It's feeling quite wintry here in Chania, with grey skies and a fierce north wind whipping the sea over the harbour pavement. Nothing like as cold as the arctic conditions that seem to have struck Britain - but nevertheless a stark contrast to last weekend, when I did my driving tour of the coast and countryside. I'm so pleased that I took the opportunity then, as the weather was exceptionally kind - about 21C and mainly sunny - and it wasn't hard to guess that this would soon change.
As I drove around, it did seem hard to believe that the date was early December, as the air and colours felt like a pleasant British autumn. You don't associate Crete with autumn colour, but I loved this view of a mountain village glimpsed through gold tinted leaves.
And this chapel looking as though it has grown out of the landscape.
I enjoyed, too, the contrasts of the peninsular resort of Paleohora on the south coast. One beach faces west, the other east. I like to take strength from the sea, seeing her as a great female power that knows exactly when to flow softly and when to roar - a judgement that we all need to make from time to time.
Here, she was doing both within the space of a few metres and it was instructive to notice that the wildness, whilst slightly threatening, was also invigorating and stimulating. The calm, whilst soothing, was also predictable and unremarkable. Both nature and humans are susceptible to paradox. A Greek word of course....
Two kafeneion experiences made me smile. The first was in Zagores, a tiny mountain village
The second kafeneion was on Sunday morning, in a place called Limani, meaning harbour. There was nothing but olive trees, a tiny fishing boat harbour where nothing moved and the kafeneion with two fishermen sitting outside. When I drew up in my silver car and ordered coffee, chatting to the owner in Greek, their curiosity was tangible.
Eventually, after catching them staring at me surreptitiously, I put them out of their misery and told them that I was staying for the winter in Chania and out exploring the area, also that I had lived in the Dodecanese previously. With great restraint, they refrained from asking me my age, why I was alone and whether I was married and then happily posed for a photo. The coffee, by the way, was excellent.
The last - but far from least - remarkable place was the mountain eco-retreat of Milia. It's 6 km above the main road - the final 1.5 of them a rough, unmade single track with unfenced edges above sheer drops. But the journey is worth it, for the views en route made me shout with delight.
Once there, the feeling is of such peace and serenity and the organic food in the cosy stone-built restaurant so good that I just wanted to stay for hours. Instead, I returned the next day and had the good fortune of meeting Jakovos, the now elderly man who had the inspiration to build this place. We immediately fell to talking about the living spirit of the land and he told me that it had belonged to his family, but after the war he was left alone and would come here to tend goats, cry, commune with the land and dream. Now, his dream of an eco-centre where people could become healthier and happier for their stay has been realised. Read more about it at www.milia.gr
As I drove around, it did seem hard to believe that the date was early December, as the air and colours felt like a pleasant British autumn. You don't associate Crete with autumn colour, but I loved this view of a mountain village glimpsed through gold tinted leaves.
And this chapel looking as though it has grown out of the landscape.
I enjoyed, too, the contrasts of the peninsular resort of Paleohora on the south coast. One beach faces west, the other east. I like to take strength from the sea, seeing her as a great female power that knows exactly when to flow softly and when to roar - a judgement that we all need to make from time to time.
Here, she was doing both within the space of a few metres and it was instructive to notice that the wildness, whilst slightly threatening, was also invigorating and stimulating. The calm, whilst soothing, was also predictable and unremarkable. Both nature and humans are susceptible to paradox. A Greek word of course....
Two kafeneion experiences made me smile. The first was in Zagores, a tiny mountain village
famed for myths of water and nature spirits - so I had to see and feel it. The only watering hole in the place was run by an ageing British hippy who had 'gone native' and the only customers myself and three French walkers. The four of us sat outside chatting as we drank and when it was time to pay, the owner had disappeared and the village was deserted, so we just guessed how much to leave - probably we were over generous. The kafeneion interior was a step back in time.
The second kafeneion was on Sunday morning, in a place called Limani, meaning harbour. There was nothing but olive trees, a tiny fishing boat harbour where nothing moved and the kafeneion with two fishermen sitting outside. When I drew up in my silver car and ordered coffee, chatting to the owner in Greek, their curiosity was tangible.
Eventually, after catching them staring at me surreptitiously, I put them out of their misery and told them that I was staying for the winter in Chania and out exploring the area, also that I had lived in the Dodecanese previously. With great restraint, they refrained from asking me my age, why I was alone and whether I was married and then happily posed for a photo. The coffee, by the way, was excellent.
The last - but far from least - remarkable place was the mountain eco-retreat of Milia. It's 6 km above the main road - the final 1.5 of them a rough, unmade single track with unfenced edges above sheer drops. But the journey is worth it, for the views en route made me shout with delight.
Once there, the feeling is of such peace and serenity and the organic food in the cosy stone-built restaurant so good that I just wanted to stay for hours. Instead, I returned the next day and had the good fortune of meeting Jakovos, the now elderly man who had the inspiration to build this place. We immediately fell to talking about the living spirit of the land and he told me that it had belonged to his family, but after the war he was left alone and would come here to tend goats, cry, commune with the land and dream. Now, his dream of an eco-centre where people could become healthier and happier for their stay has been realised. Read more about it at www.milia.gr
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