The waiter brings my wine, a robust local red. ‘Yammas!’ he cries.
‘Cheers,’ I reply, lifting my glass.
A basket, covered with a white napkin, is placed on the table. I peek inside. The scent of freshly baked bread topped with toasted sesame seeds rises and fills my senses. It’s still warm. I break off a crusty chunk, sprinkle it with rich olive oil and a little salt. It’s hard not to eat the whole loaf before my meal arrives. The tables are filling now. My moussaka and Greek salad arrive, and another glass of red. The waiter winks. I smile, stick my nose up and turn away haughtily. He laughs.
‘Welcome back,’ he says. I don’t even remember his name. ‘This wine is from me.’ He pats his chest and makes a little bow.
Church bells ring in the background, and I wonder if it’s a wedding or baptism. The moussaka is magnificent! The finest minced meats baked with sweet, sun-ripened tomatoes, hidden below a thin layer of aubergines. This is topped with a thick layer of light, creamy sauce. Is the secret of a perfect moussaka in the faint scent of cinnamon, the fresh parsley, or the delicate cheese?
Two young boys come along the promenade. One has a bouzouki, the other a squeeze-box. They play Never On A Sunday. I give them a coin and they grin, before moving to the next table. Across the harbour, a bride and groom mount one of the open horse-drawn carriages. The pale mare, ears sticking up thought a straw hat, clops slowly around the quay-side. Waiters stop what they are doing, come to the front, and applaud the newlyweds, shouting ‘Bravo! Bravo!’ and ‘Good life! Good life!’ Sometimes the Greeks have to say everything twice. Greek diners clatter their forks against their wine glasses in a tinkling salute, and all the tourists lift their smartphones. The couple nod, lean against each other, and wave royally. I know it’s a moment they will always remember. The carriage turns into town, and I find myself smiling again.
This charming city is steeped in history. I try to make a plan for the few days I am here, but I know this is futile. The fates will have something else in mind and my itinerary will be scuppered.
Last time I was at this end of the island, I planned a hike in the country. Five kilometres into the walk and I was distracted by an olive harvest.
‘Ela! Ela!’ Head-scarfed women and chunky, whiskery men beckoned me urgently, hooking the air with a raised arm. Thinking there had been an accident, I hurried into the deep shade of tightly packed olive trees in the grove, treading lightly on the spread, green, olive-nets.
‘Where you from? Where you go?’
‘From England. On holiday.’
‘Come, come!’
They hurried me further into the grove, which grew so dark I had to remove my sunglasses in order to see where I was going. At this point, the olives were still on the trees. Branches heavy with bunches of fruit bowed almost to the ground, blocking the light. Then, suddenly, we stepped into blinding sunlight. In this vibrant green clearing, blankets lay on the ground. I saw dozen dishes containing every kind of local food, plates and cutlery, and a lamb on a crude spit over a fiery pit.
‘Come! Eat, eat!’ They pulled me down, gave me a bottle of water, shouted Greek words that I didn’t understand. Then came the food, bread, cheese, chunks of hot meat and salads.
‘Good, good!’ I cried, at which they nodded and grinned at each other. The oldest man took a shovel to a heap of smouldering olive leaves and returned with half a dozen baked potatoes.
My thoughts return to the present. Perhaps on this visit, I’ll hike the Omalos plateau.
*
In the morning, refreshed after a good night’s sleep, I sit at the same table and watch the harbour wake.
‘Kaliméra! Kaliméra!’ my waiter cries, his grin even wider than last night.
I wonder what time he got to bed.
‘Good morning to you too!’ I respond, matching his smile. I order fried eggs on bread and study the harbour when he disappears into the kitchen.
The night fishermen are returning. Restaurateurs hurry to their moorings to pick the best of the fresh fish. Buildings around the harbour glow, golden, in the morning light. Turkish, Byzantine, and Venetian architecture stand side by side. Chania has its own airport and port, and provides good roads for the intrepid explorer. Also, there are boat trips to ferry tourists to secluded bays where absolute peace reigns. Add to this horse riding, scuba diving, rock climbing, water sports and peaceful walks through orange and olive groves. This area is one of my favourite places in the world.
