Hidden London

London is not the easiest introduction to a Cretan about the ways of the north. There are some things that you can understand better inter-generationally and (not 'or') with experience. Age helps, but cultural education starts very early. Even I make bloopers along the way, but the difference between me and my family is that I know how to correct myself. During our recent winter holiday in London, we went to a 'curry house', a Pakistani restaurant that we often visit when in London. Before we got there, I found a few sites of interest along the way to extend the journey. Here are a few things we discovered about London that you may or may not find in a guide to the city, with a Cretan twist.

Oyster cards
London's transport system is a good, albeit complicated, introduction to the ways of the north. The stations are modern, the pace is fast, the system is automated, and some human movements may look robotic to the uninitiated. We've been using London's 'oyster card' transport ticket system for a few years now. It's the easiest cheapest way to get round London, rather than buying individual tickets every time you use public transport. We just 'top up' our cards with credit every time we want to use them. The maximum amount of money an oyster card will charge you depends on the places you travel, but it's equivalent to a day pass according to the London 'zones' you've traveled in. The card will let you begin your travels if you have enough money in it for the hypothetically cheapest fare, and it will let you finish the journey even if the card runs out of money along the way (because you went on a longer journey); therefore, it still runs in 'overdraft' mode, ie you owe money on it, which can be paid back before your next journey. Because oyster cards cost £5 to buy, without any credit on them, it will usually work out cheaper to top up your card rather than buy a new one. Whichever way you travel on the London trains, you will notice that they are expensive.

Some stations don't have barriers, so you can enter them even if you don't 'touch in' (I did this once by accident - if there was a barrier, this wouldn't have happened), but if your destination station has a barrier (in the previous case, mine didn't), you won't be able to get off the platform without embarrassing yourself as a fare dodger, unless there is no barrier. So as a rule, if you don't touch in, you mustn't 'touch out', otherwise your card will be credited for the longest possible journey on that train line, because the card will think you just tapped in rather than out (thankfully, I knew the rule). Confusing, isn't it? Pity the Athenians, who are now waking up to a new dawn, as the barriers at the metro platforms finally get put in place. A similar system to the oyster card is now working too, called the ATH.ENA card.)

Knowing how to use the train system of one of the largest capital cities in the world takes some getting used to. Experience comes with time, and age makes you less flexible. I now watch my kids handling the whole process more quickly than I do, even though I taught them to use it. 

So the first thing we do before catching a train is to check how much money is still on our oyster cards. On that particular day, each card had about £2 on it, so I topped up the adult cards with £10 each, and the children's with £5 (they travel half price until their late teens). It's better to top up the oyster card as you need it, rather than adding a lot of money to it, in case you lose it: as tourists, we don't have 'registered' cards, which means that in case of loss, we can't claim back the remaining credit on them. When you touch in, you'll hear a sound which tells you that your card was read properly by the card reader. So sound is very important when you use the trains. My husband once passed through a no-barrier station thinking he'd tapped in. He tapped out at the end of the journey, but the card thought he'd just tapped in, so he was charged for the complete journey of that particular train line. I tried to teach him how to use the system: 'SLAM the card on the reader, don't pet it as if it's a cat!' (There are ways to get your money back: it takes a bit of patience.)

With our travel cards sorted out, we began our journey into London's city centre, which is a bit of a misnomer since London is not a small city. The best way to see the city is to walk as much as you can. You won't save a lot of transport money by walking if you come into the centre from far away as your oyster card will be 'capped' to the maximum amount equivalent to a daily travel card, but you will see more of the real city, instead of being stuck in the twilight zone of the 'tube', as the underground train system ferries you about in the darkness of the tunnels. 

The Shard
As London stands today, it's in the midst of a concrete-glass-steel reconstruction, as it races to become the leader of the global connected world (while the UK's prime minister rushes to take the country out of the EU), and it keeps changing appearance on a regular basis, every time a new building starts to be constructed. It's both frightening and exciting: you have to try to keep in mind the end result of the hideous construction sites, otherwise the city will look like a cruel, heartless and ugly monster. But if you are lucky to see the end result one day, it may leave you gaping in awe. The Shard looks like just another tall building when seen from far away against London's horizon. It felt formidable seeing it from close up. It's about as tall as the Eiffel Tower.

If you come from a small town and this is the first time you see a skyscraper, it can feel very intimidating. Having lived all my life in seismic-prone regions, the first thing that comes into my mind when I see a skyscraper is earthquakes. It's an awesome experience to look up to the top of the building and to literally see it scraping the sky. (You can go to the top floor of the Shard for £30 or so per person if you can afford it.)

The Beatles
I added a brief surprise detour to a place whose significance my family knew nothing about, nor would they understand what I was talking about if I told them what we were going to do there. They often let me lead the way: they know I know the Anglo-Saxon world in a way that they don't, and perhaps can never know it, especially now when the Anglo-Saxon world is barricading itself and turning turning inwards. I too make 'mistakes' when I find myself in that world (which used to be the only world I knew a quarter of a century ago), but I know how to hyper-correct while I am maneuvering myself in it. They don't: that's the difference between me and the rest of the family. It takes years of experience to understand the highly developed world. The internet has brought us closer together, but it does not replace experience.

Now imagine the conversation:
- Where are we going?
- We're going to a pedestrian crossing.
- A pedestrian crossing? Is that all we're going to see?
- Yes, in a sense.
- OK. And what are we going to do there?
- We're going to take a photo.
- Of the pedestrian crossing?
- Of US on the pedestrian crossing.
- Why?
- Because that's what people do there.
- They take photos of themselves walking across the road?
- Yes, but it's a special road.
- Why?
- Because. You'll see. Promise.

