that my cat at home has run off with my neighbours dog and they have cleaned out my bank account….
So I also recognise these three from the village last night.
So again I find myself with the myself and nobody else and this is the way for about another hour until I eventually meet the first person who is descending from the Xyloskalo ( Wooden Stairs ) at the northern entrance to the gorge. After about another 10 / 15 minutes I start to meet a steady trickle of bodies coming down. And it is around now that I see the first of the runners; in all throughout the day I see four people jogging down the track. The first person is wearing running gear and has his platypus so I assume this was his plan while the other three that I encounter along different parts of the track; have clothing tied around their midriff and are carrying their bottles and none of them are wearing running shorts. So I assume they decided sometime on the way to Omalos or upon entering the Samaria that they wanted to see how fast it would take them to run down this amazing, beautiful place ………...and so fools rush on.
Then I met a fifth person running along; they were kitted out somewhere in between the pro and loops.
So about two hours in and I arrive at the Samaria village. Though still early enough in the day it is fairly busy with around the 100 bodies or so milling around. I stop here for twenty minutes and have the first of my squashed rolls of cheese and crisps.
Strange Neanderthals and mutinous legs.
It is amazing how good you can feel after a short break. For the next kilometre or so I wonder why I stopped.
Tip on walking up the gorge: do not always be the nice person. Beware of overtakers and people who think you are invisible or just do not matter. My policy has always being that when you encounter a stream of traffic coming in the opposite direction then: If there is enough space for two people abreast then I keep walking unless of course some one is being assisted or there is an elderly body or two in the path that might require more space. If there is only space for one person then I usually give way to the group. However when I meet two people abreast I expect one of them to slip in front or behind their walking companion. Towards the end of my hike up the gorge I encountered two beautiful people both of whom were looking at their phones, the one in my path walked straight into me and she gave me such a sneer, I felt like telling her that I seen her mother with a similar puss earlier today. She stepped around me and once again stuck her face into her phone. There is little or no signal in the gorge so I am going to assume she is looking at photographs she took moments earlier that just could not wait to be seen…...
Now the next encounter was of a different breed.
What I am about to say may be disparaging and those of you whom are easily offended or have sensitive sensibilities (okay, my grammar is gone out the window) may not like what I am about to say so you might want to read something by Emily Bronte or the latest adventures of Peppa Pig instead of continuing on.
Don’t be too surprised if you are offended, I can be offended by myself at times. But this is the way it happened and this is how the person appeared to me.
I encounter a stream of foot traffic coming towards me, a line of about 20 or so bodies, all in a neat straight line. There are two tracks alongside each other with myself the odd one on the right heading up the gorge and everyone else coming down the gorge on their right which is my left. Usually there is a patch where you can step off the trail to one side or the other. This was not the case here; this part of the trail was cut partly into the side of the gorge with rocks and a steep rise to my left and a nice drop of about 12 to 15 metres to my right. But it did not matter too much as there was, as I stated earlier, two lanes. Now I catch sight of Monkey boy, who may not be from Italy, and then again may be. What an encounter. Two lanes and this apparition decides to transfer to my lane, I swear he stuck his head out of the line, saw someone coming onwards and decided for some reason known only to Neanderthals that he was having my path. Why I will never know, maybe he fancied me, love at first sight and all that, as we get closer he sticks his chin out further and it appears he has a chin and a half, bugs his eyes out at me more, I believe if he strained them any more they would have popped right out. As I get older I am aware that I have to shave my neck at least once every fortnight or else someone will think a hairy animal is trying to escape from the back of my shirt; it looks like my friend approaching me did not shave and a similar type of animal has emerged from his back and now engulfed his human form. I'd swear he gets uglier with every closing step, most definitely a struggle for even a mothers love this one.
I glance down to my right and realise I have nowhere to go as I had not packed a parachute. I look back up at the oncoming creature and notice that two more walkers have moved into line behind him. Feck. I do the only thing I can do and keep walking. I am still a bit confused and just keep staring at him and I honestly think he is looking straight through me, just as we meet he moves to his right slightly but not enough to prevent us shouldering each other rather heavily. I honestly do not know where he thought I was going to go; perhaps he thought the look of him would make me do a uturn and walk back down the gorge. He looks at me with what I can only describe a surprised look on his face, it is as if he has just became aware of my existence but.... then nothing....he keeps walking on. Looking back on it I believe I can understand why he is surprised after all his ego is flying high after winning the big chin, bug eyed, your really ugly competition. And with that trophy in his carry bag what right does anybody have to stand in his way. His friends change lanes. I cannot help but smile to myself and keeping going, however after a couple of steps I cannot resist a backward glance, the look is not reciprocated, apparently I am not worth a second thought. I am so sad about this as that moment meant so much to me, I do note that he is now walking in line with the rest of the down gorgers leaving the left lane free again, strange.
