GREECE 2016 -13 - IRAKLIO AND MEETING WITH LENEA ONE MORE TIME AFTER FIVE YEARS

Vineyards and olive orchards ornament the hills and valleys of Crete 

The drive from Argyroupoli to Rethymno was a delight: Village after village as the road wound down from the mountains toward the valley then to the costal line, each with a different character, but all with a main road lined with kafennias, mini-restaurants, all with houses in front of which couple of people enjoying the evening breeze on a chair on the side walk, watching the passersby. I had a date with my friend Sofia in Rethymno to make, with the grape leaves I had picked from MIchaeli’s vineyard “dolmadakia” as they call stuffed grape leaves in Crete instead of the “dolmades” as they are known in America.

Rethymno Bay in the distance as I come down from Argyroupoli

With a pound of minced meat, and a bunch of fresh mint, parsley, and dill in it in addition to regular rice, onions and tomatoes that everybody in the market wraps the grape leaves with, it was delicious-simo or delicious-etero (as Greeks would say for the superlative)! Sofia jokingly regretted that she allowed that happen in her house since she was worried that her boys (husband and son) would now want her to make it after I leave. Our dinner was light and joyful with our final resolve that they would come out to Izmir every time I am there to have more of the dolmadakia.
 

Lenea in front of her citrus and tippy

 

Today is the day to explore Iraklio region. My goal is to get to Knossos, the infamous Minoan center/palace. I will discover in my travels today that in fact, in the entire wine country region right in the backyard of Iraklio, Knossos is but one evidence of the Minoan culture and how complex and comprehensive it had been at such an early time contemporary with Pharaos in Egypt. In addition to historic explorations, deep in my heart I am hoping I can bump into Lenea as well, the lovely citrus vendor, I had met 5 years ago, who had motivated me to start this blog in fact! As I drive toward Iraklio on the national highway as much as I try to take in all the beauty around me, I am also tremendously attentive to the road-side vendors of citrus and walnuts to see if any of them will fit the picture I have in my mind from my first encounter with her, which is as clear as if it happened just yesterday.

Lenea posing elegantly at the entrance of her tippy 

It is too early, I know since I am far far away from Iraklio, yet, so I turn my attention to the beaches and coves that emerge from around every corner with a different beauty, scenery, effect, and prose. Some well protected beaches are still asleep as the Cretan Sea (This part of Aegean, I discovered yesterday is called Cretan Sea) caressing their sand and pebbles gently as if smilingly. Some, on the other hand, being open to the passion of the open sea are in an excited mood already with the white, bubbly surf rushing toward the rocks and small pockets of sand, thrusting itself among them here and there with lust and longing. Whatever the serendipitous scenery may be, beyond all is the stoic, confident, serene, and all-embracing Aegean claiming the entire horizon as if to say, you play your little games out there with the land, I know where I stand sending us all her loving kindness thoughts (I hope).
 

Lenea's delicious café Helinico, metrio 

Although none of the citrus vendors so far fits the image in my mind, I decide to stop and ask somebody if they knew Lenea. This one is also a woman, but she doesn’t know her with disappointment clear on her face that I am not there to buy fruit from her. She also wants to understand why I want to find Lenea, “is she your friend, relative, why, ia-ti?” My Greek is not that sophisticated to use past tense to explain to her what happened 5 years ago. A customer arrives, she moves away, I am happy, hop in my car and drive away to see if I will meet Lenea again. Vendors are around every turn now, there must be a village beyond the hill that the highway meanders around, but I neither see a village in sight, nor any of the vendors fits the image in my mind. I read a sign that says Exit to Adides. I turn to my left and there is something there that is almost it!

One last shy pose from Lenea 

Bright sparkles in her eyes “Aaaa, I remember now, you are that woman, come sit, sit.” She is all a smile now, with two of her lower middle teeth decayed in the last five years. She is all about hosting me well now, opens an icebox and takes out a freshly squeezed orange juice bottle out of it and pours a glass of juice for me. Now that she recalled our encounter, I tell her “will you make me a coffee, medium sugar?” She is delighted, no sooner than I finish my sentence, she has the Greek coffee pot in one hand with coffee and sugar jars in the other. She uses a knife to transfer ground coffee and sugar into the pot in the make-shift but unique shack she had hosted me 5 years ago. I tell her where I had sat in this shack then, and where she had sat on her plastic stool and how she had told me about her daughter and son. She remembers and apologizes for the delay of all the details coming to her “I see a lot of customers…” It stings my heart a pinch, I thought of her all these years wondering how she and her remaining only child, her daughter had faired, but that is OK, thai birazi (no problem), Lenea.
 