While all my English language books are visible to everyone on the shelves in our living room, my vinyl collection from abroad is still in storage: I would have to wait until we got back home to show everyone my Abbey Road album. I liked 60s music and during my teens, I built up a small collection of records with my pocket money (earned by working at my parents' shop every day after school). My kids are too young to know about the Beatles, and Greece's 60s came a little later than the 60s (some time in the 80s, in my humble opinion, when wealth was more widespread and everyone could afford more or less the same things) which means that my husband missed out on the furore that the Beatles caused in their heyday. He knows that they were a 60s pop group, but he did not live through the craze that swept through the Anglo-Saxon world in those times. For a start, television was not so widespread in Crete in the 60s; Crete was quite considered remote from the Greek mainland back then, and it was hardly urban compared to Athens' sprawl. Greek youth culture was more developed among the wealthier class. Young Cretans did not have a rapport with the outside world. I recall a story my late mother told me, which shows how she came to understand the concept that was the Beatles: Even though she was a relatively newly arrived Cretan immigrant to NZ, she could recall the traffic jams and crowds of people in the area of the St George Hotel where the Beatles stayed in Wellington, during their NZ tour. She may have never heard their music, or cared for it, but she had experienced the concept. My husband started school at the beginning of the 60s, in a rented house in one of the poorer neighborhoods of Hania; only the very well to do had 'pickup' players and records.

Platform screen doors
The Abbey Road crossing is located near St John's Wood station on the Jubilee Line. This gave us a chance to see one of London's more modern train stations. At the London Bridge stop, the platform has barriers (known as 'Platform Screen Doors') that separate passengers from the trains, in order to stop people from jumping/falling onto the tracks. So two doors have to open before you get onto the train - the platform door and then the train door. The significance of the double doors has a more sinister meaning than just passenger safety, ie to stop people falling onto the tracks accidentally. The act of falling onto them deliberately, ie the concept of 'one under' (or 'track pizza' in American English) is a relatively new one in Athens. Despite the rise in suicides in Greece over the period of the crisis, the Athens metro is not the place where it is commonly performed: there was one incident per year per year in the last two years so far. But 2017 has not started very well - a man fell onto the tracks just last month, although he was pulled up in time.


Abbey Road crossing
Coming out of the station at St John's Wood, the area looks quiet and feels very suburban, whereas in actual fact, it is anything but so. The area hides great affluence: Lord's Cricket ground, Regent's Park, the London Zoo, the Sherlock Holmes museum and Madame Tussauds are clustered close to it. The Abbey Road pedestrian crossing is located within a few minutes walk from the station. We headed straight to the crossing. Not many people were walking towards it on that day, so I hoped that it would not be very busy, and we could take our photo in relative peace. This was not quite the case: a busload of Italians had arrived before us, and they were all having a jolly time on the crossing. The presence of the Italians softened the stark austerity of this otherwise ordinary looking London street. They were talking loudly and laughing, Something rarely heard on London streets. The media often talk about the lack of affordable housing in London, but most of the time, you cannot be sure if people actually live in any of the buildings. The streets are noisy from the sound of the traffic, not from human voices. That's an aspect of northern European culture which southern Europeans find hard to cope with: in the north, people are seen but not heard, while in the south, people are heard without necessarily being seen. To understand the significance of this, think about your neighbours: we can hear ours more often than we can see them. They will not lower their voices to keep the area peaceful. If they're having a party, we'll hear that too. But Greeks are also slowly but surely becoming more sensitive to too much noise: one of my neighbours called the police last summer to get another neighbour to lower the volume of the music they were playing at an outdoor party. If they had specifically come to inform us about the party, perhaps we would all be more accommodating, by arranging to go out ourselves or buy earplugs. When no notice is given, people are less compromising.

Had only the regular users of the Abbey Road crossing been there on that day, I would have had a harder time taking a good photo. I could say that the Italians did me a favour getting there before we did, since it helped my family to better understand what the fuss was about, and to calculate aspects of safety concerning how to get into the middle of the road and snap the photo. If you are a Greek driver, you won't realise how patient English drivers can be. Regular drivers passing through the Abbey Road crossing slow down for photo-takers, showing relative courtesy towards a very banal activity. Every now and then, they honked the horn lightly to remind the sightseers that they shouldn't loiter. This is how I was able to stand in the middle of the road to take a reasonably good photo, at least in terms of the photography process.

The family had not seen the Abbey Road album cover before we came here, so I had to give them instructions: "I Want You to stop in stride on the crossing." Some of them understood what I meantL the younger and the more outgoing you are, the easier this will be. My daughter clearly knew what she was doing after watching the Italians taking photos. She is experienced at taking selfies which also helps. My son seemed to know what he was doing too, but he probably decided to show solidarity to his father, who was totally clueless; when husband has his photo taken, he clearly poses, like most people his age would do, and doing the splits while being photographed is obviously not part of his culture. "OK, The End, no loitering," I reminded everyone, so we could hurriedly Come Together to get back to the station. It was probably the weirdest thing they had ever taken part in, the closest they had come to a real life meme (although I did once glimpse a photo of one of them doing the ice bucket challenge - you never know what they are up to when you aren't looking).

Transport etiquette

Touch in, pass through the gate, don't loiter, walk forward, don't step back, check the platform, mind the gap, wait for the doors to open, wait for the passengers to exit, get onto the train, wait for your station, get off the train before those waiting, clear the doors, find the exit, stop on the escalators on the right, walk on the left, run only if you have to, get to the exit, touch out, clear the station, just keep moving. If you take a wrong step while performing this act, it is immediately visible to the other actors around you. Everyone in London has to know how to use the tube in order to avoid holdups. Except maybe Her Majesty, although she has been seen on the tube on occasion - no doubt the doors were held open for her, if she used a ticket, it would have been as a token gesture, and she didn't have to follow the rules exactly. My children need about a second to go through the barriers from the moment they touch in; my husband still needs more than a second - just to touch in.

Borough Market
Our next stop was the Borough Market, which, as we were to discover, has now become a tourist trap. Along the south bank of the Thames, nearly all the restaurants are branded, there's very little in the way of traditional atmosphere, and someone's always trying to selling you something overpriced. We have better memories of Borough Market from previous visits, but there is no turning back to old times: reviving the market's ordinariness will look like a recession rather than progress.

