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Farley Mowat Up My Nose We hit the ravine early-just as the morning sun glinted over the peak top. Six eagles launched themselves off a high ledge and soared into silent space. Peering at their ease and grace it seemed unfair as we pumped up a steep incline, struggling to remain upright. Breakfast was on a windswept hillside overlooking the sea 600 meters below. It was cold and windy. "I'm tired of being cranky and miserable, cold, hungry, wet and dirty. Sometimes all at the same time," Sharon said. After breakfast we climbed through another ravine. My stomach felt unsettled. I stopped twice to jettison my stomach contents. After the second time, I felt slightly better. Sharon got yelled at for touching a vegetable man's tomatoes. It was one of those traveling veggie guys who drove from village to village selling their produce. We spotted his truck and stood waiting for him to acknowledge us, but he never did. Sharon thought it must be self serve. She went to pick out a few tomatoes and that got his immediate attention. "No! No! No!" he yelled in a flurry of admonishment. Scolded by a veggie man. What next? Sharon was crestfallen. The positive side was we finally figured out how to get service! Spili had outdoor bars with giant gourds hanging from the terrace roofs. A man sitting there amongst the gourds with long stringy hair, spaced out eyes and hippie clothes looked like a casualty from the sixties. I found a store with hordes of candies and pops. Lunch was a junk food pigout. We indulged in a very unhealthy snack-or two or three. We coasted downhill to the stunning deserted seaside resort of Agia Galini. In summer it was packed but in November it was practically a ghost town with most of the shops on main street having soaped or papered windows. Even those with signs reading "Open" were not. It was quite different from the hoards of summer crowds they received. We were told that in the summer the police had to close the road leading into town. Cars were double parked all the way to the end of the pier. Some people couldn't get their vehicles out for two weeks. Agia Galini had a beautiful beach with bars and restaurants lining the waterfront. Of course, being winter, they too were closed. We walked along the beach, then followed a seaside hiking trail on the cliff edge towards the next village. Waves pounded the shore. With each receding wave, shoreline rocks made an enchanting sound as they fought their way over and past one another. Partway along, a couple returning from a walk, greeted us with: "Hello fellow Canadians." Leslie and Charles had seen our bikes in Réthimnon. Leslie was a physiotherapist; Charles an anesthesiologist. Leslie was pregnant, expecting in June. They had been planning to go to Turkey but Leslie experienced false labor pains when they were in Athens. Charles said "When we went to the hospital and tried to get Tylenol with codeine the staff looked at us like we were addicts. Codeine is an illegal drug in Greece. When I told them: 'It's okay, I'm a doctor' they were sure we were druggies." Leslie and Charles were in Greece for a month. Taking the ferry from Athens to Crete they had reserved a four person cabin thinking they would be sharing a cabin with another couple. It was a big mistake. Charles and Leslie were put into separate gender segregated cabins. Charles's male roommates snored as loud as buzz saws, and, worse, stunk to high heaven. "That adolescent hormone thing was going strong," Charles grimaced. "I had to shove paper in my ears so I could get to sleep. I had John Grisham in one ear, Michael Chricton in the other and Farley Mowat up my nose." They sounded like a fun couple. Sharon and I hoped we would run into them again later. "After super would you two like to come to Hotel Minos for a drink?" Charles asked. "Okay, I'll bring my towel too," I said, promptly inviting myself for a shower. "Sure!" they both enthusiastically responded. Sharon and I continued on, scouting for a flat spot. But they were rare. We finally chose a flat hard packed sandy area up a rocky path between deep eroded channels. Looking at the ruts I imagined they got some fierce runoffs. The mountain formations around us were all badlandstype erosion. Our tourist pamphlet assured us Agia Galini received 340 days of sunshine per year. We didn't have anything to worry about. What sounded a terrific idea in the daylight proved to be quite different after dark. Visibility wasn't great. With our candle lantern, we braved the darkness and threatening skies to trek into town, slowly making our way along the trail trying to avoid the steep dropoffs to the sea. If we hadn't been promised showers, as well as great company, we probably would have turned back. Leslie was just coming in from a stroll around town when we arrived outside the King Minos Hotel. Slipping us through the front door into the darkened lobby, Leslie told us she had spoken to the South African family who owned the hotel. "When they arrived in Crete a year ago, they put in their order for olive oil. The old couple they bought the oil from laughed at the small amount they were buying for the year-twelve liters. The old couple said they went through a liter every two days." What did they do? Drink the stuff? Their joints must have been limber. I had heard Greeks had long life spans. I was sure it was due to many factors besides downing gallons of olive oil. Plenty of fresh air and exercise; working manually in olive and orange groves; food that was homegrown or taken from the sea. Leslie and Charles made us coffee that we drank outside on their balcony. We found out Leslie and Charles had done something Sharon and I had talked about doing. They had sea kayaked the Broken Islands off the coast of Vancouver Island. After coffee, Charles rushed me in for a shower, so we would have time to go to the local taverna for a beer before it was too late. "Don't worry about water going on the floor," Charles said. "I just had a shower and it went everywhere. There's no shower curtain. Just stick a towel by the crack in the door so the water doesn't flow out onto the carpet in the bedroom." I could already tell it was going to be an interesting experience. "Our shower experiences have been deteriorating," Charles went on. "First we had a tub, shower and curtain. Then we had a shower and curtain. Then a shower with no curtain. Now a shower with no curtain and the water doesn't flow down the drain. I can't wait to see what we're going to have next!" For a civilization that founded the West it sure hadn't progressed far in plumbing. A tiny waste basket hunched beside every toilet we had seen. It was for throwing toilet paper in after wiping. If one threw toilet paper into the toilet there was a very good chance it would clog the ancient arteries and overflow. Arran and Rebecca said that after they left Greece they kept looking for the little basket to throw their toilet paper into. "Hey, where do I put this stuff?" Arran kept asking. After showering (and mopping the floor), we headed for a tavern. Just as we got to the tavern the heavens opened up. I hoped the downpour would be finished by the time we had to walk back. And, remembering those erosion carved trenches, that our tent hadn't been flooded out. "We tried cycle touring in the Maritimes," Charles confessed. "Before we left on the trip, I went out and bought a secondhand tent at a garage sale. My old one had mildewed and the zipper rotted out. We got to our first campsite and went to set up the tent. Its zipper was rotted out. 'Why did I buy this?' I wanted to know. 'I already have one like this at home.' I could have kicked myself, but instead, got out the needle and thread and we sewed ourselves into the tent." I hoped no one had to make a bathroom break in the middle of the night. "In the morning, we carefully took the thread out and climbed out. We had to sew ourselves in every night because the mosquitoes were so bad. On our last morning, I took my knife and cut the roof right out of the tent." On the way back to the hotel it was still raining. Rivulets rushed down the middle of the street. When Sharon slipped in to use the washroom, Charles handed me a magazine he had finished and the novel Congo. Sharon and I were already lugging six books each. "Sharon will kill me if she finds out I took another book," I told him. "Well don't tell her," he said. |
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