So a couple more kilometres under my boots and that refreshed feeling has slipped away between some rocks and left my feeling somewhat…………. how do I say it………….knackered.
My quadriceps's wake up and hate me, they join my thighs and calfs and call for a mutiny. My back wants in on this.
If I wake up in the morning with no legs it will be because they have gone to live on The Leg Planet (Where some body's are allowed but only so long as they do not have heads attached). Alternatively they have gone to live with and adjoined the lower part of a fat man. Before adopting him the questions they would have asked him would possibly read like this.
Q Do you like walking?
A. NO.
Q How often do you walk a day?
A As little as possible.
Q Do you like Marathons?
A I prefer Mars bars.
Q Do you think you will ever walk a gorge in Crete?
A What's a gorge and where is Crete.
To which my legs would have transferred to one big person who is not me.
I am a little under 4 and half hours on the go, most of that is a gentle ascent, and I am wondering now about turning back and when I should do this. The more I continue on the further I have to walk back and while the downward journey will be easier you still have to take it easy or find yourself face to face with the gorge floor.
Initially I had only intended to get to the village of Samaria and here I was at Agios Nikolaos nearly 4 km on. Back in 2010 I had started the walk down the Samaria with Joyce, Mike and Ian. That year it took us nearly 2 hours to walk the first two kilometres, the path had just started to level out somewhat when Joyce realised that she may possibly not be up for it, she had not realised just how uneven the path would be and knowing that the rockiest parts were to come we decided it was best if we returned to the entrance. We arranged to meet our guide later on that day in Sandy Beach Resort along the north coast of the island where they would pick us up. Mike and Ian offered to return with us but something told me that Mike would not attempt the gorge again so it was only fair they would carry on. I had walked it at least three times previous and hopefully would get to walk it another three times or more. So back to the present; if I walk another kilometre or so I will be at the point that Joyce and I reached 6 years back so upon reaching that I will then have walked the gorge twice and yet not have completed it once.
So I reach that point, or close enough to it, and am thinking will I head up the Xyloskalo (and it is still the Greek for wooden stairs ) ……the stairs are about 2 km in length, a bit less, but rise up nearly perhaps 600 metres in that distance….I thought about it………..will I or wont I?....my legs did not want to go but I really did…....I would possibly have gone for it but the weather made my mind up for me; it was starting to cloud over at the entrance and being aware that I had another 4 to 5 hours of hiking still ahead of me decided to turn back. I did not fancy getting caught here in another thunderstorm, once was enough. ( That is a story for another day.)
The trip back was leisurely, it amazed me as to how easy the descent was. While I had enjoyed the journey up the gorge the latter part of the ascent involved watching out for traffic so much it took away some of the pleasure, but now walking down with most of the trekkers well ahead of me, I could treasure the views this time round.
I was back in the village of Samaria just after two. A lot less people here now but of those that were here there was several with problems.
I overheard three conversations, all very similar, we would not have done this if we were told how hard it was going to be. One person said that the rep who sold them the trip told them it was nearly all flat. Okay so any sales person is going to do that; tell a fib to make the sale and commission. Can these people not check out these trips for themselves by going on line. Most of those with problems seemed to be aged between 40 and 60. While I did feel for them surely it as case of Caveat Emptor. There was one gentleman there about 50ish and he appeared to be the worst off as he had his knee strapped up. I did spot the same gentleman the following morning at the quay in Agia Roumeli, he had not obviously made it in time for the ferry yesterday evening. Still if you have to get stuck in a village then Roumeli is one of the nicest and also one with plenty of reasonably priced accommodation.
Again I stayed here for a 20 minute break; had my last well squashed roll of cheese and crisps, snort from the hip flask and away I go.
It is amazing how good you can feel after a short break. For the next kilometre or so I wonder why I stopped.
Tip on walking up the gorge: do not always be the nice person. Beware of overtakers and people who think you are invisible or just do not matter. My policy has always being that when you encounter a stream of traffic coming in the opposite direction then: If there is enough space for two people abreast then I keep walking unless of course some one is being assisted or there is an elderly body or two in the path that might require more space. If there is only space for one person then I usually give way to the group. However when I meet two people abreast I expect one of them to slip in front or behind their walking companion. Towards the end of my hike up the gorge I encountered two beautiful people both of whom were looking at their phones, the one in my path walked straight into me and she gave me such a sneer, I felt like telling her that I seen her mother with a similar puss earlier today. She stepped around me and once again stuck her face into her phone. There is little or no signal in the gorge so I am going to assume she is looking at photographs she took moments earlier that just could not wait to be seen…...
Now the next encounter was of a different breed.
