Diary, (part 5) Return to Georgioupolis

"Barba Sifi" watering his sheep at Perastikos 

The rest of our holiday passed all too quickly.

We visited Lake Kournas, the only freshwater lake on the island, so deep that no-one really knows how deep it is. Fish and water snakes bask in the water and along its shores we saw kingfishers, herons and turtles. 

We visited the old Minoan palace at Knossos, home to the Minotaur of legend, said to have been destroyed by an earthquake when the volcano erupted at Santorini, and marveled at the lost civilization.

. We visited the little fishing village of Bali where the monks in the nearby monastery 

keep bees and produce honey.

We visited Fodele the birth place of the great artist El Greco.

Our days passed in a happy haze of alternate relaxation and exploration. When the time came to leave I knew that I would certainly return.

That was the beginning…..

Return to the village

The following summer I returned to the village for another holiday with Chris and Ian. As the bus drew into the familiar square with its eucalyptus trees I felt as if I was coming home, the statuesque trees shading the square, The rustling of their leaves whispering “welcome back.”

“How strange” I thought “After all I’ve only been here once before.”

We had come again on a package holiday, with the same company, staying in the same hotel down near the sea, surrounded by large fields of Bamboo and swampland.

The film “Shirley Valentine had been released and there was lots of joking about lone women on holiday in Greece. Even Manolis the rep, who was once again in charge of the party, was not immune to the joke and could not resist mentioning it at every opportunity. I heard later that the day they showed the film at Georgioupoli's outdoor cinema (sadly no longer with us) there was a queue of young wannabe Lotharios who just happened to be hanging around the exit hoping to use their best chat up lines on the tourists!

There had been a few changes in Georgioupolis since the previous year. Kostas, the good looking waiter at the ‘Sunset’ bar had a new bar of his own “Relax” and this had become a popular venue, not only due to his charms, which he dispensed liberally amongst the female population, but also because the bar was on a direct route to the tiny village disco and was a good meeting place for tourists and locals alike, Its one downside being its rather close proximity to the local Police station.

It was here one evening whilst practicing my halting Greek, it has to be said that it was much quicker for Kostas to speak to me in English, that I was introduced to another Kostas, not so good looking, but with a good command of English and a wonderfully romantic accent. Not realizing then that this probably meant that he had learnt it from a long series of foreign girlfriends I was drawn into conversation with him.

He was not much taller than me, with dark brown eyes, wavy hair which just brushed his shoulders and a warm generous smile.

He told me he lived in a small village about five kilometers up the mountain from the holiday resort but worked as a waiter at a cafeteria in Georgioupoli village square.

“The one with the Gorgon.” I later found out that this referred to the mermaid in the fountain at the front of the cafe, not the boss’s wife! It was actually called “Tito's” after the eldest son of the owner.

The following day I went to the beach with Chris and Ian as usual.

“What does he look like?” asked Chris, champing at the bit to hear all my news, “Is he good-looking?” She wanted to hear all the details.

“Not particularly, he has long dark curls and dark brown eyes”

“Eyes like that other waiter we saw?” Chris had been smitten on the first day of our holiday by the large cow eyes of one of the local lads, who had long eyelashes any woman would kill for.

“Who else could possibly have eyes like that?” I retorted “They are wasted on a man. No he has just ordinary eyes, but nice. You are obsessed with that waiters eyes.’

“Too true’ groaned Ian her husband looking up from the book he had been reading and reaching for the sun lotion and smothering his nose with factor 15. “Don’t you girls have anything better to talk about?”

“Not really” replied Chris “That’s what holidays in Greece are for, eyeing up the waiters”

“Even if you are old enough to be his mother?” inquired Ian smiling

“Maybe a nice toy boy is just what I need.” she chuckled, and ducked as a cherry came flying towards her thrown by her exasperated husband. “Do you think he’ll turn up here on the beach?” giggled Chris, returning to our conversation, ‘Remember the film. Don’t go out on his boat!” she collapsed in laughter “On the other hand perhaps you should, you can tell me all the gory details later”

I threw a handful of damp sand at her and stood up ready to go for a swim. “I don’t expect him to turn up any way.” I replied as we walked down to the waters edge, “He has probably found someone else by now. Still it’s good for the morale to be chatted up.”

“Boat is boat” quoted Chris from the film of Shirley Valentine and swam off as fast as possible before I could splash her with the cool clear water.

Returning to the shore I picked up the best seller I had brought with me and began to read. Suddenly looking up I espied my hopeful Romeo at ‘Mikes Oasis’ the beach bar. “He’s here” I whispered to Chris

“Which one?”

I pointed him out.

“Are you going to the bar?” she asked

“Not yet, I only met him last night.” Chris just smiled enigmatically,

After a little while of pretending to read my book, but really peeking over the top, I decided the time had come to ‘casually’ wander up to the beach bar for a drink.

