Hania

According to our tried and trusted friend, The Lonely Planet's Greece, the number one highlight to see in the Greece is the Akropolis. (They especially recommend catching it under a full moon... Emily and I felt fortunate enough just to find it...) Number two on their list, though, is Hania Old Town. Hania is on the northern shore of western Crete and is the 3rd largest city on the island. The center of the city is a modest square with a modest fountain (we were clearly underwhelmed at this point) that leads you to the most picturesque harbor I've ever even seen pictures of. Every picture book and calendar of Greece has at least 1 if not 2 shots of this harbor.


With its half-circle arch of colorful homes and shops around the clear blue harbor and the old Venetian Wall built across the water, closing in the harbor to a small opening, Hania Old Town affords the unique opportunity of being able to walk in a full circle around it, capturing a truly incredible view from anywhere you stand or look. Whether you're standing on the wall between the Mediterranean and the harbor, looking in at the restaurants spilling onto the sidewalks, or looking out at the colorful boats heading towards the lighthouse, it seems too freaking cute to be true.

Our hostel, Villa Venezia (in blue letters) was right on the harbor, smack in the center (I tell you, I can really pick 'em). With our quaint little room (though whose mattresses felt like cardboard) looking into an adorable cobblestone alley adorned with a pink flowering plant and framed by a stone archway inscribed in Greek and Latin.

Intending to check out the lighthouse first, we found another exit of our building that led to this alley instead of the harbor. Our somewhat suspish innkeeper had given us a brochure of things to see in Hania, but nowhere on it was "wander up and down its colorful labyrinthine alleyways practically in tears of awe and joy", which is too bad for the brochure because that's all we did all morning.





In between wandering into handmade craft stores and staying away from the shlock-city alleys (after deeming it such in disgust, I immediately hoped the relatively fluent shopkeepers' English vocab didn't include "shlock-city"), we again took countless pictures: a doorway here, a vined staircase there, or, most notably, a window display whose picture turn out to be less memorable than the bird that shat on my head as the photo was being taken.
Emily said that as soon as I cried "What was THAT!", she knew.
It took me a second later, when I turned my head up, only to see a disappearing bird tail on the windowsill above.



I promptly dumped our water bottle on my hair, and, if I do say so myself, was a damn good sport about the whole thing, as my demeanor clearly demonstrates. Good times.





Our best find by far was a 16th century synagogue. The place was modest, fit snug into the surrounding buildings and alleyways, but draped in greenery, its mood somber and spiritual. It was cool and quiet, and felt even a little spooky, as if it hadn't been used in years.


On the way back to the courtyard with a lily-pad-
covered pool of goldfish and a cracked stone tablet of Hebrew with plants growing up between, we read the plaque dedicating the place to the entire congregation of 300 that was taken away by Nazis in 1944.

We wandered in reverence before talking to the curator with remarkably good English, whom we have since named "Joe" for lack of any knowledge of what his name actually is. Joe told us abut how the synagogue was founded by Jews who had been in Crete for so many generations they were considered Hellenistic, and about how after the population was taken away, the building fell into disrepair. It was revived by a British botany enthusiast and is aided by a PhD candidate, plu this Joe guy, a native Greek who spent much of his childhood in Rhode Island. He moved back to Hania where he'd visited his grandparents growing up because, well, wouldn't you?

We totally dug Joe and tried to get him to come to lunch with us, but being tied to the synagogue for the day, he gave us a recommendation for a place that was once a Turkish Bath instead. After wandering into the kitchen to ask if someone would please mind serving us, we had yet another delicious meal (me, however, not brave enough to eat Emily's whole anchovies). At the end, for reasons wholly unbeknownst to us, we were brought a small carafe of a chilled clear liquid, 2 little shot glasses and two dense, moist clumpy cakes. Eyebrows cocked, we delicately sniffed the liquid, tentatively ruled out it being ouzo, the local version of wine and upon tasting it, we conclusively determined it to be vodka. We suspiciously looked around the restaurant (no one else had any), checked out watches (it was barely after noon), and took a brief moment to confirm that we were not, in fact, in Russia.

Unfortunately, the cake wasn't that good, nor was the vodka when sipped (does one even sip vodka? out of shot glasses? really?) but by no means were we going to do vodka shots in a former Turkish Bath at noon. But, then again, we figured this was Greek hospitality at its finest, and, as they (apparently) say, let it "wash our necks".

The rest of the day's highlights included the lovely lighthouse, a beach filled with, oh let's call them "vivacious" youngsters (not to mention a particularly unabashed naked man), and at least 2 impromptu naps.

I feel we are experiencing Greece to its fullest.