What I am about to say may be disparaging and those of you whom are easily offended or have sensitive sensibilities (okay, my grammar is gone out the window) may not like what I am about to say so you might want to read something by Emily Bronte or the latest adventures of Peppa Pig instead of continuing on.
Don’t be too surprised if you are offended, I can be offended by myself at times. But this is the way it happened and this is how the person appeared to me.
I encounter a stream of foot traffic coming towards me, a line of about 20 or so bodies, all in a neat straight line. There are two tracks alongside each other with myself the odd one on the right heading up the gorge and everyone else coming down the gorge on their right which is my left. Usually there is a patch where you can step off the trail to one side or the other. This was not the case here; this part of the trail was cut partly into the side of the gorge with rocks and a steep rise to my left and a nice drop of about 12 to 15 metres to my right. But it did not matter too much as there was, as I stated earlier, two lanes. Now I catch sight of Monkey boy, who may not be from Italy, and then again may be. What an encounter. Two lanes and this apparition decides to transfer to my lane, I swear he stuck his head out of the line, saw someone coming onwards and decided for some reason known only to Neanderthals that he was having my path. Why I will never know, maybe he fancied me, love at first sight and all that, as we get closer he sticks his chin out further and it appears he has a chin and a half, bugs his eyes out at me more, I believe if he strained them any more they would have popped right out. As I get older I am aware that I have to shave my neck at least once every fortnight or else someone will think a hairy animal is trying to escape from the back of my shirt; it looks like my friend approaching me did not shave and a similar type of animal has emerged from his back and now engulfed his human form. I'd swear he gets uglier with every closing step, most definitely a struggle for even a mothers love this one.
I glance down to my right and realise I have nowhere to go as I had not packed a parachute. I look back up at the oncoming creature and notice that two more walkers have moved into line behind him. Feck. I do the only thing I can do and keep walking. I am still a bit confused and just keep staring at him and I honestly think he is looking straight through me, just as we meet he moves to his right slightly but not enough to prevent us shouldering each other rather heavily. I honestly do not know where he thought I was going to go; perhaps he thought the look of him would make me do a uturn and walk back down the gorge. He looks at me with what I can only describe a surprised look on his face, it is as if he has just became aware of my existence but.... then nothing....he keeps walking on. Looking back on it I believe I can understand why he is surprised after all his ego is flying high after winning the big chin, bug eyed, your really ugly competition. And with that trophy in his carry bag what right does anybody have to stand in his way. His friends change lanes. I cannot help but smile to myself and keeping going, however after a couple of steps I cannot resist a backward glance, the look is not reciprocated, apparently I am not worth a second thought. I am so sad about this as that moment meant so much to me, I do note that he is now walking in line with the rest of the down gorgers leaving the left lane free again, strange.
So a couple more kilometres under my boots and that refreshed feeling has slipped away between some rocks and left my feeling somewhat…………. how do I say it………….knackered.
My quadriceps's wake up and hate me, they join my thighs and calfs and call for a mutiny. My back wants in on this.
If I wake up in the morning with no legs it will be because they have gone to live on The Leg Planet (Where some body's are allowed but only so long as they do not have heads attached). Alternatively they have gone to live with and adjoined the lower part of a fat man. Before adopting him the questions they would have asked him would possibly read like this.
Q Do you like walking?
A. NO.
Q How often do you walk a day?
A As little as possible.
Q Do you like Marathons?
A I prefer Mars bars.
Q Do you think you will ever walk a gorge in Crete?
A What's a gorge and where is Crete.
To which my legs would have transferred to one big person who is not me.
I am a little under 4 and half hours on the go, most of that is a gentle ascent, and I am wondering now about turning back and when I should do this. The more I continue on the further I have to walk back and while the downward journey will be easier you still have to take it easy or find yourself face to face with the gorge floor.
Initially I had only intended to get to the village of Samaria and here I was at Agios Nikolaos nearly 4 km on. Back in 2010 I had started the walk down the Samaria with Joyce, Mike and Ian. That year it took us nearly 2 hours to walk the first two kilometres, the path had just started to level out somewhat when Joyce realised that she may possibly not be up for it, she had not realised just how uneven the path would be and knowing that the rockiest parts were to come we decided it was best if we returned to the entrance. We arranged to meet our guide later on that day in Sandy Beach Resort along the north coast of the island where they would pick us up. Mike and Ian offered to return with us but something told me that Mike would not attempt the gorge again so it was only fair they would carry on. I had walked it at least three times previous and hopefully would get to walk it another three times or more. So back to the present; if I walk another kilometre or so I will be at the point that Joyce and I reached 6 years back so upon reaching that I will then have walked the gorge twice and yet not have completed it once.
