LENEA AND CRETE -9-

IX

I walk into the lobby. The friendly receptionist is still behind the desk, in front of which is a woman, probably slightly older than I, curly dark hair encircling a big, welcoming smile. I have always loved seeing people smile. There is something therapeutic in a smile both for the donor and the recipient.  Something that bonds, something that opens the gateway to our inner worlds, something that conveys, “I accept you, I welcome you, I celebrate our connection.” I wish we smiled more, I wish we accepted one another more, welcomed and celebrated connections more. With that smile, she did open the gateway to where the Resmiye with no social mask resides. Mine must have done the same to hers. We let go of professionalism. We give a warm hug to one another. Two Cretan women in a warm embrace, celebrating the opportunity, thanking the universe for the opportunity.

I believe, one recognizes the person who will become a dear friend for life in the first minute or two of the first encounter. Falling in love may be a different story. It may come over time with deeper getting to know and connecting at multiple levels. For me, with all my best friends, who have stayed with me for many decades, I knew we would be friends for life as soon as we met. Here I am,  that very feeling that is so familiar to me now taking over me one more time. The same feeling I had felt when I had met my dear friend Nukhet 11 years ago, now a sister that I never had. So familiar. I know in the depth of my heart this woman also will be my friend for life. I know already, this evening is going to be a self discovery as well as discovering each other and that more will come out of this encounter way beyond professional work.

Orthodox church in Rethymnon

Sofia

leads me out of the hotel. My arm is in her arm, when and how did this happen? We are walking toward The Water as if we are two girlfriends who have known each other since childhood. Arm in arm, my hand resting on her arm, and she gently pressing my hand against her body with an unspoken “We are friends.” Don’t acts speak more than the words, though? Most of the time. This is clearly one of those times. We don’t need words at this point.

Sofia, humble; she downplays what is around us, when I know it is history of thousands of years. Sofia, lively; she laughs as readily as any woman around The Water. I feel so much at home. I am by The Water, I am with Sofia, I am home. Sofia, gently curious; asks questions. I answer as openly as she asks. We are comfortable with each other, gateway is mutually and totally open to reach each other’s depths. Sofia, just; good politics, she knows it is not the people who created the artificial animosity between the Greeks and Turks. It has always been the political agendas of powerful few, be it politicians, colonists, or superpowers. Sofia, the helper; she returned to Crete from America where she had lived most of her life to take care of her dying parents, now on her way back to America to help her sister taking care of a son with multiple medical problems. Sofia, caring; she is not even involved with child abuse and neglect, but she knows how desperately Crete needs an initiative to change the way child abuse and neglect is addressed in Crete even though, she will leave in a few months, most likely never to return for good. I find myself in her. I am liking this woman more and more with every idea visited, with every feeling shared…

Venetian fountain of hundreds of years in Rethymnon 

We walk along The Water. How I missed it, how I can never get enough of it, even though I visit Izmir at least twice a year. The same scent, the same aroma of iodine, fish, and salt water. An intense urge is working its way up from within to kick the shoes off my feet and jump in The Water, become one with it, one more time. I counsel myself silently “Savor the pleasure of anticipation Resmiye.” The little Resmiye within listens, “good girl.” I smile, Sofia doesn’t see. When the right time comes, I will tell her, I think I can.

The fortress walls from Venetian times

She shows me the city walls from Venetian times, the watch towers, the history behind them, how Ottomans fought the Venetians fiercely for centuries to conquer Crete. We talk about the French revolution, its affect on peoples of Europe turning them into nations, gradually but surely. How Greeks finally started feeling nationally Greek and a desire to get rid of the Ottoman rule. We talk about WWI, its affects on the region and its people, how British imperialism used Greeks as the buffer “tongs” against Turks on Anatolia. How Greek “tongs” were put in the fire of fighting the liberation army of Turkey sparing delicate British fingers. How British dropped boxes and boxes of fliers flaming animosity between Turks and Greeks that had lived side by side in peace all the way to the heart of Anatolia for centuries. I feel an elation discovering more and more that she is a woman after my own heart. I love this woman, I know we will become very good friends.

As we approach the one restaurant she promises me I will get the best authentic Cretan food, she tops it all: She has a son, who is in England, refuses to go to America. His stand on who The Water belongs to, since it always becomes a point of contention between the two governments when they desire to make it such, is: “The Aegean belongs to nobody but its fish!” I crack up, I love it. I want to give a hug to this guy I haven’t met, yet. I tell her to give him a hug for me next time she sees him just for this, for now. Brilliant. I will tell this to all my friends in America and Turkey alike. We are finally at one of the two restaurants that hold onto cooking authentic Cretan food. Two out of hundreds of restaurants in this highly touristic town. I can’t believe it. Was globalization supposed to connect people and introduce local cultures to visitors or was it supposed to destroy everything local and allow the visitors rule the scene wherever they go, wherever they can go. Indeed it is true, the entire path we walked along was lined with restaurants serving burgers, fried chicken, and the like. Towns of Turkey are not alone in becoming little America, it seems. Even Crete is conquered. I feel a renewed ache in my chest for disappearing values and traditions in the service of globalization and profit.

The most authentic restaurant in Rethymnon if you would like to have true, omega-3 rich Cretan food

We are finally in the restaurant. A friendly, tall, sturdy man greets us with a polite Cretan Greek. It is clear he knows Sofia and respects her a lot. Sofia introduces me to Stefano. We are the first customers although it is 8:30 pm. Of course, Greeks do not go out until 10 pm or so, which will soon be proven. By 10:30, all tables will be full. I will feel gratitude for coming early and beating the crowd. Spending an hour and a half with Sofia and learning a wealth of information about Sofia, her family, economic crisis in Greece, Cretan cuisine, Greek politics, Greek men, Greek academia, on and on and on, is precious while devouring the spectacular Cretan food some of which I had had all my life and some I have almost longed for as long.