My last day of
enjoying Crete and Greece. Again I have a lot of difficulty getting out of
town! I end up on the old road to Iraklio, I don’t mind that for a while. It
takes me through the coastal village of Arcadi, a totally commercialized beach
village. I wonder how long it would take to get to Iraklio following the road that goes through every single village: I resolve that will not be very wise. Finally by asking multiple people how to get to the National Highway to
meet with Lenea one more time, I manage to get on it (mind you, no signs that
would have led me to it!). Lenea will have oranges for me and I have a lavender
soap bar for her, I wonder if I will be able to convey to her “to use when you
want to smell nice” since their olive oil based soap bars are lovely with the
way they make the skin feel, but no scent, all the better perhaps. I also want
to buy from her another jar of honey as a gift to my brother, who is crazy
about variety and quality in honey.
My goal is to stop at
one of the hilltop tavernas on the way to Iraklio to have my morning coffee and
I do find one at the perfect spot! Where I sit, I look at the last hill rising
before us higher than the hill we are on. However, to my right is a wide and
shallow cove that opens us up to the Cretan Sea with all its vastness. The
horizon is fuzzy due to the haze in the air. The sky has a pale blue color
today. To the left is what I think of when the Aegean comes to my mind: A
series of six bays and coves of various sizes that I can count from the
foothill down the ravine all the way to Iraklio I assume.
The view to the east of the tavern I stopped at to have coffee before meeting Lenea again
Along the first deep and narrow emerald colored cove is a village, I wonder if it is one of the commercialized ones, too. The coastal line is carved and curved by mini islands, peninsulas of various sizes and shapes from a drop from the heavens, to the generous bosom of a woman, to twin cups out of a mother’s kitchen to a commanding hill embracing the water with clear confidence. After yesterday’s “furtuna” (I will learn from Lenea to be storm in Greek, firtina in Turkish), the Aegean is back to a serene, calm mood. Her warm blue face is interrupted only with slate blue streak created by the boats
dancing on her bosom from one island to another…
My last Café Hellinico metrio in Greece for this visit
I bet the breeze caressing my face is cooling her off gently under the passionate Cretan sun, too. After enjoying my coffee as I devour the vistas to the east and west, I am ready to head to Lenea’s shop. ON the way out I notice the old man sitting on a chair in front of the taverna. He is leaning on his ace between his legs. He is almost folded over it, yet his head is up revealing his wrinkled, forever tanned skin that has been scorched for who knows how many decades under the relentless Cretan sun. I greet him with a humble smile, but no response. Does he hear, is he depressed, is he lonely, is he cursing on us tourists wearing these "shameless" shorts and tank tops, is he thinking the end of the world must be approaching just like my grandfather would have thought and cursed? I give him silent loving kindness wishes and wave at him as I drive away. Did I see a subtle curiosity on his face?
Along the first deep and narrow emerald colored cove is a village, I wonder if it is one of the commercialized ones, too. The coastal line is carved and curved by mini islands, peninsulas of various sizes and shapes from a drop from the heavens, to the generous bosom of a woman, to twin cups out of a mother’s kitchen to a commanding hill embracing the water with clear confidence. After yesterday’s “furtuna” (I will learn from Lenea to be storm in Greek, firtina in Turkish), the Aegean is back to a serene, calm mood. Her warm blue face is interrupted only with slate blue streak created by the boats
dancing on her bosom from one island to another…
I bet the breeze caressing my face is cooling her off gently under the passionate Cretan sun, too. After enjoying my coffee as I devour the vistas to the east and west, I am ready to head to Lenea’s shop. ON the way out I notice the old man sitting on a chair in front of the taverna. He is leaning on his ace between his legs. He is almost folded over it, yet his head is up revealing his wrinkled, forever tanned skin that has been scorched for who knows how many decades under the relentless Cretan sun. I greet him with a humble smile, but no response. Does he hear, is he depressed, is he lonely, is he cursing on us tourists wearing these "shameless" shorts and tank tops, is he thinking the end of the world must be approaching just like my grandfather would have thought and cursed? I give him silent loving kindness wishes and wave at him as I drive away. Did I see a subtle curiosity on his face?
She wraps my cheese to take with me and gives me a few tangerines along with my oranges. We get into this fake, polite push and pull over paying. I win, she is happy, I am happy, I take a few more pictures of her, I get her address, this time, I will develop some photographs for her and mail them to her as soon as I get back to the US. GPS loses its confidence and competence in Crete as well. Although I found the Archeological Museum and entered it into my GPS, it takes me to a place that has nothing to do with Archeological Museum. Locals are not much help this time, either, they lead me to the History Museum instead of Archeological Museum.
Of course in their minds museums are for tourists, not for natives, how would they know the difference between two museums. In an attempt to park, I find myself in a narrow dead end street that they call “steno” here. Another sweet Cretan woman comes to my help. She helps me park my car safely and tells me exactly how to get to the museum I want to go to, and on foot, too. As a result, I get the chance to walk through the Lions’ Square, in which there is a fountain the basis of which is made up by four lion heads. This must be the center of tourist attraction since it is almost like an open air bazaar.