So I reach that point, or close enough to it, and am thinking will I head up the Xyloskalo (and it is still the Greek for wooden stairs ) ……the stairs are about 2 km in length, a bit less, but rise up nearly perhaps 600 metres in that distance….I thought about it………..will I or wont I?....my legs did not want to go but I really did…....I would possibly have gone for it but the weather made my mind up for me; it was starting to cloud over at the entrance and being aware that I had another 4 to 5 hours of hiking still ahead of me decided to turn back. I did not fancy getting caught here in another thunderstorm, once was enough. ( That is a story for another day.)
The trip back was leisurely, it amazed me as to how easy the descent was. While I had enjoyed the journey up the gorge the latter part of the ascent involved watching out for traffic so much it took away some of the pleasure, but now walking down with most of the trekkers well ahead of me, I could treasure the views this time round.
I was back in the village of Samaria just after two. A lot less people here now but of those that were here there was several with problems.
I overheard three conversations, all very similar, we would not have done this if we were told how hard it was going to be. One person said that the rep who sold them the trip told them it was nearly all flat. Okay so any sales person is going to do that; tell a fib to make the sale and commission. Can these people not check out these trips for themselves by going on line. Most of those with problems seemed to be aged between 40 and 60. While I did feel for them surely it as case of Caveat Emptor. There was one gentleman there about 50ish and he appeared to be the worst off as he had his knee strapped up. I did spot the same gentleman the following morning at the quay in Agia Roumeli, he had not obviously made it in time for the ferry yesterday evening. Still if you have to get stuck in a village then Roumeli is one of the nicest and also one with plenty of reasonably priced accommodation.
Again I stayed here for a 20 minute break; had my last well squashed roll of cheese and crisps, snort from the hip flask and away I go.
Someone pushed me.
I am doing what one has to do in such a beautiful place, admiring the scenery. Though in fairness I should have either stopped walking when doing this or at least walked very slowly. But no....I went for the....... Crash, Bang, Wallop…...Don’t worry…. that was not me...that was my camera...I kinda went OUCH, OUCH…..REALLY OUCH…... OH SHIT THIS HURTS….
What happened just there well you see my boot met a rock disguised as a stone. Now a rock disguised as a stone is where most of the rock hides in the earth while sticking up it ’s big toe which can appear as a stone…..well is was either that or someone pushed me.... as no one else was near me and I did not push myself so I am going for the former scenario.
There I am walking along admiring the world around me and the next thing I know I am flying through the air like the jockey on Raffertys racing mare though I was not like the beautiful bird mentioned there. I possibly appeared more like a Dodo who makes his first attempt at flying while suffering an epileptic fit and possibly as graceful as a lumberjack dressed in a tutu having a fight with a bucket of bricks mixed with a few eggs. My right knee meets a friend of the rock disguised as a stone, oh wow this is sore I am thinking, but all is okay as I am distracted from this pain by my elbow meeting another friend that is definitely sorerer ( I know it is not a word), now my left knee and right palm meet the ground which though friends with the rocks and stones are more…… let us say....... accommodating so less sorerer.
As this is happening I am watching my sunglasses and camera have rocky race ahead of me. My god but that camera can move, talk about kicking up a dust storm. Looks like a good race but I cannot see the idea of camera racing taking off. I doubt either the camera or camera owner would take too much pleasure in the win.
Two people who are well ahead of me, and another two people that I had just passed, hurry towards me. I sit up immediately and tell them I am okay, in a general sense this may not true but I think they were possibly only worried about my recent encounter with planet earth and not with my general well being. The well ahead people stop well ahead as they see me stand up and turnaround to go on their merry way, the recently passed people are right beside me. I stand up tell them I fine and hope my camera is too. To prove how unyouthful I am I try to kick my left buttock with my left foot and my right buttock with my right foot....I fail hit my own ass but do well enough to be considered an also ran. What I hoped to achieve by doing this I am unsure, I must have banged my head without realising it. Basically both my legs appear to be working and though there are a few scrapes and scratches visible that appears to be the only damage done. This seems to prove to them I am okay physically so they start to take photographs of each other again. Sad really; for a brief moment in time there was 5 people in the Samaria Gorge that cared for my well being and now we are back to just one. I would be really lonely if I had not met me, and at times likes this I feel I have enough company, especially when I talk to myself and get on with me.
I suppose this was due to happen one day. Between gorges and walks I have gone on dozens of hikes in Crete since around 1990 and this is the first time I have managed to take a right dive. I have had many near stumbles and I cannot count the amount of hills and gorges where I have actually slid down on my backside over shale, scrub and dust, not all the time intentionally, but never a true fall where I had a face to face with mother earth. I am not saying I was expecting it; if I had being expecting it I would have worn knee and elbow pads and fitted my shirt pocket with an airbag. So we just won’t enter the beautiful legs competition in the village tonight; other than that all is good. And I continue to remind myself that I am not a goat.