Pie, mash, mushy peas and gravy from a stall in the Borough Market

Our good experiences of Borough Market in the past are based not on the products on sale at the market, but on the sellers we meet there. We once met a Greek woman there who was selling Greek extra-virgin olive oil. Across from her stall were some Italians, also selling olive oil, among other Italian products. She told us sales were very slow, because local customers in the area were not really very well informed about what constitutes good olive oil (something I could confirm with a trip to the supermarkets there). Another of our favorite stall holders is the Kosovar manager of a paella bar. Whenever we're in the area, we pass by and say hello, and he treats us like old friends. We talk about our messy politics with him and his Greek-speaking Albanian staff. When we're there, it feels just like home to us - we may be in the centre of London but at that moment, it feels more like I am on the Balkan Express; the ride is bumpy, but the end of the journey feels sadder. We've also bought fantastic French cheese from the market. It's hard to find something 'traditional' now; everyone these days is creating their own traditions.  

Southwark Cathedral
Near one of the entrances to Borough Market is the very well preserved Southwark Cathedral. Entrance to the cathedral is free; by buying a guide (£1) to the church, you have permission to take photographs inside it. The last time we were in the area, the church wasn't open for visitors because a service was taking place. We took the opportunity to enter it today, as a chance to warm ourselves up in the process. (It was very cold in London over New Year's...  a bit like what January 2017 turned out to be in Hania!)

Religious tourism is always of interest. The Gothic style of architecture is so very different from the Byzantine one that we are used to, and in Hania, we have nothing to compare it with. But it is not just the architecture that is worth noting: Churches in the western world make for an interesting case of trying to hold onto a concept which no longer has a strong following in a liberalised world. Let's face it: we are not very religious these days. So why do we need churches which costs £4,500 a day for maintenance costs (as the cathedral guide informed us)? The way Southwark Cathedral was being used at the time might be of interest tot he Greek Orthodox church too, as people move away from strict adherence to a creed, and use churches more for their social aspects rather than their religious function. For example, Greeks generally don't get married too quickly in a church these days: it's expensive. In Crete, they are more likely to marry at a registry office to legalise their union, and have a church wedding later (complete with white wedding dress), preferably after the first child is born, so that the wedding and baptism take place together.

Southwark Cathedral provides a peaceful setting to get away from the cacophony of the street noises. As we entered, we were most impressed by the clearly Christian Orthodox icons that we found in it, which obviously makes the church very welcoming to visitors, irrespective of which denomination they belong to. We found the addition of a lit-up Christmas tree rather odd, detracting from its religious function. But it also made for a more convivial environment, similar to the use of organ recitals and concerts that arouse the interest of more than just religious devotees. These are all ways to create a new use for an obsolete concept whose historical significance in the ares makes it too precious to turn into luxury apartments, as many churches in the west have been transformed. Greece has, perhaps sadly, too many churches that are not being used, but their redevelopment at this time is a culturally sensitive and highly controversial issue. We don't place Christmas trees in our churches; we don't have organ music; we rarely see religious iconography that is not part of the Byzantine tradition. Some lessons could be learnt from less traditional churches concerning the survival of the Greek Orthodox church and its place in a modern changing world.

Hay's Galleria to Tower Bridge
Despite the chilly weather, we continued our walk to the restaurant, passing through what looked like a mixed-bag cluster of relatively new buildings along the south bank of the River Thames. Hay's Galleria is not a gallery as its name suggests; it's more like a high class restaurant and shopping hall. Affluent, indulgent, plush, it looks like it's catering for very expensive tastes - or, at least, for people whose tastes are based on brands, similar to Attika Mall in central Athens, a soulless virtual reality playground for the wealthy. Everything looked too expensive for our own pockets. It wasn't busy when we passed through it, neither in the late afternoon, nor in the evening on our way back. Perhaps rich people's tastes have changed too; you don't flaunt your wealth these days. It reminded me of a time when someone asked us to book a table on their behalf at an expensive restaurant in Hania, 'something in the range of 50€ per head', they asked. They did not realise how egalitarian the town where I live is. To pay 50€ per head in a town like Hania, you will have to go to a popular Japanese restaurant and order a bottle of wine per person together with the meal. Good food out need not be expensive, and expensive restaurants don't necessarily serve the best food either.

Hay's Galleria overlooks the Thames, and it has a steampunk sculpture in the middle. How do you explain steampunk to someone whose appreciation of art is limited? I think you don't. Art is not only subjective, it can also be very abstract. This sculpture was installed here as a tribute to the area's working class past. Personally, I couldn't make the connection between the sculpture and working class society. We wandered out of mall to the chill of the outdoors, walking by the river past the egg-shaped City Hall and over the Tower Bridge where you can get a good look of the Tower of London. The skyline of the buildings in this area of London is quite spectacular and worth spending some time gazing at it: many skyscrapers with the kinkiest names - the Walkie Talkie, the Cheese Grater - and more going up. What was once a dirty dingy dockland has now all been gentrified. Despite the mix of mainly new buildings with many old ones, nothing looks neglected or forgotten.

Whitechapel
Over the Tower Bridge and north-east of the Thames, the area is not very tourist-oriented (you will understand why later) and finds itself in the midst of gentrification, a kind of slash and burn process if you will, which is redeveloped into something that bears no resemblance to what existed before. Some parts of Whitechapel have been renovated while others are undergoing the process. Along some of the streets, you can see old and new London staring across at each other, or standing side by side, like strangers forced to live together. What was once considered an area for immigrants and the working class is now undergoing transformation for the investment of the wealthy/elite classes. What once may have been some kind of factory is now an apartment block. The warren of small streets hiding behind Commercial Road in the Whitechapel area hold the greatest surprises. Here, you will get a glimpse of those empty London homes that are being used as 'gold bricks': rich people who do not live in the area are buying up the properties, mainly as a way to invest their money for lucrative profits. People who grew up in the area are most likely unable to afford such properties. Some properties may be rented out, but the rents will be very high, hence the kind of people who live in the properties will not necessarily need the kinds of stores that a neighbourhood survives on, to provide a community feel. Most absent of all is the sight of perambulators and the sound of children. Since the buyers do not live in them (and if they do, it's only for a very short period of the year), the area has no need for the traditional elements of a typical British neighbourhood: what do you need a betting shop, florist, teahouse, chicken shop, drycleaners, among others, if there are no people in the area?

