My trips to Greece to say hello to Zorba the Greek
I'm a confessed arm chair traveler. In my red wing backed chair I have sat for hours reading brochure and books about foreign places, some I wish to visit if I had the money and others I have visited in the past so have gathered my memories about me to try to recapture what it felt like years ago...
Greece. I first traveled there with my parents during spring break in the 60s. We had first flown to Adana Turkey via the Air Force C-130, sitting for hours in the cold noisy hold of the military transport plane, on the folding bench provided for soldiers. It was my first taste of the Near East, Adana, a dusty muslim town seen in the distance and then a bus ride into the same town's centre to buy souvenirs. I noticed that the women were used as dray horses, carrying heavy loads, while the men walked beside them. More men in fezs sat outside smoking from hookahs, and playing with their worry beads. Then we traveled on to Istanbul, again curtesy of the military MATS service, and there I was astonished by a civilization that was thousands of year old.
The Topkapi, the Blue Mosque and then Santa Sophia. Oh my God, what marvels of engineering. I learned later that it only took a few years to build the later, contrast that to the Western churches that took centuries. At the entrance to Topkapi, at the Grand Porte, I saw a woman nursing her child with her tit to his mouth, the first time I had witnessed such a natural thing. It left an indelible image in my mind. And the treasures of the Sultans; later I found out that they had a very practical plan for succession to the throne, whoever survived the killing, of the sultan's sons, won. At my school, Lycée International de l'OTAN or NATO, we had a Turkish girl in my class who was shy but busty. I thought of her In my adolescent dreams; I pictured her in the harem at the Topkapi. Later I read that the Ottoman Empire began to crumble when the the sultan moved out of his old palace, without women, into the confines of the Topkapi where he was the centre of attention and intrigues of the harem with all his wives and concubines. Imagine the scheduling problems that must have incurred!
We left the minarets of the Golden Horn for the older civilization of Greece. Again it was a shock to see so much history lying around literally as the Acropolis had been partially destroyed when it housed the gun powder stores and had been bombarded. The Elgin marbles stolen and the rest turned into white wash plaster for the Plaka houses. We arrived for Greek Orthodox Easter and found the city deserted, everyone was in the hills cooking their lamb for Easter dinner. The few who stayed were throwing down these firecrackers and shouting 'Christ has risen!' in Greek naturally. I promised myself that I would return one day. And I did.
Pass on a few years to the 70s and a summer vacation where I had taken a student rail pass with the goal of getting to Greece, I will pass over my adventures on the way, and I arrived in Athens where I was trying to call my French friend who was living in Crete. I was in a cafe surrounded by curious Greeks who were helping me to navigate the telephone system. Finally I got her on the phone and we arranged to meet in Hóra Sfakíon, where she was staying for the summer. It was important that I get to her because she had entrusted me with anti governmental pamphlets to distribute in Crete; it was the time of the Colonel dictatorship. I had secreted the documents, written in Greek, in the bottom of my sleeping bag. I was staying at a youth Hostel, one of many I frequented over my student days, and felt safe thinking no one would nose around there. I was right. I remember seeing an English man covered in boils, from being outside in the sun; mad dogs and English men. I had time to visit the beach, with its large signage from the Junta of a Phoenix rising from the flames. I swam in the sea and met a buxom young thing who was evidently interested in me. She was a South American girl studying in Paris and she gave me her address and telephone number saying to look her up sometime; I never did. What I do remember is this fat Greek guy giving her the eye, and trying to pick her up. Funny how ugliness is no proof against intelligence.
I took the overnight ferry from Piraeus to Hania arriving at dawn, seeing the bunkers the Nazi had built to house navy vessels, the old Venation port and beyond the mountains of the Moon rising into the sky all white and shiny. Taking the local bus, I stopped at a wayside cafe to change buses and got my first sight of Zorba the Greek. An old man dressed all in black - from his patent leather high boots to his head scarf - was taking his coffee. I nodded my head at him, asking him if the bus to Hora Sfakion passed here. He nodded and say "Ναι". He also moved his head side to side. Later I leaned it meant yes. Soon I was on the old bus, as it struggled up the mountain, to a small village where it stopped to gather more passengers and leave off some then we went again on the highway now facing a tortuous zig zag down to the sea. I held my breath and hoped the brakes would hold.
