9
But then arc lights, spotlights, neon noise, dock noise, engine noise, voice noise, noise noise - it was all too much. So just to get away from the busy, busy seaport Zorbus threaded her way a few short miles in darkness through the empty mysterious night until, at last, she paused near an old stone wall, braked and gazed and listened. Softness and silence, well, all except for crickets and grasses rustling in the undergrowth and flitting shadows. The night, the sounds, the stars. The Greece!
What an experience it would be to simply park and sleep in safety and wake and carry on next day. But where? Staring hard into the night right and left to see if all was clear they saw what seemed to be the entrance to a car park a short distance ahead and on the other side of the road was and a little to one side was a garden and large house with steps up to the entrance. Hush. Could it be? The sound of their brains whirring cut the silence until it hit them. It was one of the car parks to the astonishing Knossos, the legendary palace of King Minos, the myth of the Minotaur, Ariadne and the Muse.
A nightwatchman sat in an old armchair gently singing to himself, happy and sleepy, a half-empty bottle braced between his feet. Ben got out and walked over.
In a respectful whisper he asked, 'Please excuse me sir, but might it be alright if we parked here for just one night?' The man smiled and waved his hand with a shrug in a friendly gesture. They couldn't believe their good fortune. Their first night in Crete would be spent beneath a glittering dome in the perfumed garden of the historical Villa Ariadne, home of Sir Arthur Evans, and neighbouring a Minoan palace.
Then a green and sunny sunrise, a glinting dusty car park, this was Crete in its Sunday best. Kriti! The island, largest in Greece, separating the Aegean from the Libyan Sea and marking the boundary between Europe and Africa. Its mountains - the White Mountains, the Idi and the Dikti, rise in its centre, they are entrancing. Its plateaux are split by deep gorges which eventually become fertile valleys. The landscape is widely varied. In one place harsh and barren, in another wooded and gentle. Its villages are swathed in greenery. Olive trees, orange groves and vineyards. Old stone farmhouses, monasteries and groups of picturesque houses perch on mountain ridges; castles and chapels, forgotten on steep slopes. Shores, often inaccessible, lined with menacing rocks, and very many, many beaches. Oh yes, Ben has a thing for Crete. The Minoan history, the museums, the art and literature, the sea, the narrow city alleyways, the plateias, fountains, houses, palaces but most of all, the warmth of the people.
By seven the traffic was already building as they watched from the nearest kafeneion, imaginatively called, Kafeneion Adriadne, sipping gratifying bowls of strong black Cretan coffee and scrutinising the old map of the island trying to work out their next direction. Friends in Falmouth, Sarah and Patrick, had told them of a place on the south east coast where they had worked the previous summer packing cucumbers. It would be quiet, only slightly touristy and full of life. It is called Ierapetra and so Ben and Kevin agreed to make it their next destination 'According to the map, there's a major highway connecting us with the nearest large town which is Agios Nikolaos.'
Kevin was only half listening and already nodding. Patiently, he pointed towards the entrance and a very large sign indicating a left turn for Agios Nikolaos. They were as good as there. At the entrance they presented their good friends, the surprised and grateful car park attendant, with two large bars of chocolate and their thanks. He nodded, raised his cap and gave them his good wishes for a safe journey. They pulled out and in no time were humming along the tarmac aiming for Agi Nik.
Looking down over the clean blue waters of the Gulf of Malia from the heights of the rocky barren coast road during a cheerful, optimistic and placid daybreak made it hard to realise that three and a half thousand years before, the tiny Aegean island of Thera, now known as Sandorini, only a hundred kilometres out to sea, was devastated by one of the worst natural disasters since the Ice Age. A really huge volcanic eruption sending enormous tsunamis exploding and thundering down along the very coast line they were on and the subsequent destruction is believed to be part of the reason for the actual demise of the Crete's Minoan civilisation. The inhabitants must have known the worst possible horrors. It was impossible for Kevin and Ben to imagine how terrifying it must have been for those people.
On the Zorbus ran until it came to Agios Nikolaos, a town set around a supposedly bottomless salt lake where, according to mythology, the goddesses Athena and Artemis used to bathe. It is said to be connected to the Theran volcano. Agios Nikolaos was once a most idyllic setting but now it seemed completely over-exploited. They didn't stay. A handful of minutes later they were aiming back along the main track heading south toward the site of the ancient Minoan town of Gournia. It seemed to Ben the Minoans were a bit hippy-ish in their outlook. They were big lovers of music and dance, in tune with nature and open-air living without fortifications or armies. But there were visitors wandering everywhere so the Zorbus kept going until a right-hand turn took it towards the coastal town of Ierapetra.