The streets here are well lit, despite the lack of sound and light coming from the apartments, with most of the curtains drawn, although I did spot a nice sofa set with cushions - it looked as though it had never been sat on. The main signs of life are seen in the concierges who wander around aimlessly in the empty lobbies of these empty buildings. They are probably doubling up as security guards, only coming out of the buildings for a quick smoke. A few of the ground floors of those buildings are occupied and used as 'stores' of a kind, mainly real estate agents: money brings money.
 
Most of the empty shop fronts have a very enticing sign on them: "This could be your next business!" But imagine how hard it must be to entice businesses to set up there that rely on street trade, when the area which is void of people.

We landed in the midst of this gentrification without actually intending to. My online phone map gave no hint of what we could expect. I was actually looking for a particular street next to what looked like a compact streetless zone, where there was either an empty plot or just one big building. What it actually consisted of was lots of apartment blocks, some roads for cars, and a few pedestrianised areas. We weren't really sure if we should risk walking through the area, in case we hit on a dead end. At one point we passed by what looked like a beautiful landscaped garden which was sectioned off (read: gated) so that the public could not wander around in it, probably for the exclusive use of the very large apartment block that was facing it. The fencing and trees still had Christmas decorations on them.

The road led through to a small well-lit piazza - that was once again void of people - graced by a very snazzy sculpture of galloping horses, light and sound effects included, to make them look as though they were moving. It is very entertaining, as it distracts one from thinking about the complex factors that gave rise to the development of the area.

Commercial Road

We wove through the nameless streets until we came out to the high street, close to where the restaurant was located. Commercial Road is a completely opposite experience to the gentrified streets we had just emerged from. It maintains its ethnic identity as the home of mainly South Asian immigrants, and it is still closely linked to the 'rag trade', as evidenced from the many clothing and bag stores located here, selling not retail but wholesale. The traders are mainly South Asians, having taken over from the Jews who took over from the Huguenots, an almost uninterrupted stream in the area of cloth makers and sellers. It was quite revealing to see well known bag and clothing designs in one area, as viewed from the shop fronts here, and to imagine how those items on display make their way not just to this road in London, but throughout the rest of the world, including Greece. The styles look very familiar even though they are not branded. They can be found in both cheap and expensive stores, on any high street almost anywhere in the world. They make you think seriously about who may be making these items, whether they would wear/use them themselves, how much they are getting for this work, and what the end price of these items is in our stores. 

The restaurant
We arrived at our destination restaurant - and were surprised to find it looking rather empty: in past visits, we could not always get a table and would have to wait! Initially we thought it might be closed for the holidays; the main hall was not well lit up, and there was only one person sitting at one of the many tables in the dining area. You have to understand that this was a big indoor restaurant, in our terms at least, since we are used to seeing large outdoor seating areas and small interiors! We could see only a couple of people in the kitchen, which is usually bustling with activity, creating steamy windows and a noisy atmosphere with the clatter of pans and mumble of voices. Then we thought that perhaps we had arrived too early; it was only five o'clock and dusk had already set in. Don't the English eat much earlier than the Mediterraneans?! Finally we saw the door opening and a man came out. He didn't even notice us: I couldn't work out if this was because we were not from his cultural group, or because we didn't look like potential customers. So we asked him if the shop was open: of course it was, he told us, with a surprised look on his face. Service couldn't have been faster today for us!

Chili peppers and Asian food are not really a mainstay of Greek cuisine, but Greeks are getting more used to this kind of food. There are now Japanese and Chinese restaurants open all year round in Hania, as well as an Inidian restaurant which opens in the summer - it still caters mainly for tourists. The world is coming closer in terms of food, but in attitudes, they couldn't be further away from each other, as we have seen in the current global political arena.

Bonus photos: London by night - the city is more exciting in the dark.

The red words are all Beatles songs from their Abbey Road album. I deliberately highlighted them when I tried to listen to some genuine Beatles music on YouTube. Some bastard's bought the right of access to them, so you can hear hardly any of their tunes on the web. Not even the Beatles can own thier songs. At least we can now sing Happy birthday without paying royalties, but I would also like to hear the Beatles on youtube, and I don't mean cover versions of their songs!

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Samaria Gorge (Φαράγγι της Σαμαριάς)

Last weekend, I went on a trek through the Samaria Gorge with the students from my workplace at MAICh. The Samaria Gorge, which is extremely well documented in the web, is a 13km ravine created from the path of a river between a mountain plateau and the sea. This is my second time walking down the gorge - the last time I went through it was about 22 years ago with a cousin. The Samaria Gorge is often regarded as a nature reserve, but it should be pointed out that it has been subject to human intervention since ancient times. So what is really being protected here is the essence of this interaction. It only became a tourist site about 50 years ago, but people have been walking through the gorge for many centuries before that. In ancient times, the wood from the cypress trees in the gorge was exported to Egypt, along with a small but thriving industry making wooden columns for the Minoan palaces on the island. During times of war, people hid in the gorge away from the enemies of the time. The Samaria Gorge remained inhabited until 1962, which is not all that long ago, hence there are clear signs of human intervention all over the gorge, its most important characteristic:

"The most important characteristic of the landscape of Samaria is the intense interaction between humans and nature. The relationship exists both in today's presence of humans as observers/walkers and in the historical imprint that the inhabitants of Samaria have left on this space. The traditional habitations of village, oil press, vines, and preserved chapels declare the powerful relationship that the inhabitants of Samaria had with this place." (Samaria National Park information leaflet, which you get on entry to the gorge)

Since the area was transformed into a nature reserve, the aspect of human intervention has taken different forms. Where once the inhabitants of the gorge were building churches and houses, the local administrative unit now in charge of the nature reserve is ensuring that there are fire protection units and toilets at regular intervals. Fresh water sources are also located in the many rest stations along the way, and the buildings erected by former inhabitants are preserved for historical reasons. Another important aspect of the modern administration of the gorge is that it acts as a refuge for endangered species, such as the agrimi, known as the Cretan ibex, Capra aegagrus cretica, which is normally very shy and keeps away form humans. But some of those found in the gorge have become familiar with the presence of human beings and the students in my group did actually see them up close - one person even fed them from their hands. (I was unlucky, in that I did not see any agrimi - next time, maybe.)