*
Once the capital of Crete, Chania has a turbulent and varied past. Like most Greek cities, it has two parts. The old town is an ancient walled city around the harbour. The new town is designed to accommodate every type of shopping, holiday and entertainment.
I love to stroll along the horseshoe shaped quayside. Proud Venetian captain’s mansions, with peeling paint and rusted balconies, remind us of the dramatic history of the city. Many of these imposing Venetian exteriors are restored, making it easy to imagine the prosperous, elegantly-dressed shipowners and their wives alighting from horse-drawn carriages on the cobbled front. Turkish houses are easily distinguishable by their boxed in timber balconies.
Chania’s rich Turkish heritage is also very clear on the east side of the harbour. The Turks declared Crete an Ottoman province in 1646 after conquering the west of the peninsula. Nevertheless, the Venetians held on to the capital city of Heraklion (then called Candia) until 1669 when the Ottomans succeeded in taking the rest of the island.
The Mosque of the Janissaries was built in 1645. This religious centre, with its iconic pink domes, is the longest surviving Ottoman building on the island. Erected on the site of a small Christian church, the mosque stopped functioning as a religious building in 1923. Its beautiful minaret tower was destroyed by a bomb in World War II. The mosque has since been used as a café, and then a tourist centre. Now, the construction is used as an artist’s exhibition centre.
The Janissaries started out as slaves in the Ottoman empire; originally boys from non-Muslim prisoners of war, they were chosen by the sultan himself. Once selected, they were kept under the guidance of prominent Turkish families, where they were taught Islam, and the language and customs of the country.
These boys became Janissaries, the most elite of all Turkish soldiers – strictly disciplined and finely skilled. They ruled Crete on behalf of the Sultan and were feared throughout the land. The Janissaries had their own social class; they were highly paid, and received a pension when they retired.
In order to preserve their power, the Janissaries opposed the renewal of the army, which led to their downfall. After defeat in the Battle of Vienna in 1683, the Sultan was overthrown. His successor fought the Janissaries and eventually destroyed them, taking their possessions and mercilessly slaughtering them all for their involvement in a rebellion against the empire in 1826.
Despite Chania’s occupation by the Ottomans, the nearby islet of Gramvousa with its sheer, steep cliffs topped by a Venetian fortress, managed to hold its own. In 1715, this fortified, storm-worn castle, which is close to the most picturesque Cretan beach of Balos Bay, was also overcome by the Turks.
*
The Egyptian Lighthouse is a short walk past the Mosque of the Janissaries, and was originally built by the Venetians in the 16th century. It is known as ‘Egyptian’ because it was built when the Egyptians occupied the area, giving their support to the Ottoman Empire against the rebellious Cretan warriors. To protect Chania from pirates at night, a chain could be drawn across the harbour entrance, connecting the lighthouse to the Fortress of Firkas on the opposite side.
The lighthouse fell into disrepair during the Turkish occupation, but it was rebuilt in the 1800s in the form of a minaret.
The original Venetian base survives to this day, although the carving of the Lion of St Mark, similar to the one on Heraklion’s harbour fort, has long gone. In the beginning, it operated with an open flame torch. In 1864, the French Ottoman Lighthouse Company initiated a new type of ope
ration: the reflective lighting machine. Standing at twenty-one metres high and twenty-six metres above sea level, the light covers a distance of seven miles. The lighthouse is among the oldest in existence to have been preserved to this day.
Due to bombings during World War II, the lighthouse was leaning dangerously, but extensive renovations took place in 2005.
The old city is insanely pretty. I always make time to wander the narrow, shady, streets, avoiding the heat of the day, exploring the art and craft shops for unique ceramics and paintings. These charming lanes are full of hidden tavernas, kafenio and leather-goods stalls, and the local bakery. The market is also delightful and I always remind myself to go there and stock up with my favourite herbs and spices, especially the yellow Cretan saffron.