At the end of the road, literally, we stopped in a small village perched on the edge of a wine dark sea; nothing to write home about. A few houses, a street and a beach. My friend was there to greet me, or was soon there because news travelled quickly when a stranger arrived. I was the third such one, myself, a German and my French friend. She arrived in tow with her Cretan lover, who looked at me curiously, the way dogs look at rivals. The town was populated by men and old women, no young women to be seen - I found out later why. All were dressed as if they had stepped out of the movie set for Zorba the Greek.
(I have a confession to make, I love the book and movie 'Zorba the Greek' which I have seen and read countless times. I represents to me my very nature, the dichotomy I feel within myself; the calm shy intellectual and the brash 'grab life by the balls' man of action. All that Nikos Kazantzakis has written is brilliant, and I worship him as an author. Enough said.)
We soon got things sorted out over an ouzo, I gave her the package of secret documents, which could have been recipes to make Baklava for all I knew, and we discussed housing arrangements. There were no hostels nor even a hotel (at the time) in the village - a short conversation with the bar owner solved that. I could sleep over the bar in the storage space, accessed by a ladder, with a wooden floor and endless views of the African sea, to which I woke up every day, counting my blessings. I was young, and had a good back back then. The days went by quickly at a slow pace. Not much happened in the village, except when the patriarch went to town, and then 'she' would appear, his daughter. What a beauty! She would joke in conversations with her brothers, and even send a shy look my way. (later my Greek friend told me that the best looking whores in Athens were all girls from Crete) My friend was researching her master's thesis on Cretan woman which I later helped illustrate.
I had arrived just after an earthquake and the sea was torpid, but after a day it cleared up and I went swimming and got the shock of my life. For in the crystalline water I could see for yards, even miles as the earth went down into the depths. Scary. One night it was decided that we should all go to beer fest in the mountains. And off we went, me and a German sitting in the back of a small pickup truck. Along the way we stopped at the house of my friend's boyfriend. A shepherd greeted us with an acapella song that made me want to cry it was so beautiful. They offered us some cooked lamb, and then they laughed. I asked why of my French friend and she said, her boyfriend told me he had asked if it was stolen lamb, and his friend had answered, "have you ever eaten stolen lamb?" That night was memorable.
I can remember sitting at a table with the local doctor, my French friend and her boy friend, and listening to Bouzouki playing. The only other woman there was the serving girl. Suddenly, or was it just naturally, the men began to get up and link arms, and they danced. Oh be still my heart, I was in Zorba land where they do such things. No tourists around, except for the three of us. It was spontaneous and natural. And very masculine. I had a few, or more beers, as each table was buying for the other tables and suddenly I too was dancing. Like a mad man. How dare I? What devil had gotten into me? I remember buying beer for other tables, not having a drachma to my name; I found out later it was the doctor who paid the bill. And I even grabbed the serving girl by the waist, an unheard of thing for me to do! I was in the moment, living my Zorba reincarnation under the stars. Alive!
I got up to piss and got lost, on the small street, seeing a motor bike coming I stepped off the high way and fell maybe 50 feet or so, but no damage I told the astounded bikers. I was OK. Finally the night came to an end and I piled into the back of the truck, sated. The next day I decided to go by boat to the next village for another festival, and ended up sick and sleeping on the roof of a house under the 'belles etoiles'. So my days unrolled for a week, eating greek yoghurt with home made honey, drinking ouzo at the cafe, and enjoying life. I also was going slowly deaf because of the ear wax build up in my ear from swimming. I went to the doctor to fix that and left.
On the return ferry trip I met an Italian guy and a Swiss woman. I told the Italian that I would sleep with her by the next morning. I had to make good on my promise so I spent the night on the open deck talking to her for hours. The next day in Athens it happened as I had predicted, we got an hotel and I found a pharmacy that sold 'Profolaxis'. When she mounted on top of me she kept saying, 'du bist ein Mann' and then she had convulsions. I didn't know what to do, never having seen a woman with such a strong orgasm, and she smiled and whispered something in my ear.
The third time I went to Greece was with my family in tow in the 80s. We arrived from Paris, my son was still in diapers, and a handful, and we stayed at my Greek friend's apartment in Athens. We toured around in her Mini car. That was dangerous and exciting. We even flew to the island of Santorini where we saw wonderful things and had wonderful wines. All in a good vacation
And now 35 years later will are planning another trip to Greece. I am sitting in my arm chair looking at guides as I write and wonder what adventures await us?