The Archeological
Museum of Heraklion can indeed compete with the National Archeological Museum
in Athens, except that this one is dedicated to artifacts excavated in Crete,
but with a history that goes all the way back to 6-7,000 BC. It is hard to
believe that as early as 3000 BC, Minoans were reaching out to eastern
Mediterranean and Asia Minor with their sailing ships, hence the terminology Minoan
culture was a thallatocracy (marine dominance) in its peak. Something that I
had noticed in Athens as well, the statues of Archaic times have features of
Egyptian Art rather than the fine features of the Classical Greek style. Interestingly,
though the Minoan culture created such fine, intricate art in their jewelry, in
their pottery and frescos.
Reproduction of wall paintings: Dark shades represent what was excavated, light shades what was imagined based on the excavated material
As promised by the
on-site staff at Knossos Palace yesterday, there are huge, restored frescos
that cover the walls of the main court on the second floor. These paintings and
even some wall carvings are recreated ones by archeologists/artists following
the clues obtained from the excavated original remains. Especially wall
carvings and huge big amphoras completed this way are very impressive. I don’t
remember having seen this technique in other museums, I wonder if this is a
method Cretan archeologists adapted from Art Evans’ method of recreating the
Knossos palaces.
Golden jewelry from all eras of Cretan cultures: No wonder Odyssey is full of descriptions of serving wine out of golden cups
Moving on, I find myself in the jewelry rooms: The gold jewelry is stunning, I take pictures of them for my daughter who is crazy about antique and ancient gold jewelry. It is difficult to imagine how they were able to make such delicate and fine jewelry. By the time I am out of the museum it is almost 4 pm.
Golden jewelry from all eras of Cretan cultures: No wonder Odyssey is full of descriptions of serving wine out of golden cups
Moving on, I find myself in the jewelry rooms: The gold jewelry is stunning, I take pictures of them for my daughter who is crazy about antique and ancient gold jewelry. It is difficult to imagine how they were able to make such delicate and fine jewelry. By the time I am out of the museum it is almost 4 pm.
The only additional
site I will be able to visit today is Anogia, which is a mountain village with
some charm, the travel book reports. I love the drive, the road is like a snake
licking now the left face of the mountain, then the right side of the next
cliff cutting through a beautiful valley. Finally I find myself in a village on
top of a mountain overlooking down at the Rethymno Bay in the distance. Initially,
I go to the upper town since I was told more authentic stuff will be up there. Right
on target: I find a neighborhood kafennia, run by a woman. She is serving food
as well. I eat the best roasted leg of lamb served in boiled lamb juice with
potatoes.
One of the taverns in Anogia, the last mountain village I visit in Crete
Treating it with a generous amount of lemon juice does it! I am in heaven with the delicious layers of flavors. Across the street is an old couple sitting on chairs in front of their door. They are both in black attire. They look so much like my grandmother and grandfather. As I eat my lamb, I also watch them affectionately, going back and forth between the moment and my childhood. Anogia brings together everything I have been experiencing in Greece but specifically Crete. I am glad I have the hour and a half of driving before rolling back into town, Rethymno, to reflect upon my three weeks in Greece, but more so the last two weeks in Crete. Exploring my roots had never crossed my mind some ten years ago. I was well-rooted in Turkish culture and being from Crete was a nostalgic, romantic nuance of my existence in the world. I discovered it wasn’t so. With its good and bad, I discovered especially during these last two weeks that what I grew up with was more Cretan/Greek than Turkish.
Last sunset from Sofia's balcony in Rethymno
The animated communication style in my family, the dedications to education as far as you can go, the devotion to one’s family and children, the gender equality while expecting men to be strong to protect and provide for their family, the pride with which people carry themselves that perhaps come from the Minoan grandeur on and on… These two weeks confirmed for me that I have always been a mixture of Turkish and Cretan with the good and bad. With my last 18 years in America and resolve to preserve the good of my roots and adding onto it the good from my new culture, I am in the making of a true mutt as Americans call it: A mixture of Turkish, Greek, and American. Thank you Fulbright and Greece for giving me this gift. I will treasure it all my life.
One of the taverns in Anogia, the last mountain village I visit in Crete
Treating it with a generous amount of lemon juice does it! I am in heaven with the delicious layers of flavors. Across the street is an old couple sitting on chairs in front of their door. They are both in black attire. They look so much like my grandmother and grandfather. As I eat my lamb, I also watch them affectionately, going back and forth between the moment and my childhood. Anogia brings together everything I have been experiencing in Greece but specifically Crete. I am glad I have the hour and a half of driving before rolling back into town, Rethymno, to reflect upon my three weeks in Greece, but more so the last two weeks in Crete. Exploring my roots had never crossed my mind some ten years ago. I was well-rooted in Turkish culture and being from Crete was a nostalgic, romantic nuance of my existence in the world. I discovered it wasn’t so. With its good and bad, I discovered especially during these last two weeks that what I grew up with was more Cretan/Greek than Turkish.
The animated communication style in my family, the dedications to education as far as you can go, the devotion to one’s family and children, the gender equality while expecting men to be strong to protect and provide for their family, the pride with which people carry themselves that perhaps come from the Minoan grandeur on and on… These two weeks confirmed for me that I have always been a mixture of Turkish and Cretan with the good and bad. With my last 18 years in America and resolve to preserve the good of my roots and adding onto it the good from my new culture, I am in the making of a true mutt as Americans call it: A mixture of Turkish, Greek, and American. Thank you Fulbright and Greece for giving me this gift. I will treasure it all my life.
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| Till the next time dear land of beautiful sunsets, incredible history and humanism... |
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