“Come on Chris, I need some moral support” I pleaded “and besides you can get a proper look at him.” She did not need more encouragement, and was by my side in a flash. Ian was however fast asleep with his book dangling precariously from his hand. “Just look at that” mused Chris “his nose will be peeling by tonight. You know of course that the measure of the weather on any holiday for us is the number of times his nose peels. I’m amazed he’s got a nose left at all!”

“Unlike that policeman we saw last night” I rejoined. Chris giggled

“Do you think it’s true what they say?” Trying to compose ourselves we hopped skipped and jumped over the burning hot sand.

“Ouch! Ouch! Ouch! Could this become a new dance step do you think?” Chris was hopping up and down in a patch of sand shaded by a palm tree, “We could start a new craze at the disco tonight. The Cretan hop!”

We calmly sat at the bar and with the most innocent of expressions ordered two glasses of fresh orange juice.

“Those are on me” said a voice from the other side of the bar.

“Oh Kostas I didn’t notice you there” I said- lying through my teeth-. “This is my friend Chris, I mentioned her last night.”

“Have something stronger to drink” he pressed. I declined politely, having learnt from bitter experience that alcohol and the hot midday sun do not mix. He had by this time moved down the bar, leaving his friends to sit next to us. The music “Another day over in Paradise” was playing in the background

“You will come to disco tonight?” he asked

“Boat is boat” muttered Chris in my other ear.

“Maybe you will come to my bar tonight?” he continued.

“Maybe” I agreed. This seemed to satisfy him for the time and he returned to his mates still watching us as Chris and I hopped and skipped back down over the burning sand to where Ian was still asleep.

“Will you go? She asked

“Perhaps” I replied, yawning, and settled down to a nice snooze.

That evening we found a taverna, where the owner’s wife, an English girl with bright red hair and freckles, served, amongst other things cherry pancakes. There was no cake shop in the village and the other tavernas did not go in for desserts so this was a happy find. Her name was Michelle and her husband was yet another George. She had come to Crete as an innocent seventeen year old, fallen for George, lost her innocence and stayed. After our pancakes we strolled- oh so nonchalantly- to the Relax bar.

“You girls are impossible’ chided Ian, but went along with us happily enough.

Kostas was already there.

“I have a flower for you.” Kosta held out a freshly picked Gardenia. I inhaled the, oh so sweet, scent and tucked the flower behind my ear. We ordered ouzo and lemonade, the two flavours blending to produce something reminiscent of aniseed balls. It arrived complete with sparklers, umbrellas and fancy stirrers

“Put that on my bill” called Kostas to the barman,

“I could get used to this’ whispered Chris

It became a moment that stayed in my memory, the dark Cretan night, with the little lamps flickering, the music playing and the musky almost sensual scent of the Gardenia mingling with the pungent sharpness of the ouzo, redolent of hot summer days and the aniseed balls of childhood.

Kostas came over to our table and sat with us, chatting unselfconsciously.

As we prepared to leave he stopped me.

“I would like to take you to see my village tomorrow when I finish work. Will you come?”

“Yes,” I agreed after a moments pause, “what time?”

“Will you be ok?” whispered Chris discreetly into my ear.

“Oh yes I think so” I replied, He is well known here. I think I'll risk it. It will be nice to see a proper village – and he knows that you know where I am”

“I finish early tomorrow, I will see you in the café with the Gorgon at about eight o’clock” He kissed my hand and said goodnight. The perfect gentleman.

The following evening I sat with a drink in the cafeteria, waiting for Kostas to finish work.

“O k I can leave now.” He told me “Tito, the oldest son of the family is on leave from the army and I can have a little time off over the next few days. My car is parked just over here in the square.” He added approaching an old and rather battered, dark green Datsun. We drove out of Georgioupolis, over the bridge and up the mountain side

I still found it strange to be traveling along the wrong side of the road and I was a little apprehensive as to what the evening might bring, but consoled myself with the fact that he was well known and my friends knew where he worked.

The road wound up and up, hairpin bend following hairpin bend It was further up than I had ventured before.

At last he stopped the car and we got out.

‘Look’ he said. Spread beneath us was the valley by night, little lights twinkling in the darkness showing the locations of the small mountain villages and, further down, towards the sea, the lights of Georgioupolis, a splash of brightness around the dark bay. Overhead the sky was clear and the lights of the villages were mirrored by the millions of twinkling stars. Never had I seen so many stars, it was breathtaking. The dark shadows of the mountains loomed, up into the midnight blue of the sky, the moon’s silver light filtering palely between their summits.

Georgioupolis Bay from Exopoli

“Which is your village?” I asked him.

“That one” he said pointing to a small cluster of lights just below us. “ It is called Kalamitsi, I will take you there now. I wanted you to see the view from here first.”

“It’s well worth seeing.” I agreed as I climbed back into his car……..