Ierapetra is another bustling supply centre for the region's farmers and surrounding districts. The Zorbus arrived in time for long-awaited coffees in mid- morning sunshine. Ben and Kevin, still dozy after taking in faces, language, clothes and poses, sipped in silence and at ease.
A group of brightly-dressed Romani were loading up their open-backed trucks with chickens, dogs, carpets, boxes and one lovely old chestnut donkey, on the road again. As the convoy passed, the man driving the leading truck must have noticed the name Villa Zorbus over the side door because his face lit up, he flashed a smile and gave the thumbs up. Kevin waved to the donkey and called out, 'Hope he enjoys the trip.' The driver had a word with the two girls sitting by his side and all three flashed their toothy smiles. Kevin continued to wave. Ben joined in and then the three in the truck began to wave and soon the air was filled with fluttering waves as though they'd all known each other for years.
When the gypsies had gone Kevin and Ben went straight to the Dionysus Restaurant of countless flies and sour-faced expressions and ordered two beers, ratatouille, meat balls and fried potato slices all to be helped down with the customary two chunks of bread.
'One thing surprising about sleeping in the van is how comfortable it's turned out to be after all,' Kevin paused briefly while watching a young lady walk towards the counter. 'Perhaps we aught to consider taking a room for a night or two and treat ourselves to the occasional shower, a change of routine and thereby slowly ease into Crete whilst we still have the money for such luxuries. If it turns out to be a mistake, it will serve to spur us into finding work. What say thee, Poseidon?'
'It's still my intention to find work in a local restaurant or bar and get some money to pad out our wallets in case of emergency,' said Ben. A moment of silence, some sharp eye contact, then bursts of laughter with shaking heads in disbelief at their pathetic pretentions, 'Yes, I agree. Lots of pretty girls in Crete, aren't there?'
Strolling round the old town considering places to stay, they bumped into an English speaking guy who recommended the Cretan Villa run by an English couple called Steve and Sue. It was easy to find and the moment they saw it they nodded. It was a very old, thick-stoned, limewashed building with rooms encircling a main central area. They were offered black tea and introductions to Geordies Sue and Steve, a John who looked alcoholic and a Dave who was a painter and at least five other people who were staying there; all young, knowledgeable, laid-back and friendly.
Sue was just like an old friend, 'Should you decide to stay you'll have full use of the hot shower, the kitchen as well as the sun roof and, of course, the weather is lovely.'
Ben and Kevin exchanged glances, considering.
Ben was the first to speak, 'Well, we're in a camper and it just seems a bit unnecessary and even wasteful, in some ways.' They exchanged silent glances again. Kevin stared at the afternoon sunshine through the open door.
He sighed, smiled and nodded, 'OK. I give in. Just the shower room then.'
After tea and off-loading their bags, no time was wasted in making for the volcanic ash black sanded beach and within seconds there were two new dolphins in the warm clear turquoise blue Mediterranean Pelagos. It seemed like years since Ben was last in the sea and his whole body celebrated in gratitude by almost drowning itself. He collapsed onto the warm shore snorting, gasping for breath, delighted.
The evening was a stroll past peaceful waterfront tavernas, on the one hand watching the fishermen prepare their squid bait before the night's fishing, and on the other dodging kids on suicide bikes zipping between pedestrians and manic drivers of barely-legal motor cars, in the knowledge that somewhere towards the setting sun end of the island, waiting beneath the orange and darker hues of the Mediterranean evening, lay the distant and Pliocenic Samaria Gorge.
Back at the Cretan Villa a heavy game of backgammon was in progress and since Kevin loved the game Ben took a shower, put on cleanish clothes and settled down to write his words. Kevin had been right on track. The opportunity to enjoy a shower, do a little laundry and stretch in a real bed was extremely luxurious.
Their solid, timeless room had the traditional arched doorway, a wooden panelled door, wooden panelled ceiling and one wooden shuttered window. The walls were lumpy, plastered and creamy. There was a wooden bookcase and traditionally-patterned crimson woollen wall hangings, a big old wooden wardrobe, a hand basin, mirror, two bedside tables and a red tiled floor. Two beds, covered in crisp white sheets and comforting woollen blankets, stood facing the door and although the room was not big, it was a happy alternative to the van and much more roomy. Thanks again to Kevin, definitely a good idea.
The communal toilet was typically Greek. Traditional indifference to poorly maintained drains demanded a sign above the paper roller, 'Please. Do not flush paper in the toilet bowl. Instead please place waste paper in the bin provided.' As you can imagine, this would cause all kinds of distasteful grimaces anywhere else, but because most of the guests there were tolerant and liberal in their attitudes, everyone took this in their stride, making sure to wrap their waste paper in more waste paper and make the pong insignificant. Ben never did find out whose responsibility it was to dispose of all the stomach churning debris and he hoped they wouldn't take turns.
