A Ferry and A Look at the Natives

Forgive me as these posts will not likely be chronological. We are here on day three, using free internet in the back of a restaurant in Hania... After a day's delay in Athens we are safely here in Hania, on the northern side of Western Crete. We spent the evening on a huge cruiser, sleeping like sailors in our bunks. Following the rambunction crowd's lead, we pulled up chairs to the edge of the deck for our late evening departure and slowly watched the lights of Pireus (Athen's port city for millienia) fade into pitch black. I recounted my favorite Roald Dahl sotry to Emily, where a man jumps into the ocean off a transatlantic liner, intending to be saved but is only witnessed by a crazy man whose testimony is written off. We spectulated how far from shore we could fall in and still swim to safety; our conclusion was "not far". The cruise provided for some excellent people-watching--mostly European tourists, some Greeks (August is when the locals return to their hometowns to reconnect and celebrate being Greek), and many young people armed with intense backpacks and sleeping bags. We have observed so far that 1) everyone in Europe smokes, 2) European women dress trendy at a much older age than American women bother (think hot pink heels that match a dress's trim, for heaven's sake), and 3) that European men are creepy. Well, that they are often attractive despite their greasy locks, but the older and less-accompanied they are, the creepier. We ate a delicious cheese pastry (enas, parakalo) and read under the orange moon before calling it a night.

We had (we thought) 2 roomates in our double-bunk cabin, complete with mini-bathroom and the most fantastic showerhead I have ever experienced. It practically misted you, its stream was so fine. If love could be personified (de-personified?) in bathroom appliance-form, this would have been it. Our roommates seemed to be two Greeks, a youngish mother with dyed auburn hair, and her adorable blonde daughter with a ridicuous quasi-mullet haircut. There's something about young children in a foreign tongue that makes you feel at once so inadequate and yet so enamored you briefly consider the consequences of international child abduction. Her mother opened up some sort of prepackaged Barbie goodie bag, much to her glee, and we surrupticiously (forgive the lack of english spell check) observed as she rifled through its contents. She settled on a dart gun (eerily resembling a black handgun) and we crossed the language barrier by speaking the international language: pretending to get repeated stricken with a dart and feigning dramatic death. It was quite fantastic.

We took advantage (as I have already adamantly referenced) of the shower after a hot, sticky, sunscreeny day in Athens, myself going first. I do my thing, dry off with a postage stamp-sized towel, emerge into our bitty room and was immediately concerned that I had somehow exited into the wrong room: I am horrifiedly witnessing an old Greek lady wrestling into a pair of panties. Apparently our new friends were sharing a bed, blessing us with roommate #5. I've read a bit about Greek culture, and this lady seemed to have possessed a few quirks they hold: 1) Voyeurism is kosher. Greeks apparently love their gossip (think My Big Fat Greek Wedding, I suppose) and the local news goes all-out (we watched cameras zoom in on a sobbing newly-widowed woman after the Madrid crash). They observe, they pry, they judge. All in good faith, of course. In such small quarters as we were, with strangers, most would avoid eye contact or engage in brief, miserable small talk for formality's sake, but with our newest friend I felt distinctly as though we were being acutely examined. Trait # 2) was passive-aggressive bossiness. Perhaps this is a trait--and do forgive me--among matriarchs everywhere, but watching her run the room from her little corner was quite amusing. When Emily kept her reading light on after the others were extinguished, she received indignant huffs in her direction. When the time came for our friend to wake (read: 4:30 am) before our wee-morning arrival, the time came for all of us to wake. And just like that, she disappeared from our lives as silently as she had entered.

In the dark by the harbor we befriended an English transplant (the local men are known for their foreign, once-tourist brides) with whom we rode the bus into town, who quite openly gave us the scoop. We passed a beautiful fish market and arrived in the square by the old Venetian Harbor by 7am. Much of Crete was inhabited and run by the Venetians (back before Italy was a unified country) for much of the second millenium, and this little harbor--home to our current hostel--is heart-meltingly picturesque. Sitting right along the edge of the harbor on the cobblestone pedestrian street, we ate an exquisite breakfast featuring fresh Greek yogurt and fruit as the sun rose along the beautiful buildings. (Emily was too right, Greek yogurt does NOT disappoint.) We're about to explore and head out to the lighthouse--Greece's oldest!--a 1.5 km walk along the old harbor wall. Our British friend scolded us for not budgeting more time in this lovely town, but we're off to make the best of it.

(I can't access a USB port on this computer without super-awkwardly climbing into this desk, so this entry will be updated with photos ASAP!)

Lots of love,
Jessie