So brushed off and nearly respectable I’m good to go.
I make the entrance / exit at 4:17 so I had spent eight hours in the gorge. From here it is another 2.3 km to the quay or end of the village. They say it is 3km but using Google maps it comes out at less than the 1.5 km.
Just after the exit there is a small taverna that straddles the path and who do I see here but Eli and Dorit . I joined them for the requisite shandy and we chatted for a while. They had walked just shy of the village of Samaria before turning back, Eli’s feet were bothering him. They both have covered a lot of ground over that last few days and for people who are not used to hiking I have to say I admire them. Hiking in the hills and mountains of a clement Ireland is one thing but over the rough shadeless paths and unrelenting sun of Crete; that is a different bucket of spoons altogether ( I heard someone say that recently: possibly a vegan or just a friend of the fish, now why did I say fish, someday I will remember and come back and explain).
So we arrange to meet up the following evening for a meal and go our separate ways. I head down towards the village and notice that the ferry from Hora Skafion is arriving so make my way towards the dock. I decide to watch the embarkation which will take place over the next hour, first I watch from the beach and then I notice that the Paralia Taverna starts to empty, it is right beside the dock and presents the perfect spot for people watching. I decide that considering I have being going for nearly 11 hours on a couple of cheese and crisp rolls and bowl of yoghurt and just one shandy I deserve another shandy but without any lemonade, I heard someone call it a beer, but do not quote me. And so I make my way there, got a window table that did not have a window, just open to sun & sea, and enjoyed the view as my fellow hikers board. I cannot help feel a certain satisfaction knowing that while most of them were anywhere from 3 to 5 hours from their rooms I would shortly walk a few meters to mine to have a shower and change to less dustier - sweatier clothes. Both ferries, one for Sougia / Paleochora the other for Loutro / Hora Sfakion, leave at 5.30 and as I watched them go I noticed that the sound of the wind and waves very quickly drowned out the noise of the diesel engines. Even though the people on board were still clearly visible it was as if nature here was taking its first step towards, not erasing, but ignoring mankind and its creations. Another reason to love this place.
I am doing what one has to do in such a beautiful place, admiring the scenery. Though in fairness I should have either stopped walking when doing this or at least walked very slowly. But no....I went for the....... Crash, Bang, Wallop…...Don’t worry…. that was not me...that was my camera...I kinda went OUCH, OUCH…..REALLY OUCH…... OH SHIT THIS HURTS….
What happened just there well you see my boot met a rock disguised as a stone. Now a rock disguised as a stone is where most of the rock hides in the earth while sticking up it ’s big toe which can appear as a stone…..well is was either that or someone pushed me.... as no one else was near me and I did not push myself so I am going for the former scenario.
There I am walking along admiring the world around me and the next thing I know I am flying through the air like the jockey on Raffertys racing mare though I was not like the beautiful bird mentioned there. I possibly appeared more like a Dodo who makes his first attempt at flying while suffering an epileptic fit and possibly as graceful as a lumberjack dressed in a tutu having a fight with a bucket of bricks mixed with a few eggs. My right knee meets a friend of the rock disguised as a stone, oh wow this is sore I am thinking, but all is okay as I am distracted from this pain by my elbow meeting another friend that is definitely sorerer ( I know it is not a word), now my left knee and right palm meet the ground which though friends with the rocks and stones are more…… let us say....... accommodating so less sorerer.
As this is happening I am watching my sunglasses and camera have rocky race ahead of me. My god but that camera can move, talk about kicking up a dust storm. Looks like a good race but I cannot see the idea of camera racing taking off. I doubt either the camera or camera owner would take too much pleasure in the win.
Two people who are well ahead of me, and another two people that I had just passed, hurry towards me. I sit up immediately and tell them I am okay, in a general sense this may not true but I think they were possibly only worried about my recent encounter with planet earth and not with my general well being. The well ahead people stop well ahead as they see me stand up and turnaround to go on their merry way, the recently passed people are right beside me. I stand up tell them I fine and hope my camera is too. To prove how unyouthful I am I try to kick my left buttock with my left foot and my right buttock with my right foot....I fail hit my own ass but do well enough to be considered an also ran. What I hoped to achieve by doing this I am unsure, I must have banged my head without realising it. Basically both my legs appear to be working and though there are a few scrapes and scratches visible that appears to be the only damage done. This seems to prove to them I am okay physically so they start to take photographs of each other again. Sad really; for a brief moment in time there was 5 people in the Samaria Gorge that cared for my well being and now we are back to just one. I would be really lonely if I had not met me, and at times likes this I feel I have enough company, especially when I talk to myself and get on with me.
