a very small odyssey
A chance meeting in the breakfast room of a transit lounge in far north Vietnam found us on a wharf in Chania, Crete 18 months later, wondering how to traverse a springy passerelle to board Katmazu, while loaded with bags.
Chania
was a pretty town. Our first night on
Crete was passed in a renovated stone townhouse, tucked away among ruins dating back to the second war. We joined Katmazu the next morning, hoping to sail east along the north coast on the seasonal westerlies. The weather gods had other ideas and we sailed northwest instead, heading first to Gramvousa, a tiny island on the north-west tip of Crete. Sailing through the daunting passage into the anchorage was a salutary lesson in caution afloat. A myriad of reefs await the unwary. A wrecked coaster provides a pointed reminder of the dangers - and interesting snorkelling as a bonus. The ruined fortress atop the island offered beautiful sunsets. It was built to watch over the shipping lanes, which it did for centuries.
An archeologist’s village is under construction to host the seasonal visitors who come to dig over the fortress, uncovering more of the past. When we were at the fort, it was overrun by a tour group from a ferry that had pulled in late in the afternoon. Their multilingual conversations were intriguing - like eavesdropping on people from another galaxy. It transpired they were neurobiologists taking a chat break from a convention. A young couple is in residence at the tiny house near the little wharf. They keep the goats company and a watchful eye on the island. They understand division of labour, too. Our last sight as we weighed anchor was of him taking a leisurely stroll back from the wharf as she pushed a heavily laden wheelbarrow several paces ahead.
When we left Gramvousa the wind had set to the south, so we headed back out through the passage and north to Antikythera, the closest island sitting in the right direction. For Chris and Maz, this was backtracking. They’d already made their way south in the previous days. Back-tracking goes against the grain on Katmazu but the wind will have her way and they hadn’t visited this particular island previously. It’s rather small, with only 40 residents spread across two tiny settlements. We met an Italian couple - the only other tourists - and they gave us approximate directions to a taverna they’d found the night before. They seemed to be there more or less by mistake and were awaiting the next ferry to move them and their car on. There weren’t a lot of attractions on the island beyond some old village remnants and a couple of churches - most of the action is at a dive site to the south where an ancient wreck offered up a 2,000 year old navigation computer among other artefacts. We swam in the clear, peaceful waters of the harbour, chatted with the Italians and an interesting ex-pat, wandered about the churches and pinpointed the taverna, or so we thought. When we called back that evening, we found no food, monster ouzos and little English. I think it took five minutes for us to frighten the locals off. We were still enjoying the ouzos when the Italians wandered past on the their way home from the taverna. They pointed it out across the valley, brightly lit and conspicuously busy. Apologetically, we left the bemused café owner and headed off to order from the extensive menu. There was a choice: chicken souvlaki; salad; and chips - every day! We opted for the souvlaki. After all, we’d eaten dinner aboard earlier in the evening and it was close to midnight. There were big storms around through the evening. They hit the mainland quite savagely but fortunately skirted past us. Next morning a good swell was running as we headed north again. To Kythira this time. Still back-tracking but convinced the wind would change in our favour in the coming days. Barbara learned a lesson about the speed with which ocean tankers travel and what a converging course is. The skipper proved his mettle!
Kythira offered a safe, accessible harbour ensuring easy departure in changing conditions. It also had a genial car-hire guy - no English but great skill in wielding a fluoro pen across a tiny map to show all the best spots on the island. It was getting late so we drove south to the main town for dinner and were greeted by an Australian-born, Greek waitress. G’day!
Kythera, the old ‘chora’, is dominated by another Venetian fort and Greco-Australian accents. The island has diverse attractions ranging from caves (closed Thursdays) to little villages, steeped in antiquity; craggy cliffs; a café where they preferred a chat and sharing their view to a sale; and Byzantine ruins. And a restaurant serving ‘lock-in’ desserts.