Work in the gorge is ongoing. The pathways that have been created are not all natural - specific work has been conducted on the gorge to make it both accessible and safe. As recently as 1991, the well-preserved Byzantine church of St Nikolas was discovered just 3km from the entrance of the gorge at the Omalos plateau. It had been hiding amidst a part of the forest which was cleared to make way for a path and rest stop.



The largest rest area and the best organised is found in the middle of the gorge in the former village of Samaria (7km in the gorge, its mid-point) where the gorge gets its name from. Here, you will see how man interacted with nature to make nature work for him, despite the difficulties of the terrain. The original residents' olive groves and vineyards are retained here. Some of the houses have been repurposed as medical centres and other administration units.



The most famous picture in the gorge is the 'sideroportes', the iron gates, so called because of their hardiness to the gushing water of the wintertime that passes through them. The narrowest point of the path is found here: the mountain sides are just 3m in width, just enough for two people to spread out their hands between them. This part of the gorge is found close to the exit near the south coast.



During my walk through the gorge, I rested at all the stops and it took me 6 hours. But the gorge can be walked downhill in anything as little as 4 hours. Walking it so quickly means that you will probably not stop to take in the sights along the way. One of the most important aspects of the walk is to spend time on observation. There were a fair number of walkers doing the sprint version on the day I walked through it (it was a busy day at the gorge). When they asked me to move over so they could zip by me like a streak of lightning, I didn't do so because I would have fallen into a ditch. (Since I was wider than them, they were obliged to wait). I also met up with some walkers doing the uphill version, which is said to be better on your feet. The path is nearly all filled with rocks and stones, so good walking shoes are a must (NOT open toed sandals). Climbers' sticks are really really helpful - three-four legs are really much better than two! The gorge is safe enough for children to walk through it, but take note: it's an easy but strenuous walk in hot conditions. (Be prepared for whinges and whines.)



The gorge can be walked down or walked up. It's up to the walker which route s/he chooses to do. At the end of the downhill walk, you get to the coastal isolated village of Agia Roumeli where you have a swim in the sea on the (almost) black pebble sand, whereas the other end of the gorge is found in a mountain plateau and is therefore not as enticing as being on the coast. Whatever you choose, you need to be aware that this is not a round trip - you arrive at/depart from the plateau by car/bus, and you depart from/arrive at Agia Roumeli by ferry boat, where you must take another bus to get to the town centre of Hania (or wherever else you may be staying in the region). Some people overnight at the plateau on Omalos and/or the vibrant coastal village of Agia Roumeli which does not have wheeled-vehicle access to other parts of the island. It should also be noted that the Samaria Gorge is not the only gorge in the area - the south coast of Crete has many ravines, which have all been created in the same way as Samaria, which is the deepest and longest. The Samaria gorge is in fact the longest gorge in the whole of Europe (not even the Swiss Alps beat us on this one).



The gorge is the second place in Greece that I have been to which does not seem to show any signs of commercial activity for a long stretch (the other place was Lake Kremaston, a very spooky nature paradise on the central mainland). When you come out of the gorge on the downhill walk, a warden will take your ticket (to ensure that no one stays in the gorge overnight, as camping is not allowed), and at this point, the commercial activity will strike you in the face, as if you woke up form a dream. in the form of cafes, restaurants and souvenir shops. The walk to the beach takes you along the river delta, past the former old town of Agia Roumeli where people lived in the past until the gorge area became a nature reserve (it was possibly the location of the ancient city of Tarra, mentioned in Homer's works), through a paved road (suitable for cars) lined with the houses of residents, which eventually leads you to the very touristy but oh so enticing and highly picturesque village of the new Agia Roumeli. (You don't have to walk that bit if you don't want to - for just €1.50, a mini-bus takes you from close to the exit of the gorge to the sea. This facility didn't exist when I first walked through the gorge.)



Since the walk is not a round trip, you need to be well prepared. Hotels and tour companies organise the whole trip for you. If you prefer to do it on an individual basis, it will cost you as follows:
- €7.50 for the bus to Omalos from the town centre of Hania
- €6.00 for the entry ticket to the gorge
- €1.50 for the bus ride from the exit to the gorge to the seaside (optional)
- €12 for the ferry boat ride from Agia Roumeli to Souyia or Sfakia (depending on which village you prefer to visit) - the last ones leave daily from the coast at 5:30pm; if you take the boat for Sfakia, you may wish to stop off and stay overnight at the village of Loutro, another inaccessible-by-road- gem on the south coast of Crete
- €8-9 for the bus from Souyia or Sfakia to the town centre of Hania (the buses leave once the ferries arrive at the port).
You don't need to carry much with you: a small backpack with a water bottle, some food, sunscreen and bathing clothes (including jandals as I would call them in New Zealand, aka flip-flops) is all you need, plus some money (or credit card - I saw bog large new colourful signs denoting that CCs are now accepted!) for a delicious relaxing meal when you exit the gorge. Phone and wifi are not available in the gorge, only out of it. And everyone working in the gorge area, without exception, has an adequate level English. Listen out for the switch from the Cretan dialect as spoken by a moustachioed black-shirt local to English - Cretans' evolution really shows in this aspect alone!.

My full photo set, with more information contained in some of the captions, can be viewed here:

If you have origins from Crete, then you really should walk through the Samaria gorge at one point in your life at least, so I can say that I have fulfilled this vow.

 ©All Rights Reserved/Organically cooked. No part of this blog may be reproduced and/or copied by any means without prior consent from Maria Verivaki.

Sfakia (Σφακιά)

The last time I visited Sfakia, an area of southern Crete, was sixteen or so years ago at the invitation of a friend whose mother lived in the village of Rodakino. It was summertime and my friend's brother had gone fishing. He had bought back a 'smerna' (sea eel), which his mother cooked for lunch. I can still remember how delicious that meal was. I had never tried eel before, but anything cooked within an hour of being caught would have tasted delicious. I hadn't been back since then. Last Sunday, we visited Sfakia as a family, having talked a lot about it for a long time. It's a long and winding road to get there, even though it seems so close by: the area known as Sfakia is basically right on the other side of the Lefka Ori (White Mountains) that we see from our house.

