Now that I am
established in Rethymno and I don’t have a car for some
days, I can start exploring this lovely town in more depth than I was able to
do 5 years ago. I am staying at the Liberty Hotel, which is conveniently
located to walk to Sofia’s house, to the waterfront, to the old town, to Laiki (farmer’s market held
every Thursday); everything is in 1 km radius from my
hotel. I am thrilled that my fitbit will not embarrass me in Crete! Moreover, the owner is a family, at times their children are running around and the elderly great grandmother is also the receptionist occasionally. With her broken English and my broken Greek, I discover she is a Greek nationalist and is nto very fond of Turks. However, she also has a forgiving grandeur on her face perhaps because of my Cretan roots or because I do my best to learn Greek? After going to bed at 1 am, which has now become routine
in Greece!, I can barely wake up at 9 am, which will
also become routine soon.
An old falling apart door in an elegant doorway in Rethymno
I start strolling
through the back streets of Rethymno. All these buildings must hold, buried or
revealed so many stories of multiple generations. This brings to mind the
spectacular award-winning movie titled “My grandfather’s
people” (Dedemin insanlari in Turkish) by Cagan Irmak. This movie depicts very truthfully and artistically that Turkos (muslim Greeks) and Christian
Greeks actually understood very well that they were of the same mold perhaps not
knowing what had led them to hold onto their good old or to convert to a new
religion. Ottomans, I learn bit by bit, were not that
benign after all as the official Turkish history teaching professes “Ottomans
were not brutal with natives of the lands they conquered, they let them speak
their language and practice their religion”. It is not so at all!, I learn this time, since I have read more and I hear this in the voices and hearts of people that I talk to.
Another old door, fading away into nothingness, but locked, nonetheless...
One memory from years
ago, when I had visited my Greek friend from 1970s in Thessaloniki was so
striking when she had told me “When our mothers got upset with us as a child,
their weapon was ‘Turkos are coming, come inside', or
‘if you don’t do this, I’ll give you to Turkos’”. Why would generations of mothers instill such fear in their children's hearts if they themselves were not so afraid of Turks? There
are multiple heroic resistance stories from all over Crete on how they were in
the end massacred by the Ottomans. Those were the
commendable rebels, I assume, who wanted their freedom and refused slavery, overt or covert to the Ottomans. Ottomans on the other hand
labeled these people as “gavur infidels” and sold their war mongering to the
people of the mainland, who were paying taxes to cover the cost of the wars as “We are spreading Islam, the
God’s gospel to infidels”. Does it sound familiar
with the contemporary American rhetoric of “We are spreading democracy and
carry the banner of the free world?” when invading, Afghanistan, Iraq, Vietnam
and other distant lands?
I
am fascinated with the doors and windows as well as some of the old facades of
the buildings that come across my path. Some are old, left to their fate,
disheveled, but in a way still standing against the punches of time even if
they are made of merely wood with metal hinges and handles clearly in aches and
pains that have traversed decades perhaps a century or longer. In Chania, I will
see later that some business owners very clearly used these “as is” facades to
their advantage and created a very authentic atmosphere, where the tables and
chairs are located within the standing ruins of what once must have been pretty
impressive residential structures or other architecturally meaningful
buildings.
Some
more renovated and well-kept buildings have a unique door style, usually with
two panes each with a metal handle. Most of these interesting doors have a
metal handle either in the shape of an elegant woman’s hand or lion’s head, or
some other form. Before electricity, these elements were the tool to let the
hosts know of a visitor at the door. These doors come in all colors: bright
green, blue, brown, tan, red, you name it. Some new doors are embedded in a
doorway with old arch made of stone. It is not clear whether some of these are
made to look old or whether they are indeed old. I saw one house though, the
old arched doorway was filled with stone and a new contemporary doorway was
opened for the new door. Who knows why. Most
shops are elegantly built into old stone buildings, which provide preservation
of history, too. I wonder if these buildings are owned by the occupant
businesses, or rent and if so by whom. It does look like there is a system of
preservation in place, though, I hope is true, which makes sure these buildings
are preserved into future generations as they are.