She has more variety this year, watermelons, honey, olive oil, jam among other things

 

Just as I turned around the corner, I saw a woman the size of Lenea on the left side, where she should have been, the shelves and platforms are just as they would have been. And yes, there is a shack behind the shelves and tables, in front of which the woman is standing. There is a white structure that is to the right of all of this, which doesn’t exist in my memory of her place. But it’s been 5 years, this might be an addition. I make a quick U-turn as I pass her and stop at the very spot I had stopped five years ago. I can’t believe this but the image of the place is much clearer in my mind than the image of her face. Is this Lenea or not? This woman has the expressionless expression on her face just as Lenea did when I was just another customer for her 5 years ago. Am I seeing the 5 years passed on her face and posture, or is she somebody else?

Temple at Knossos restored as imagined by Arthur Evans

 

I ask her her name, she tells me a totally different name, of course, I had changed her name in my blog not to disclose her identity fully and I had taken no information to save at the time. I know that his son’s death in the sea was a unique piece of information she had shared with me. I ask her whether she has children. She tells me with a dismissive, suppressed yet real shade of sorrow that passes over her face that she had a son, who died in the sea… I tell her I am sorry again and ask her how is her daughter doing in Chania? She is perplexed with how I know this information. That is her! My Lenea. I give her a hug although she is still hesitant in receiving the hug. I remind her of everything I had shared with her from five years ago. I can see with each detail I share with her, the veil of not knowing on her face is torn a bit more and her eyes are filled with the implicit memories of affection, appreciation, and delight.

Darker colored patches on these pictures are what has been excavated, the lighter painted sections are completed by the archeologists/artists.

 

She is chatting like a machine in Greek, ¼ of which I can barely understand. As I am taking the last sip of my orange juice I show her my blog, unfortunately, I cannot get to the entries from 2011 that were mainly about her. But she understands with my broken Greek that I have a travel diary on the internet and her pictures from 5 years ago are there. I take her address, her phone number, her daughter’s phone number, and their full names to communicate. She takes my phone number. I tell her I will come back tomorrow and bring her something (I will find a gift for her from those that I brought to give to my contacts in Greece and Turkey). She tells me about a monastery/healing center she visited in Mitillini, across from Ayvalik in Turkey after her thyroid surgery, which most likely sent her into hypothyroid state. Now she is feeling much better!  Her shack is still full of orthodox church paraphernalia. I am sure this is her way of survival after losing a son to the sea and a daughter to who knows what… I will return between 6-7 pm on my way back to Rethymno and purchase portakalia and mandarini (oranges and tangerines) from her. She gives me 5-6 fresh tangerines to eat on the way to Iraklio and tells me “drive slowly” just like any Cretan mother would do. Somehow I have a very soft spot in my heart for this woman.  

4-5 feet high amphoras from Knossos used for storing olive oil and wine

 

I head to Iraklio, content. Signage in Greece, more so in Crete is horrible. Except for main highways, they are either hidden amid roadside overgrown some very pretty bushes, or plain nonexistent. After an hour and a half from my departure from Lenea, I find myself in a turn off for Archanes. I decide to take it exhausted from looking for Knossos! I will discover later on, the place with lots of busses 15 minutes back was in fact Knossos, with no signs whatsoever… After all, as one of my friends had said “I have had the most unforgettable experiences when I most felt lost!”, ditto, let’s see what this turn off will gift me with.

Arhanes, a charming village hiding Minoan treasures

First of all, I learn in this village divided into lower and upper halves that Minoan existence doesn’t consist of only the Knossos palace. There are much more real remains of this very advanced culture (except for their human sacrifice business) I discover in this very village. Apparently, Minoans were the first people making wine from grapes, the vines of which along with olive orchards embroider the hillsides in various shades and shapes as the road meanders upwards toward the top, the upper village.