Lefka Ori last Easter during a long winter, as seen from my home. What's on the other side of those white mountains?

Sfakia consists of a collection of villages starting from the White Mountains (Lefka Ori) located on rocky mountain slopes, reaching right down to the Libyan sea on the south coast.

This area was regarded as a fort in its own right. It is said that Sfakia was never conquered: not by the Arabs who came to Crete in 824, nor by the Ottomans. The Venetians kept a garrison in the coastal village of Hora but did not venture further into craggy hills. Sfakia played an important role in the evacuation of allied troops during WW2. But the terrain proved formidable; it could only be crossed by people who knew the paths and had developed the appropriate walking skills needed to traverse its very difficult terrain.

Olive trees growing in rocks

Sfakia is full of steep bare hills and many narrow gorges. The landscape changes abruptly once you leave the village of Vrysses in Apokoronas. Lush foliage and plentiful water gives way to desert-like hills and rocky terrain. It is hard to see the soil that roots the trees. The gorges of Sfakia are now famous hiking routes, including the Samaria Gorge. Less well known is the Aradena gorge, the Imbros gorge and the Sfakianolaggo gorge. In the winter, these places fill up dangerously with water and may close to the public suddenly due to potential flooding which could prove fatal. This happens even in spring when the nature reserve is open to tourists; locals helped in a rescue effort just last May to track all the visitors in the are and get them out safely.

Krapi basin

Such remoteness has an effect on the people living there. The population of the area live in the pockets of plains that are dispersed across the territory. They are said to be proud and belligerent, and not easily approachable. Times have changed this of course, as the road to Sfakia is now one of the most modern and cleanest roads in Crete, and people are now able to connect with others much more easily than before. The latter has perhaps tamed the locals to a certain extent. But the connection that Cretans feel with their land is what keeps the people of Sfakia in the area. The terrain is now less difficult to traverse through modern means of transportation, and agriculture in the area has also benefited from machinery and more direct sources of water. But winters can be torturous: snow hampers driving conditions and can cover the ground for months, depending on how heavy the winter is, while electricity supply is not always guaranteed. There are times that the locals will see more sheep and goats than they do people. They live in very steep elevations of up to 650m altitude with a direct view of the sea and the lower ground which, on a snowy winter's day, will not be within their reach due to climatic conditions So for many reasons, Sfakia still remains remote.

A very informative local - she enjoyed talking to all the people that passed by her cafe.

"Don't ask too many questions to anyone", my husband had warned me before we entered the area.  As we drove towards Sfakia on election day, we decided to stop off for a coffee at the Krapi basin midway between the picturesque village of Vrysses with its fountains and the Askifou plain. The area was very rocky and desolate, with sparse vegetation. But still, there were olive trees growing directly out of the rock. The female owner of the cafe, who looked as though she were in her 50s, was very talkative; she had learnt how to flag down passersby to what looked like the garden of her private home. "Going for a ride after voting, are you?" the woman asked us. She herself had steered the discussion towards politics, as is only natural for the day. She wore leggings and her blouse had seen better days. She knew we were not from the area: she would have known us if we were. We explained that we were from Hania and felt like a snack - souvlaki, as the sign on her establishment suggested - before we carried on to the Aradena bridge. "Shall I bring you a menu?" she asked us. It was obvious that souvlaki was not on the menu.

Sfakiani pita: This is a seamless cheese pie topped wth honey. Take a ball of plain flour and water pastry (with a spot of olive oil in it), open it into a round and place a ball of strained goats cheese (mizithra) onto it. Roll up the pastry into a pouch and flatten it without breaking the pastry. Then fry it lightly in a lightly greased pan, on both sides, and serve it topped with honey. It's very popular in various forms, all over Crete.

Her grave-looking daughter came to take our order. I suggested we have a Sfakiani pita, which I often make at home too, but we wanted to see how different it would be if we had one in its county of origin. "Do you still need me?" the girl (who also wore leggings) asked us while we were debating how hungry we were and how many pitas we would order. We made up our mind quickly after that. While we waited for the pitas to be cooked, we watched a young boy dressed in camouflage kicking a can around the garden. It sounded cacophonous to say the least; he showed no awareness of the din he was making. His mother was obviously the girl that had taken our order. Marrying your daughter off at a young age will ensure that she will stay in the area. Allowing her the freedom of choosing her own course in life means that the village will eventually be deserted, as if it weren't already. She will be tied to her children, and eventually to the land.

Ruins of an old fortress, Askifou Plateau

"I was wondering if you could give me some information", my husband asked the girl when the pitas finally arrived. He wanted to ask the girl if she knew a friend of his in the area. "If I know it," the girl answered quite abruptly without looking at him. She did in fact know the answer to his question but it was difficult to understand if she was not lucky enough to inherit her mother's genes, or if she was simply tired of the remote Sfakiot way of life, or if she was simply living up to the Sfakiot image:

"Sfakiá is notorious for the harshness of the environment and the warlike people. Sfakians themselves are still considered somewhat beyond the reach of the lawmakers and tax collectors of Athens, with vendettas over stolen sheep and women's honour still fought late into the 20th century, with a whole village abandoned. Stealing and banditry had been considered a way of life in the mountains..." (Wikipedia - Sfakia)

I was not surprised that no receipt came with our order. As it was election day, and I had decided not to vote, I no longer have the right to complain about what happens in my country.

Enclosures housing wild game in captivity, Askifou

We continued our drive, where we passed by the Askifou plain where you come across a paradoxical sight: In the middle of nowhere, in an environment full of goats and sheep which move around freely, an 'outdoor sports resort' suddenly comes into view. Wild game is kept in cages, and released on payment for hunters. If the game is not caught, it remains in the wild, and therefore continues to breed - if it doesn't run into other trouble after being reared in captivity for so long. The resort is associated with the Valirakis family, a well known name in the area - and in politics too: the conspiracy theory is that you need to be both rich and well connected to develop this kind of thing quickly without being hampered by authorities.

Signs of gun-loving locals - the Imbros gorge is shorter and more manageable than the Samaria Gorge.