I suppose this was due to happen one day. Between gorges and walks I have gone on dozens of hikes in Crete since around 1990 and this is the first time I have managed to take a right dive. I have had many near stumbles and I cannot count the amount of hills and gorges where I have actually slid down on my backside over shale, scrub and dust, not all the time intentionally, but never a true fall where I had a face to face with mother earth. I am not saying I was expecting it; if I had being expecting it I would have worn knee and elbow pads and fitted my shirt pocket with an airbag. So we just won’t enter the beautiful legs competition in the village tonight; other than that all is good. And I continue to remind myself that I am not a goat.
So brushed off and nearly respectable I’m good to go.
I make the entrance / exit at 4:17 so I had spent eight hours in the gorge. From here it is another 2.3 km to the quay or end of the village. They say it is 3km but using Google maps it comes out at less than the 1.5 km.
Just after the exit there is a small taverna that straddles the path and who do I see here but Eli and Dorit . I joined them for the requisite shandy and we chatted for a while. They had walked just shy of the village of Samaria before turning back, Eli’s feet were bothering him. They both have covered a lot of ground over that last few days and for people who are not used to hiking I have to say I admire them. Hiking in the hills and mountains of a clement Ireland is one thing but over the rough shadeless paths and unrelenting sun of Crete; that is a different bucket of spoons altogether ( I heard someone say that recently: possibly a vegan or just a friend of the fish, now why did I say fish, someday I will remember and come back and explain).
So we arrange to meet up the following evening for a meal and go our separate ways. I head down towards the village and notice that the ferry from Hora Skafion is arriving so make my way towards the dock. I decide to watch the embarkation which will take place over the next hour, first I watch from the beach and then I notice that the Paralia Taverna starts to empty, it is right beside the dock and presents the perfect spot for people watching. I decide that considering I have being going for nearly 11 hours on a couple of cheese and crisp rolls and bowl of yoghurt and just one shandy I deserve another shandy but without any lemonade, I heard someone call it a beer, but do not quote me. And so I make my way there, got a window table that did not have a window, just open to sun & sea, and enjoyed the view as my fellow hikers board. I cannot help feel a certain satisfaction knowing that while most of them were anywhere from 3 to 5 hours from their rooms I would shortly walk a few meters to mine to have a shower and change to less dustier - sweatier clothes. Both ferries, one for Sougia / Paleochora the other for Loutro / Hora Sfakion, leave at 5.30 and as I watched them go I noticed that the sound of the wind and waves very quickly drowned out the noise of the diesel engines. Even though the people on board were still clearly visible it was as if nature here was taking its first step towards, not erasing, but ignoring mankind and its creations. Another reason to love this place.
Apparently he met my wife…...
Well that beer tasted nice so I introduced it to a friend and then made for the hotel.
After a quick shower I decided it was best if I ate early or else might find myself dozing off. So I returned to Paralia. Got a table seaside which is perfect to watch the sunset and listen to the waves crashing against the rocks. The sound is amazing as it slowly claims the pebbles back to the sea only to gently rush them back onshore again. As if to claim them briefly for a moment but once more unto the beach dear friend. I am most definitely high on the air here.
Over the course of my holiday I had two Manuel like experiences; this is the first of these.
I sat down in Paralia at the same table I had left an hour previous. A different waiter approached me: He set a new table cloth and offered me a menu while placing another on the table. I asked him to drink could I have a Μισό λίτρο κόκκινο κρασί μια μικρή μπύρα και νερό παρακαλώ ( half litre of red wine a small beer and water please) . Okay he says and leaves the second menu on the table. I go to hand it back to him but he tells me it is okay it is for my wife. I look at him with a quizzed look and he explains that he had met my wife earlier. No, not me, I tell him. I do not think he hears me as he leaves the menu and goes off to get my drink. He returns with the wine, beer, water and ice and loads of glasses, five to be accurate. Though surprised by the amount of glasses I press on and proceed to give him my order.
I think I ordered three starters and told him he could bring them as they were ready as I was not having a main course.
He heads off to leave in my order; this time taking the extra menu.
He returns shortly and placing bread in the centre of the table he give me cutlery while leaving another setting opposite. I tell him no; it is okay, just me. He seems surprised and the conversations goes like:
Waiter: You dine alone tonight?
Me: Yes.
Waiter: But I see your wife maybe moments ago.
Me. No not mine.
Waiter: Yes, I did, I see her before you sit down, yes. ( as he is saying this I am shaking my head and he is looking at me with a disbelieving face ) .
Me: I am so tired I just smile and say I again that am eating alone. ( If he makes me say it again I might just start to feel lonely and go off in search of a wife.)