Other restored paintings from Knossos 

I park the car away from the town square, still in walking distance. I get a fistiki (pistachio) ice cream and start strolling the town. All the tavernas my travel book mentions are in the middle of the town square, nothing too interesting. As I continue strolling, across from the square, I spot a kafennia; a unique café designated to men’s use in Greece, more in the country side, I assume. In Turkey, they are called “kahve” the same word for coffee. Men use these places to gather, chat, drink tea or coffee, and/or play all kinds of games. I guess men know how to take care of the child within better than us women! I know that anybody can tell I am a tourist, so I may be tolerated despite my gender. In fact there is a blond woman inside, so I walk in.  On the deck of the kafennia where all the customers that is the men are sitting, to the right there are two men, one looks like in his 70s, the other in his 50s, they are playing backgammon (tavli in Greek, tavla in Turkish), a common kaffenia/kahve game in addition to card games. The older one looks up at me questioningly, I greet them with a “Kali mera” and ask if it is OK for me to sit at the kafennia.

Throne room and its restored wall paintings in Knossos

He nods, not clear if he approves of this or not. After all he is also just a customer, I situate myself at a table facing the 9 men occupying 4 tables in 2s and 3s in an animated conversation, mostly talking together; how familiar, I had to learn not to talk over other people at age 16 when I was an exchange student to Wisconsin! The only woman in the kafennia walks toward me; turns out she is the waitress! A female wait-staff for an all-men place, this is different than Turkish kahves, that’s the European difference I guess.

The Knossos Palace is several stories high as excavated in some parts of it.  

I am pleased to discover that I can understand more and more of what others say as I listen to them. Since this is a public space and they are talking pretty loudly, another Greek/Cretan feature, I feel OK with eavesdropping. However, still, I can only understand a phrase here, a sentence there with many words, but cannot put them together to understand even the topic of the conversation. It is, to my surprise, much easier to understand the lyrics of songs, perhaps because Greek songs are almost invariably about love, you and I; and I have a pretty good vocabulary over those concepts from childhood on. Especially my paternal grandmother Resmiye had a unique affection toward me due to knowing that her name would live into the future through me and I heard lots and lots of words and phrases of love and affection in Greek not only from her but also from my parents and other relatives.
 

Fig Tree in the yard of the Knossos Palace

 

The tavli players are done, I guess the older one beat the younger one since the latter has the tavla box under his arm, which is traditional at least in Turkey: The winner tells the loser “take this to school, learn how to play then come back for a game”. I try to ask the older one who won,  who is leaving following the younger one, who already left. All of a sudden there is full silence on the deck. All the chattering men stopped their conversation trying to listen to what this weird woman with a computer, typing away all this long while sipping her coffee has to say! With my limited Greek vocabulary and the man’s no English, we cannot communicate, but he leaves with a big smile on his face. As I leave the kafennia and greet the remaining men with “Na eistai kala”, they respond in a chorus, hospitable rural Cretans, thank you for gifting me with spending some time with my grandmother and her family with your conversation. 

Finally, I find Knossos! Just as my travel book is clear about the controversy about this place, I find myself in a mixture of feelings. On one hand, the entire complex is impressive if not inspiring.

Restorations done by Arthur Evans' team somehow was disconcerting at Knossos Palace

On the other hand, it looks like fake with all the interventions the British archeologist Arthur Evans made at least some based on his own interpretation and imagination of what was known or not. Finally, this is also all about the ruling rich: the more I see of ancient ruins, the more I become aware that these remains tell more the history of the ruling class since the masses of people built these structures but did not necessarily enjoy them. Just like, 2 millenia from now, the banks and sky scrapers that corporates build might remain but none of the squatting communities, slums, falling apart tenement buildings will survive such lengths of time… I leave Knossos with a “I’ve come, seen, done” feeling.
 

On my way back, I stop by Lenea, she has my bags ready for me

 

I make it to Lenea’s place at 6:45, I had promised her that I would stop by between 6 and 7. She shows me her watch and tells me she was going to leave at 7. She is visibly happy to see me. She has prepared a bag of fresco tangerines and a bag of lemons for me, She wants to give me a bottle of liquor, I prefer a jar of honey. She refuses money, I don’t know if it is for real or not, I refuse to take them for free, I win. She tells me oranges today are not good for me. Tomorrow she will go through her orchards and pick fresh oranges for me. She gives me a last minute jar of bergamot jam to take to my friends with best regards from her. This is the elegance of a Cretan rural woman’s generous heart. Thus, as I leave for Rethymno for the day, I am convinced the highlight of my day was the two hours I spent at the Arhenas kaffenia and my time spent with Lenea. That is, human connection wins one more time as it always will for me.

Last pleasantry of my day is to stop at a tavern on top of a hill to enjoy the vistas...