My first morning - prologue

An excerpt from my diary. The day I arrived in Crete to stay. I had visited as tourist many times before. I arrived with a suitcase and a carry on bag and 200 pounds - and that was it! Some while ago I began to put it into story form and so this is what I will post rather than the dairy itself.

March 1989

I sat for a little while outside the still closed cafeteria, enjoying the quiet, trying to read the posters pasted to its windows. My gaze wandered up and down the road. The countryside was fresh and green after the early morning rain, the village street gleaming, freshly washed by the night’s rain. Now, with the gentle heat of the morning sun the dampness in the air was evaporating, and the scent of the flowers and herbs infused the air, almost overpowering me with its heady fragrance.

“Well, can’t sit here all day!” I told myself sternly, as I stood up and glanced across the quiet street. The first thing on the agenda was to find somewhere to stay for a couple of nights while I looked for something more permanent.

I dragged my cases up the road to where I could hear voices coming from a small restaurant at the crossroads by the river. Although it was so early in the day they were already busily preparing for the day ahead. Being a Sunday it was likely to be hectic later in the day with Greek families enjoying  a day out.

Vrysses, for so the village was called, was a little working village, not catering much for tourists, other than those catching the bus from there for the trip over the mountains to the south coast. It was famed for its local sheep’s yoghourt and its honey produced by bees fed on wild thyme and people traveled for miles to buy both items or to enjoy a delicious plateful in a local taverna.

The name Vrysses means ‘springs’ or “fountains” and a mountain river runs through the village. Now, at this time of the year, the river was in full torrent, swollen with the melting snow waters. The sound was deafening as it roared past the taverna on its journey down to the sea.

The family who owned the taverna had an apartment to rent, it seemed, about half a kilometre from the village. They took me in their pick up truck to see it. It was pleasant enough but a little expensive for what it was especially at this time of year, before the tourist season was underway. I realized they were probably asking over the top, but I was tired after traveling all night and wanted a shower before embarking on the new day and I didn’t feel inclined to spend time searching around for a cheaper room.

“It will be only two nights” I consoled myself looking around. The room was clean, though not very warm. There was a kitchenette with two gas rings and a refrigerator, twin beds against the far wall and a sliding door led to a toilet and shower. “I’ll take it for two nights” I told the owner. “I can look for something more reasonable tomorrow.” I added to myself.

I had a brisk shower and, though the water was tepid, I felt fresher and more alert, ready to start the new day.

Setting out I gazed up at the towering mountains, the snow glittering in the bright early morning sunshine. A lone orange tree full of fruit stood outside my door, its bright splash of colour contrasting sharply with the pristine whiteness behind it.

It was a lovely morning by now, so, after having a cup of strong Greek coffee in the now open cafeteria by the bus stop, I decided to walk the three kilometers to the village of Kalamitsi Amigdali.

Kalamitsi Amigdali

It was a steep incline all the way, but as I now had no luggage with me, and after sitting so long on the plane and taxi, the exercise was welcome. The views were stunning and I took my time, admiring the valley down below with its tiny hamlets and villages and the ever-changing colours of the mountains, now not so far away, the snow glistening pinkly in the morning sun. The olive groves sweeping down over the valley were full of small birds singing. Near the road the fields and verges were thickly carpeted with white chamomile and yellow cowslips, bright splashes of scarlet poppies waving in the light breeze. I could see tiny miniature cyclamen and irises shyly poking through the sturdier plants. I took a deep breath to smell the air. Yes this was the smell of Crete, fresh air infused with the scent of the wild herbs and flowers. I could see the feathery fronds of the fennel and the tall spikes of the pale mauve flowers of the sage along the side of the road and further back the sturdier yellow flowers of the non-scented Jerusalem sage blew in the breeze.

Mimosa Photo by Elaine Rhodes

No traffic passed by. This was a quiet road, leading as it did to just a couple of villages. Tourists would use the main highway to reach the more well known towns. I pulled my jacket around me as I walked along the part of the road that was always cold, even in the height of the summer, shaded as it was with tall cypress trees.

I stopped for a breather in the first village I reached. This was also called Kalamitsi, very confusing! I had spent an evening here with some Greek friends sharing wine and cheese preserved in oil.

This was Kalamitsi Alexandrou, supposedly named after Alexander the great,  the other Kalamitsi,  was Kalamitsi Amigdali-named after the abundance of almond trees-Amygdales-which grow in the area. I could pick out the wild almond trees in the hedges as they were now in full blossom, some pristine white and others delicate pink, their pungent scent drifting occasionally into my path.

There was a small cafenion in the square and I sat gratefully on a chair under a large tree and ordered a gazoza, a locally made soft drink rather like cream soda, very refreshing.

I looked around and took in my surroundings. In the middle of the little square was a well with a railing around it. The square was shaded by trees, big and leafy. Not really what I was expecting to find. Big cypresses surrounded a little graveyard with their whitewashed tombs and there was the smell of pine in the air.

The owner of the cafenion, who very slowly and shakily brought me my drink, was an old man who looked to be in his nineties. I quaffed it down enjoying its fizzy coolness and fruity flavour, reminiscent of bananas and bringing back memories of childhood, though I could not quite clarify the images hovering at the back of my mind.

Having refreshed myself I set out again, knowing that now I was within ten minutes walk of my destination.

The gardens in the village were full of broad beans and artichokes, not the soft rounded Artichokes I knew from home, but sharp spiky vegetables grown for food and also for their usefulness as a barrier instead of a fence. Vivid orange nasturtiums and highly scented jasmine cascaded over walls and I could see fig trees just beginning to open their leaf buds.

I passed by the small lane leading to the cottage belonging to the welsh couple Roy and Margaret, I could see their white car parked against the corner of the cottage. The cafenion run by the local priest was locked and barred; he would be in one of the nearby churches in his official capacity today.

I drew nearer to the cluster of whitewashed houses nestling between the mountains. I could see the little church in the distance its bells silent and still.

It was quiet as I entered Kalamitsi. I walked past the cafenion belonging to Petros and Soula. Soula was sweeping the ‘avli’ in front of the cafenion and Petros was whitewashing the side wall, as much whitewash on him, it seemed, as on the wall.

“Kalimera!” they called, waving and smiling,

 “Good morning.” I waved back at them, relieved that my first contact with the village had been friendly, and continued to the other newer cafenion “Emeis kai Emeis”-We and Us- just recently opened. Little did I know then how important it was to become to me in the future.