To which he sounds like Manuel from Fawlty Towers and seems to be saying something like “okay but I see your wife and bring everything but you are now eating alone so I take this ( the cutlery ) and also take these ( the glasses) ” it is not quite like that but not too far off the mark either. If I was in Ireland or England I would have thought someone was taking the proverbial but he came across as so genuine. I can still hear him muttering as he walks away.
So food was lovely, I cannot remember what I had but it was more than likely pasta of some sort, a cheese dish and some salad, I am not vegetarian just do not eat that much meat. No sooner was my last dish finished than the owner arrives down with a small desert and not too large but not too wee bottle of raki. He sits down pours a glass for himself and myself. Yamas and we both down our drinks in one, there is a refill. He chats for a while; talking about nothing really, not a single mention of my imaginary wife. Shortly after he rises and leaves me the bottle , now while the bottle is small it still contains another 4 shots of Raki, and he continues around the other tables spreading joy and more bottles of Raki. Yamas is the phonetic of Gia Mas (in geek Γεια μας!) translation for your health or simply put slainte or cheers.
So I sit for a half an hour or so enjoying the sounds of the restaurant on one side and the sea on the other, the light inside, the near dark outside, both seem accepting of each other. This place is amazing, this feeling is amazing, sometimes I feel like I should be sharing these moments with someone then on the other hand……( damn that bloody waiter and my invisible wife) ……….what the hell, I am currently not doing so, so might as well just appreciate them myself for what they are……..amazing moments.
Should a certain dancer ever read this; I lost my comb two days ago and I did not bring a towel with me. Am I worried?....not a hait,........actually just a little bit. Actually quite a big bit, I have sore bits where I did not know I had bits and the idea “don`t panic” is floating around in my head is making me wonder if I should just do that.
So I think: Don`t Panic; Is just a phrase and should not lead one to the suggestion that one should panic but quite the opposite after all I know I can always borrow a towel and shave my head so problems can be solved. Hence no need to panic.
And for those of you who do not know a certain dancer: She is a lady who called me random one time...honestly…. think about it: What greater compliment could a person receive: Random. The best thing of all is I honestly believe she did not realise she was paying me a compliment at the time….she was merely passing comment on me, my character / being or whatever it is I am.
So the raki is gone, must of evaporated while I was thinking about nothing in particular, so I signalled to the waiter who knew my wife and ordered a Metaxa 3 star ( I am a pleb), a small beer and a café nescafe. He seemed perplexed, not too sure if it was the idea of me getting more drink after all I had consumed or that I was not returning to my wife ( I wondered what she looked like?). However he did supply all and I continued to deny the end of a fantastic day.
Just in case you missed what I said there: I continued to deny the end of a fantastic day.
It is shortly after 10 when I decide it is time to get up and pay my bill and just before I try to get up a thought came to me:
I hope my legs work when I go to stand up, bits of me are so wrecked. At least I think they are. The alcohol has numbed me enough so I am a bit unsure of how exactly my body feels.
Christ; what happens if I go to get up and my legs kind of you know…...don’t work.
Damn I wished I had visited the loo over the last couple of hours, at least then I would have idea how things might pan out.
I grab a hold of the table, look around the restaurant as soberly as I can. See that no one is passing the slightest bit of heed of yer man who lost his wife and start to rise.
Yahoo my legs work.
So the bill is paid and with most bits & bobs working I return to my hotel and on the way I have a quiet conversation with my legs; I tell them that I love them dearly, really appreciate them and all they've done today and tonight, and I hope that they do not desert me in the middle of the night and even though I called them ugly at times I really did not mean it.
Did I mention that this was just an amazing day.
Crikey it is not yet 11 pm and I am lying on my bed, I must be getting old. So I lay there and I am wondering if I should sit on the balcony and have a shot of Metaxa or a beer…or even one of each...I am still deciding when I dooooze off.
Well that beer tasted nice so I introduced it to a friend and then made for the hotel.
After a quick shower I decided it was best if I ate early or else might find myself dozing off. So I returned to Paralia. Got a table seaside which is perfect to watch the sunset and listen to the waves crashing against the rocks. The sound is amazing as it slowly claims the pebbles back to the sea only to gently rush them back onshore again. As if to claim them briefly for a moment but once more unto the beach dear friend. I am most definitely high on the air here.
Over the course of my holiday I had two Manuel like experiences; this is the first of these.
I sat down in Paralia at the same table I had left an hour previous. A different waiter approached me: He set a new table cloth and offered me a menu while placing another on the table. I asked him to drink could I have a Μισό λίτρο κόκκινο κρασί μια μικρή μπύρα και νερό παρακαλώ ( half litre of red wine a small beer and water please) . Okay he says and leaves the second menu on the table. I go to hand it back to him but he tells me it is okay it is for my wife. I look at him with a quizzed look and he explains that he had met my wife earlier. No, not me, I tell him. I do not think he hears me as he leaves the menu and goes off to get my drink. He returns with the wine, beer, water and ice and loads of glasses, five to be accurate. Though surprised by the amount of glasses I press on and proceed to give him my order.