Entry to a store, you breath history at every turn in Crete
As I walk through the
streets of Rethymno and Chania, I discover many Turkish names such as Hamam
Sokaki (Turkish Bath Street), Terzi so and so (Tailor…), Hamam (Turksih Bath),
etc… One of my colleagues at a dinner tells me "We have so many
Turkish words in Greek, but we don't use them anymore". With every example this rhetoric continues “We
used to say… we don’t any more…” My friend Michaeli tells me all the songs muslim Cretans used to sing are disappearing, if not already. Of course once you cleanse an ethnicity from the society, it is not only individuals that disappear, along with them a culture fades away with its vocabulary, with its music, and the color they used to add to the locality. I also wonder if Greek language has gone or is going
through cleansing itself from Turkish words as Turkish has tried to cleanse
itself from Arabic and Persian for a long time until religious right started
winning power. They have all the right
to do that, I hope it is not as a result of excessive nationalism, though.
The
Venetian Rimondi fountain that replaced an earlier version of 1588 in 1626 is, certainly one of the landmarks in Rethymno. This fountain was one of the public drinking water sources in town. My
second stop is the Archeological Museum, which has a nice collection of
artifacts starting in neolithic times (3500-4000 BC) all the way to neo
classical period. From there I head to Fortezza, the Venetian fortress with
touches from the Ottomans here and there. The centrally located mosque they
built is visible from pretty much most of the town. As I walk into the chapel
at the entrance of the fortezza, I find an interesting activity going on:
Over 400 year old Rimondi fountain in Rethymno
A
group of young men are working on putting up a series of photographs, clearly
getting ready for an exhibition. I apologize and tell them I won’t bother them,
but one young man, named Yorgo, who seems to be their leader tells me to feel
free and walk around. At least half of the photographs are already put up with
interesting themes and sceneries from all over the world. Then he tests me
about what my reading was about the art that is posted already. He tells me
their goal for this competition was to explore depiction of human
existence across
borders. He
invites me to the opening reception on the 8th. I definitely would
like to, but can’t promise. I hope I can.
As I
approach the mosque, I see a young man on top of a huge rock, which seems to be
the highest point of the Fortezza from where I am. I holler at him, he must be
at the highest point. He is friendly but tells me that the mosque seems to be
at a higher point from where he is. Soon I am on top of the same rock. His name
is Hankle, a PhD student in German archeology. He tells me he is planning to
hike over the mountains south of Rethymnon to Kronoss in the east.
The selfie taken by Hankel from Germany in the castle: It is very clear that we are not dealing with the issues the above young man from Pakistan is..
I tell him
about my plans to hike through the Samaria Gorge. At some point, we start
discussing how terrible a condition Greeks are in. He opposes my compassion
when I tell him doctors in this country are being paid only 17-1800 euros a
month. He is making 1200 euros a month without paying any taxes, because he is
a student, so they are on the same boat. His position is “but they still live
in mansions”.
Serene Aegean beyond the Fortezza
I have to mention to him that those who live in mansions and who
suffer living on 1700 euros a month may not be the same people. I am sure both
of us are left with questions in our minds. I wondering if Greek nation is
indeed in as dire a condition as is portrayed; he, wondering if what he hears
in Germany is not the full truth. I hope someday I can understand how Greece
accumulated and how the European Union allowed them to accumulate such
huge amounts of debt.
Day
is coming to an end. This time, I am heading toward the west of town, past the
Fortezza, Last night, I had admired the people, who had all crowded the
foothills of the Fortezza right around the dusk. Tonight I will join them. As I
walk around the Fortezza’s northernmost point, I start getting a glimpse of a
chain of cafes and curbside restaurants in the distance. Plan has been made, I
will have my dinner in one of those and devour another unforgettable sunset. I
find a restaurant named Fournaki, my waitress is Nectaria. She has jet black
hair (how do they find such artificial color is beyond me), very striking
make-up with bold colors. She tells me “You have a finesse!” I really don’t
know if she understands what this means, since she doesn’t have that
comprehensive English skills, but I take it with an appreciative smile. She is
happy, I am happy. The sunset is indeed beautiful, subtle, but touching…
Light tower radiates with warmth at sunset
My
belly is full with delicious lamb chops, time to go to a delicious sleep after
reading my “Maps to Lost Lovers” some more. Although the amount of physical and emotional torture people have to go through because of the very thing, their religion that is supposed to give them strength and support is distressing beyond imagination, I can't put this book down: The author weaves love with guilt, human needs with shame, society with individual, violence with tenderness with such talent of using words that, nobody is a hero in the book, nobody is a monster, nobody is solely a victim, nobody solely a martyr, they are all human beings with failings and heroisms molded into each one of them. All guided with their experiences... I wish all religions on earth went through appropriate reforms so that each and every one of us can b-r-e-a-t-h with no orthodoxy suffocating us at no level...
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| Beautiful Lilbyan Sea to the South of Crete |
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