As we passed a sign pointing in the direction of a village in the area, my husband remembered what happened to him three decades ago when he bought a fare here. "Can you take me to Goni?" a woman asked him while he was waiting in the rank in Hania. "Of course," he replied, while at the same time watching the faces of some of his colleagues. Taxi drivers have a way of communicating to each other without words, and the faces of his colleagues were signalling that this fare was not the best one. Nevertheless, the woman entered the taxi and sat in the back seat, and he set off. She told him that her mother was ill and she needed to see if she was OK. What she didn't tell him was that she was fleeing from her husband who thought she was cheating on him. Even though mobile phones had not been invented back then, it didn't take long for him to find out where his wife was going and who she went with. As my husband entered the road for Goni, he suddenly heard gunshots flying over the cab, which made him stop driving abruptly. Before the woman got out of the car, she threw some drachmas at him. "Get OUT of here as fast as you can!" she said to him, "and don't stop driving whatever you do!" Guns are thought to be part of the Cretan culture, but we northern Cretans like to say that it's the Sfakiots that give us a bad name.

Excellent road conditions in the Sfakia region

Fragokastello

After driving past the entrance to Imvros gorge and going through three recently built tunnels on a very clean stretch of road, the fertile coastal plain of Fragkokastello came into view. Thanks to the arrival of better water supply, which is the drilled from the seabed and pumped way up to the mountain villages, it is now possible to grow pretty much anything in the area. It is not the tastiest water to be had, but it is clean and potable. Some of the locals prefer to drink bottled water. Before this system of water supply, the locals collected rainwater. It is due to the water supply that tomato plants can now be cultivated in the rocky terrain of Sfakia. The traditional cuisine of Sfakia is known for its sparse use of vegetables (mainly wild greens) and high protein content.

Hora Sfakion

We were now approaching Hora Sfakion by the coast. This was not the end of the road for us. We were still 600m short of altitude to reach our final destination. To get to Anopolis (and then on to Aradena), we had to drive down near to the coast before we start to drive up again in the mountains. Hora Sfakion is basically a tourist town now, with a mess of buildings - homes, cafes, restaurants, hotels and homes-turned-into-hotels - piled one on top of the other. Hora is naturally the largest town in the area, since it is by the coast. Mountain living is tiring and trying - you only live there if you are in danger or if you have nowhere else to go. 

Typical driving conditions in Sfakia

Trying to keep an area 'traditional' in a modern connected world is like fighting a losing battle. Hora is where the ferry boat takes you after you finish walking down the Samaria Gorge at Ayia Roumeli. From there, you take a bus back to Hania. Thus, Hora handles a lot of people during the summer. At the start of the season in April, about 2,000 people walk through the gorge. By June, this figure grows to more than 20,000; in August, 30,000 cross it. Therefore, Sfakia is not as remote as it is made out to be. There is even a nudist hotel in the area, and most of the craggy beaches serve nudists. But all is not sweet as the name of one of those beaches suggests - a tourist died at the beach of Glyka Nera (literally: 'sweet waters') when a rock fell off the cliff and landed on her in May of this year. Sometimes I like to remember that God did not make these places for humans, which is why there is no road leading to them: you can only reach them via a narrow gorge-like walking path, or by ferry along the coast. But Glyka Nera beach is now so popular among the select bunch of naturists that are willing to make the walk that they park their cars on the side of the road and then hike the rest of the way. We also saw quite a few tourists with their backpacks and hiking sticks walking along the motorway back and forth from Glyka Nera to Hora. Other than that, our only companions on the journey were the eagles and goats. 

We think they're crazy - they parked here, to walk down to the beach that you see in this photo.

The road to the village of Anopolis is nothing less than daunting: a series of winding roads that take you higher and higher up the barest hills I've ever seen in Crete. The village is not visible from the road, making you wonder why and how on earth anyone would want to live up there. Nowadays, the first sign of habitation in the greater area is always a cafe/restaurant. Since the arrival of tourism, where once there was nothing, there is now a homely building perched on a cliff with an eye-catching sign hinting at its vantage point and the smells of something cook coming from within. And almost side by side with the ruins of what clearly looked like a rich person's 'arhontiko' (villa) in older times, there are also signs showing just knowledgeable the once remote Sfakiots are in modern times: signs in English are commonplace, and it is not an exaggeration to say that nearly everyone in the whole of Crete can speak enough English to direct a tourist or have a brief conversation covering basic topics such as food and politics.

A pertinent site for election day - just before we arrived in Anopolis

We had reached the main square of Anopolis where we saw a large crowd of people gathered. The local schoolhouse - it is doubtful whether it actually operates during the year: Hora's primary school has just 7 pupils, and it did not open this year due to staff shortages (due to the crisis) - was being used as a polling booth. While we were there, we saw a steady stream of people coming in and out of the schoolhouse, identification documents in hand. They had obviously gone there to vote. Not all people who vote in Anopoli live there - they are mainly registered there for demographic purposes (to retain their farmer status perhaps, or simply for nostalgic reasons). So for some of the 'locals', this was a moment to get back to their roots and perhaps to make a show of their comeuppance: some of them arrived more stylishly than others. A New York licence plate was hammered into a Mercedes parked outside the school. The Kriaras name has an connection to Sfakia, as well as the island of Milos. Many vendettas ended with a Sfakiot family moving to Milos to avoid more fighting. Milos was a safe haven for many Cretans in this way.

Primary school, Anopolis

My husband remembered a story that a past girlfriend related to him about the school. She had the position of primary school teacher/principal in Anopolis. "Every Monday, I have to sweep the yard", she told my husband. "Of what?" he asked. "Rifle cartridges," she replied. Education of a different sort took place during the weekends. The schoolhouse of Anopolis also reminded me of a Greek friend who was a kindergarten teacher. After working in a number of private nurseries, she finally landed her first state teaching position - on the tiny island of Gavdos, which is visible from Sfakia (and so is the even tinier island of Gavdopoula), although it is not part of its administration (it belongs to the country of Selino, whose largest municipality is Paleohora). According to Wikipedia, in 2011 Gavdos had a total population of 152 people. But in reality, fewer than 50 people live permanently on the island. My friend had just three enrolled students at the school. She spent two years there in order to get preferential treatment when she asked for a transfer back to her hometown, which she was given because she had spent time working in an isolated area, as the state allows. The kindergarten was fully equipped as a school: it had a television, a computer and a printer in the school. But there was no internet connection, and most of the time, the telephone and electricity lines did not work. It is doubtful whether that school is still open now.