Chris and Marian, skipper and crew of Katmazu sandwich Barbara, to block the picture-perfect view of Kapsali, where water frond palaces are very chips according to local real estate lore.
Machu Pichu look-alike, according to a travel book. To be fair, Machu Pichu didn’t look like it does now, back when it was discovered. This place, Agios Dimitrios, was something special. An incredible hilltop citadel at the junction of three gorges, it looks as if it should have been unassailable. The Ottomans took it, however, and laid it waste too. A fascinating church, set apart from the fortress, occupies an obviously spiritual space. Internal photo courtesy of Barbara.
It was a full day on Kythira and we covered much of the island, enjoying a splendid lunch where a kitchen-tour provided the menu. Lock-in occurred when we threatened to leave before eating complimentary dessert: local yoghurt and honey! An evening wind shift to northwest resulted in a quick meal before setting sail overnight, our target: Souda. We were heading back to Crete. A challenge with two amateurs aboard and busy shipping lanes. The radar performed admirably, though I thought we were being tailed by a fishing fleet for several hours. Ho-hum, novices! Barbara’s tanker-watching skills improved.
Souda meant many swims in gloriously warm water - the last we’d enjoy by simply stepping off the stern of Katmazu. We were set to sail onto Rethymno the following afternoon and into a proper port. We were to meet Chris’s cousin, Peter, later in the afternoon and planned to spend a day land-touring half of Crete’s attractions - or so we thought. Rethymno greeted us with a slab of fortress overlooking the port entrance but no clear indication of where to park. We took a vacant berth on the wharf and a local helped us tie up. The port police seemed to be having a day off.
Peter arrived as planned and we went into town to seek our dinner; invent candle wind-guards from polycarbonate drink bottles; and wander, chatting with locals, some loquacious and some who’d rather not be disturbed. We organised an oversize, fluoro-yellow, van for the next day and decided a mustsee list to make a circuit of the western half of Crete, including almost every major sightseeing spot. Such are the plans of men.
Crete is awash with antiquities. Ancient ruins chart the development of modern civilisation across five millennia. A range of mountains backbones the island, hosting stunning gorges, craggy cliffs, isolated villages and agrarian valleys. A land of drama, awe-inspiring views, switchback roads, bountiful produce, and gentle people, with a scattering of creative souls throughout. There is a beach for every day and every wind that blows. Its contrasts and diversity are amazing. And we barely scratched its surface‌
Having learned how little ground we could cover in a day, including ice-cream stops and swims, our plans for the following day were more circumspect. A close brush with the (justifiably) upset port police the previous evening possibly lent a touch of conservatism to our approach.
Knossos was the priority. Shorthand for ’knock your socks off’, it inundates your senses with the immensity of its ruins and fragmented reconstructions. It sates the antiquarian appetite. You are left with no doubt as to why it was built on this spot.
After Knossos, our pace slowed. We passĂŠd by other relics in search of a swim and a leisurely beachside dinner before a slow, steady return through the mountain passes to Rethymno for our final night aboard Katmazu. Parting was hard the following morning. We sought out our tiny, though lovely, apartment in the old town before watching from the old fortress as Katmazu faded to a speck in the distance.
We passed our remaining time on Crete finding our way around the maze of old and new streets of Rethymno; testing the bars and restaurants; and taking a trip out to the Arkadi Monastery. Its development spanned seven centuries and it played a big part in the defence and, later, the rebellion against the Ottomans.
The literature claims you won’t come away untouched by the experience of Arkadi. How right that is. It’s impossible to avoid the spectral sorrows still lingering within its precincts. Nowhere more than this wine cellar-cum-armoury, scene of the Holocaust of Arkadi. It became a massive, sacrificial bomb ending the final Ottoman assault with a total loss of those who’d sought protection within the Monastery.
The Blue Galaxy overnight ferry awaits us at Souda. We end our small odyssey in Piraeus early the next morning before boarding a flight for Barcelona. We’re blessed to be among those lucky enough to spend time aboard Katmazu.