*
After breakfast, I decide to take a bus to Kissamos, then an excursion to one of the famous west coast beaches to snorkel. While on the hour-long boat trip to the island of Gramvousa, our skipper talks about its history. Proudly, he informs us that the area is so uniquely beautiful that Prince Charles and Lady Diana stayed there on the Royal Yacht Britannia, while on their honeymoon. I am more interested in the wildlife.
The cape of Gramvousa and its surrounding islets are protected areas that host four-hundred different flora and over a hundred bird species. I want to stay, camp overnight, but this is forbidden. The island is situated on the bird migration path and protected under the Natura 2000 programme.
The Mediterranean seal breeds in Gramvousa’s caves, and the endangered Loggerhead turtles feed here.
The island looms straight up from the sea and at first, it seems there is no way to get to the Venetian castle perched on the top, 137 metres above sea level. The boat ties up and I notice there is a gentler side to the island, and a path to the top. The walk takes fifteen minutes, but the view is worth it. I sit on the wall and look down at the dizzying drop, then take some pictures. Rumour has it that pirates buried great troves of treasure on this island. It’s easy to believe. I glance around and wonder where it might be.
There is little time to speculate, as I wish to embark on another adventure while I’m here on Gramvousa island. I hurry back down the path and along the rocky shoreline, until I see the rusting hulk of a large ship looming up from the clear water. My excitement surges. In moments, I’m out of my clothes and into my snorkel gear. With fins in hand, I pick my way between black, spiny, sea urchins that cling to the rocks. The males are easy to spot, as the sea is clear as tap water. The females disguise themselves with small stones and seagrass, but I manage to avoid them all and slip into my fins when the water is waist deep.
The hulking wreck is only a few metres from shore, and I swim around it, looking down, observing the crustaceans, corals, and shoals of small, colourful fish that travers in and out of the portholes. It’s magical! Shafts of light play over the orange hull and yellow sand like spotlights, and refracted, dancing over the surfaces. In some places I can stand on the bottom and look into the ship. I’m amazed by it all and wish I had my underwater camera with me. Suddenly, I realise I have lost track of time and may miss the boat.
I swim to shore and promise myself I will return better prepared.
The skipper is standing by the boat. He blows a whistle and peers up the path to the castle. I shout, wave, and jog towards him. ‘Sorry, sorry,’ I cry. ‘I forgot the time!’
‘Ela, koukla mou,’ he says. ‘No worries, I wait.’
*
Back in Chania, I take a walk around the harbour, then sit at my usual pavement table at the busy waterfront taverna. I order food and wine, and watch the colourful fishing boats return as the sun sinks into the Aegean.
‘You had a good day?’ my waiter asks, placing my Cretan sausage, tzatziki, and green salad dotted with jewel-like pomegranate seeds onto the table.
‘Wonderful. I climbed Gramvousa and snorkelled over a shipwreck.’
‘You didn’t go to Falassarna beach?’
‘Next time,’ I say. ‘I’ll have to come back.’
He nods knowingly and glances at the empty breadbasket. ‘You want more bread?’
I shake my head and laugh. ‘It’s too delicious.’
Night falls over the city and, contentedly, I think everyone should visit Chania once in their lives.
But be warned, once is never enough.
First published in Great Britain in 2020 by Zaffre
This ebook edition published in 2020 by
ZAFFRE
80-81 Wimpole St, London, W1G 9RE
Copyright © Patricia Wilson, 2020
Cover design by Lizzie Gardiner
Cover photographs © Shutterstock.com
The moral right of Patricia Wilson to be identified as Author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright,
Designs and Patents Act, 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organisations, places and events are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
ISBN: 978–1–83877–073–0
Paperbook ISBN: 978–1–83877–072–3
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Zaffre is an imprint of Bonnier Books UK
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Greek Island Escape Page 38
