The real Crete

Yesterday we hired a car and headed off over the hills to find the real Crete. Away from the tourist trails we found windy narrow roads and soaring summits; many with dirt tracks climbing inexorably up to some pass through the hills or some tiny little hamlet otherwise cut-off from supposed civilization.

We stopped in a small village where my task was to find baby wipes and children's clothes, but unfortunately, no-one I encountered spoke and English. After parking, my walk to the chemists at the other end of the village was a waste of time, as I discovered that it was actually the vet's surgery, and the actual chemists was unmarked and in the centre of the village.

Children's clothing was a pantomime as the sole shop that sold kids sizes was also the local lingerie boutique and the look of horror on the face of the proprietrix as I walked in was something to behold. Perhaps it was my appalling Greek. However, a brief pointing at words in the phrase book, a lot of sign language and some attempts to pronounce my basic needs produced the necessary goods. As part of this experience, I learned the Greek phrase for 'car sick' - phonetically, emeto - which I hope I don't have to use again.

We had a late lunch in a beautiful and isolated south coast town. We watched the old Greek women all dressed in black hobbling up the streets, stopping at cafes for a chat and some comapny. It looked utterly traditional until you remembered that this village had been leveled in 1944 [thanks to anon :-)] by the Germans and the entire male population of the area shot, as a reprisal. The old woman was undoubtedly a survivor of this event, and probably a widow or eternal spinster because of this.