Old arhontiko (nobleman's villa) showing signs of abandonment

Quite a bit of sensationalist journalism has been used on the subject of these 'closed' schools. Of course we need teachers for all school-aged children in Greece. But there are other models that can be copied, instead of having to physically send teachers to remote sparsely populated areas: the Correspondence School of NZ comes to mind. In the internet age, there is really no excuse for not having such a model in remote areas, nor is there any excuse for parents not taking an active role in their children's education. Greeks are no longer illiterate, and wifi is available everywhere - even the restaurant at Anopolis (where we later sat down for a meal on our return journey back to Hania) had wifi. You really can't expect the state to do everything for your children.

The beginning of the Aradena gorge, leading down to the sea

Just a few kilometres away from Anopolis was the final stage of our journey. Aradena forms of a cluster of abandoned villages in the area, named after an archaeological site in the vicinity. Nowadays, Aradena is visited mainly for its wooden bridge, which you can stand on and stare down into the gorge from the comfort of 138m altitude. Aradena was not connected to coastal Sfakia until only very recently, via a Bailey bridge, in 1986. The building of the bridge led to the opening of a cafe - of course! - at the site, and during the summer months, it is used for bungee jumping - what else! The trappings of modern life are now an everyday part of mountain life, even in places like Sfakia which are often labelled 'traditional' - that has now become a synonym for 'touristy'.

Abandoned house, Ai-Yianni

There was an asphalt road continuing out of Aradena which we decided to take, since we had come so far, keeping in mind that we would probably not be making this journey again for quite some time. The road led to the last village in the area, Ai-Yianni (Agios Ioannis), where my husband had once gone hunting with a friend whose family was from the area. They had parked their car on the outskirts of the village and walked along some tracks where his beekeeper friend kept his hives. They were hoping to see a hare, or perhaps something bigger but it turned out that this was not a good day for hunting. When they returned tot he car, they found hand-written sign on it: "Don't bother coming back unless you don't mind all your tyres slashed." At least they warned him. This family trip was the first time he returned to the area. He wanted to find the old couple who had invited them to their table for dinner that evening after their walk through the area. But all we found were abandoned houses. The village was now a ghost town.

Disease-ridden pine tree

The road from Aradena to Ai-Yanni is worth driving through. Alpine territory starts at this point, with the emergence of a pine forest which seems to have undergone some recent destruction, a victim of the crisis, when people began using more wood for heating, and whatever could be chopped down was chopped, to be used for heating or for making a quick buck. It is quite a hike to get to this area, and since locals continue to guard it like a fortress (see above paragraph), one can only assume that locals are involved in this unscrupulous trade. But the pine trees also face other dangers - they have obviously been afflicted by a pine tree disease and are slowly dying. Nature takes revenge on man's folly in various ways.

Olive trees, Ai-Yianni

You will also come across the most unusually shaped olive trees, of the likes that you will never have seen in northern Crete. Apart from the trees sprouting directly from what looks like rocks, they have also undergone a transformation in appearance due to the climatic conditions. The trees receive only natural irrigation (rain) and snow covers them in the winter. Many of the trees show signs of damage (their branches have broken) and their trunks have adapted to the climate by becoming thickset. They look nothing like the classic gnarled olive tree of a more temperate climate. You can tell where the snow has reached these trees by looking at where they begin to form their leafy branches. The combination of terrain and climate is difficult not just for the people. Animals are always moved to lower ground in the winter.

Platanos, aka Popi's taverna

We wanted to continue driving in the Ai-Yianni region, but had second thoughts because the road started to deteriorate. Our journey had finally reached its end, and it was time to make the return trip back home. We stopped off for lunch at Platanos taverna at Anopoli. Just ask where Popi's taverna is - make sure you ask for the Sfakiot specialty: tsigariasto, goat meat braised in olive oil and wine, and staka, a creamy buttery dip that goes well with friend potatoes, bread, meat, you name it. Popi speaks excellent English so you can have the menu explained to you if you don't speak Greek or you don't know the local delicacies.

German motorbike, WW2 period - Askifou War Museum

On our way home, we stopped off at the self-styled War Museum of Askifou. It was started by a young man after WW2, by collecting the remains of machinery, equipment and other artefacts left behind by British and German troops. It was then continued by his son, and there seems to be hope of the grandson continuing this venture, although he was present only in a photograph. It was the womenfolk who explained to us (the only visitors at the time) the history of the collection. Some of the explanations didn't seem to concur with my knowledge of history, but I could see that the two women who gave us the tour (they were mother and daughter, but could easily have been mistaken for sisters) had their speeches well-rehearsed, so we let them do their spiel. Entry is by donation according to the sign, but the ladies don't forget to remind you to leave something 'for the maintenance of the museum', and they also state the amount you should leave: "10 euro for all of you," the mother said, quickly followed by "but only if you've got it", in view of the times we are living in. All in all, an interesting collection of bric-a-brac, some of which we'd seen before in places like the IWM London and Les Invalides. "Look at the tyres," she said, pointing to a German motorbike. "They look new, and the motorbike still works." She then asked us if we were in the area for voting purposes, and proceeded to denounce the memorandum, grieving over the loss of our traditions in favour of western norms. Both mother and daughter were dressed in shorts and t-shirts. They seemed well accustomed to western norms themselves.

The rest of the family preferred ice cream; I ordered kalitsounia, another form of fried cheesy pastry topped with honey.

It was still quite warm when we got back on the road, so we stopped off at the big cafe/snack bar in Kalami for a refreshing ice-cream.  I asked the children if they enjoyed this trip into a relatively remote part of Crete. "If you marry a local boy," I joked with my daughter, "we'll  visit often and you can cook up a goat for us." She wasn't impressed. My son said that he wouldn't mind coming to the area again on an annual basis, "for the history," he added.

More lovely photos on facebook.

©All Rights Reserved/Organically cooked. No part of this blog may be reproduced and/or copied by any means without prior consent from Maria Verivaki.