My wing backed chair I call my sleeping chair, where I doze off sometimes...to dream of places to go. And the tortuous road to Hora Saffron Crete.
2020 trip to Grece: Athens, Crete and Hydra
Covid-19 but of all the places that are open Greece tops the list, with the lowest death rate I turn to my wife and tell her I just both 2 tickets for Greece on my phone. 1st) she tells me she feels terrible and 2nd) she tells me I am crazy. Yes I am. When I want something, nothing stops me. Not even the fact that I have purchased Air France tickets and the French won’t let me in. SO I switch to KLM. We arrive in Amsterdam and get through the customs control but then we have to go into the Schengen Area.
The very big border control guy looks at my passport and he shakes his head, NO. I take out my outdated French passport and he say YES!
We arrive in Athens and our Greek friend picks up at airport, it is hot and miserable but it is Greece. We stay a few days and then we all fly to Crete. On the plane I see this tall beautiful Cretan air hostess, and I blurt out, “ You are the tallest Greek I have ever seen!” She is not amused. Hania, beautiful place, old Venetian Ottoman town. I get massage at Hamman on the roof like out of the Arabian nights with the port below and streamers waving in the wind. We eat Cretan honey and yoghurt ( a lot of it ) which reminds me of my days as a student visiting Crete. I am in Heaven, in a great two story B and B. I walk around the city, loving it, loving being in Crete. Our friend leaves but we stay, renting a car. An Opel automatic.
At Suda bay military cemetery we visit the tombs of the fallen soldiers (the Anzacs ) and then go back to the car which doesn’t start, until I figure it out. Then we enter the road to the White mountains, the road I took by bus so long ago. And I was afraid then and I am afraid now. White knuckle driving on better roads until we get to the descent to Sfakion. We stop at a cafe to piss but I am too afraid to piss, the view is of the Samantha gorge or of a lesser gorge (the deepest in Europe). I am petrified. But brave. We go on down the mountain on switch backs and find out they are still working on the road, even more dangerous. I don’t take my eyes off the road,
Till we get down to the village which is overrun with tourists. Eh Gads! it is a nightmare. High rises, parked cars everywhere; where is my little village of yesteryear? We leave without stopping and go to a hotel to eat tomato salad. We go on the the Venetian castle and beach. I see the coast which is steep and the roads are small, especially in the villages. I take over driving. We arrive in Heraklion to seek our next stop but can’t find it, keep running in circles and finally give up and go downtown, and continue to drive in circles in the old town. Hotels are closed because of lack of tourists. Finally we come back to hotel we saw an hour ago and I go in to the reception,
12 hours of driving without pissing caught up to me and I relieve myself in front of the desk in front of a pretty woman. Oh God. My wife looks at me askance. I look for a toilette. But we have room that is upgraded to a better room over looking the harbour and it is wonderful. We watch the ferry boats arrive and depart for Athens; it reminds me of my night on deck long ago. Next day we have the best breakfast I have ever had in a hotel, gobs of food. We leave early to visit Knossos to avoid the heat and crowds. I am a little disappointed, but that turns to wonder as we return to the city to visit the archeology museum.
We continue on. We take a nap at our hotel at Rethymnon, I still can’t pronounce it, but then got out to go to find a place to eat. My wife was still suffering from Stendhal’s syndrome; she was a Minoan archeologist after all. The combination of Knossos and the archeological museum. We found the best place to eat, typical Cretan food. Moussaka. We continued on the next day, taking a detour to Hania to have some more Cretan honey and yoghurt. Stop by the market and buy a Cretan weaving from a pretty girl. Afterwards to drive to Suda bay and our hotel on the ocean, wonderful bungalow and food and people. A nice two day respite.
Back to crazy Athens where we get taken for a ride by an aggressive taxi driver for 100 Euros. Then I lost my iPhone. Ah well.
We are glad to leave the city behind, to take a fast ferry to Hydra where we are in heaven. Staying in a hotel next to at taverna where Leonard Cohen used to hang out. We had a wonderful time and celebrated our wedding anniversary in the ‘Sun set cafe”. We were planning to stay a couple of days but stayed a week. A second honey moon….
Text ©Patrick McDonnell 2021