I think I ordered three starters and told him he could bring them as they were ready as I was not having a main course.
He heads off to leave in my order; this time taking the extra menu.
He returns shortly and placing bread in the centre of the table he give me cutlery while leaving another setting opposite. I tell him no; it is okay, just me. He seems surprised and the conversations goes like:
Waiter: You dine alone tonight?
Me: Yes.
Waiter: But I see your wife maybe moments ago.
Me. No not mine.
Waiter: Yes, I did, I see her before you sit down, yes. ( as he is saying this I am shaking my head and he is looking at me with a disbelieving face ) .
Me: I am so tired I just smile and say I again that am eating alone. ( If he makes me say it again I might just start to feel lonely and go off in search of a wife.)
To which he sounds like Manuel from Fawlty Towers and seems to be saying something like “okay but I see your wife and bring everything but you are now eating alone so I take this ( the cutlery ) and also take these ( the glasses) ” it is not quite like that but not too far off the mark either. If I was in Ireland or England I would have thought someone was taking the proverbial but he came across as so genuine. I can still hear him muttering as he walks away.
So food was lovely, I cannot remember what I had but it was more than likely pasta of some sort, a cheese dish and some salad, I am not vegetarian just do not eat that much meat. No sooner was my last dish finished than the owner arrives down with a small desert and not too large but not too wee bottle of raki. He sits down pours a glass for himself and myself. Yamas and we both down our drinks in one, there is a refill. He chats for a while; talking about nothing really, not a single mention of my imaginary wife. Shortly after he rises and leaves me the bottle , now while the bottle is small it still contains another 4 shots of Raki, and he continues around the other tables spreading joy and more bottles of Raki. Yamas is the phonetic of Gia Mas (in geek Γεια μας!) translation for your health or simply put slainte or cheers.
So I sit for a half an hour or so enjoying the sounds of the restaurant on one side and the sea on the other, the light inside, the near dark outside, both seem accepting of each other. This place is amazing, this feeling is amazing, sometimes I feel like I should be sharing these moments with someone then on the other hand……( damn that bloody waiter and my invisible wife) ……….what the hell, I am currently not doing so, so might as well just appreciate them myself for what they are……..amazing moments.
Should a certain dancer ever read this; I lost my comb two days ago and I did not bring a towel with me. Am I worried?....not a hait,........actually just a little bit. Actually quite a big bit, I have sore bits where I did not know I had bits and the idea “don`t panic” is floating around in my head is making me wonder if I should just do that.
So I think: Don`t Panic; Is just a phrase and should not lead one to the suggestion that one should panic but quite the opposite after all I know I can always borrow a towel and shave my head so problems can be solved. Hence no need to panic.
And for those of you who do not know a certain dancer: She is a lady who called me random one time...honestly…. think about it: What greater compliment could a person receive: Random. The best thing of all is I honestly believe she did not realise she was paying me a compliment at the time….she was merely passing comment on me, my character / being or whatever it is I am.
So the raki is gone, must of evaporated while I was thinking about nothing in particular, so I signalled to the waiter who knew my wife and ordered a Metaxa 3 star ( I am a pleb), a small beer and a café nescafe. He seemed perplexed, not too sure if it was the idea of me getting more drink after all I had consumed or that I was not returning to my wife ( I wondered what she looked like?). However he did supply all and I continued to deny the end of a fantastic day.
Just in case you missed what I said there: I continued to deny the end of a fantastic day.
It is shortly after 10 when I decide it is time to get up and pay my bill and just before I try to get up a thought came to me:
I hope my legs work when I go to stand up, bits of me are so wrecked. At least I think they are. The alcohol has numbed me enough so I am a bit unsure of how exactly my body feels.
Christ; what happens if I go to get up and my legs kind of you know…...don’t work.
Damn I wished I had visited the loo over the last couple of hours, at least then I would have idea how things might pan out.
I grab a hold of the table, look around the restaurant as soberly as I can. See that no one is passing the slightest bit of heed of yer man who lost his wife and start to rise.
Yahoo my legs work.
So the bill is paid and with most bits & bobs working I return to my hotel and on the way I have a quiet conversation with my legs; I tell them that I love them dearly, really appreciate them and all they've done today and tonight, and I hope that they do not desert me in the middle of the night and even though I called them ugly at times I really did not mean it.
Did I mention that this was just an amazing day.
Crikey it is not yet 11 pm and I am lying on my bed, I must be getting old. So I lay there and I am wondering if I should sit on the balcony and have a shot of Metaxa or a beer…or even one of each...I am still deciding when I dooooze off.