Their first night of luxury was spent making mental notes of buildings and place names as usual, pretending it was for fun but as we know it was in case they lost their way. They strolled into the Yiorgos Bar intending to try the local ouzo but that led to them enjoying several tiny glasses of straight ouzo with a few beer chasers and chatting outside with others who were staying at the villa and had made that bar their local. They were all generally broke, living a day-to-day existence and glad of the new faces and news from Britain. They all complained of the living death of cucumber packers, olive packers and marble quarriers, yet they did it to live the Mediterranean way.
Ben accidentally dropped his glass onto the pavement with an ear-splitting crash which was deafening in the hollow square yet no one paid the slightest attention. After that they thought it might be time for the Taverna Irene, some spiced meat stew and yoghurt. All quite delicious and very cheap. Afterwards, a contented stroll back to the Cretan Villa for an early night.
At lights out there, one solitary mosquito piercingly zinging around in the darkness besieging Kevin but almost ignoring Ben. And since their room was right next to the communal area and kitchen he was woken from time to time by the exuberant cries from those in the Backgammon Championships Premier League.
They woke without any idea of how long they'd slept but guessed they must have crashed by eleven at the latest.
It has been said that prolonged exposure to beautiful weather has a positive effect on the human psyche which might explain why they began to ease up, slow down and drift through the time of their travels. How could they not feel good on those brand new days of light and warmth.
Next morning, through the window to the street came the chattering of half a dozen school kids on their way to school. Just as Kevin was getting dressed, one of the kids, a cheeky little girl, grinned and waved, 'Good Morning, Mr. English.'
Kevin bowed and said, 'Good Morning Miss and how you are?'
Scurrying then, faster down the lane the kids collided and skipped, hands covering their mouths in embarrassment and jollyness. Ben came in from the bathroom to see what all the noise was about just in time to catch a wave as they all ran off.
It was time for the market, or so they assumed since no one they saw that morning owned a watch. The market square was like a scene from a Mexican painting with men sitting at tables in glaring sunshine and canopy shade, smoking their cigarettes over little cups of sweet black coffee accompanied by the inevitable glass of water, shielding their eyes from the sun with their hands, often calling 'Kalimera!' or throwing friendly insults or cat calls right across the square. All was slow and easy, almost still life. Kevin and Ben had coffee with Yiorgos in his taverna before a wander into the fruit market for more grapes, two fresh crusty loaves, coffee, cheap Greek marmalade, quarter kilo fresh fished prawns and a slab of Edam, totalling almost nothing.
Kevin boiled the eggs, sliced the bread, made the coffee and put the prawns on to simmer for their lunch at the beach. Over breakfast back at the Cretan Villa they met Gerry and Lorna from County Cork.
Asked if it were true the Irish moonshine whiskey, Potcheen, really was made from potatoes, Gerry shrugged, 'It is, if they can find potatoes, but during the Potato Famine they couldn't use the spuds because of the blight. Often they had to make do with melted down lead spoons. One taste was like a instant kick in the stomach, so it was.'
There were times, writing in his jotter at the Cretan Villa, when it became quite usual for Ben to find a fly riding on his pen, with another tickling its way over his dome through what was left of his hair. He'd try to keep as still as possible and resist the urge to shoo it away. He imagined the fly wandering through long stalks of brown hair, pulling himself through over warm ground. He wondered if they knew rainbows, walks by rivers and laughter of their own. It made him smile because it reflected the atmosphere in the friendly and open Cretan, making most things acceptable. The Irish couple were en route for Israel while Kevin and Ben were en route for the beach to snorkel.
There was a long two hour talk round the stone table after breakfast about grammar, Greek and English, and a listing of all the skin diseases, allergies, psychosomatic disorders and mosquito bites, 'when itchy make a cross over the bite with a finger nail to reduce irritation!' Kevin looked uncertain and confused.
He had christened the little one month old house kitten, Squeaker. It began playing in their room. Flitting and hopping around or hiding in their bags and even watching Ben drag the biro over the page or studying Kevin silently reading.
The time came for them to send off postcards to loved ones and Ben had one a little larger than his others so the lady in the Post Office insisted he pay a surcharge at which Kevin groaned and grimaced. Anyway, when it came to Kevin's turn, instead of him handing over his cards and being surcharged as Ben was, he simply bought a half dozen cheap stamps, stuck them in place and sent his cards off on an adventure of their own even though they were all as least as large as Ben's biggest. You can learn a lot about yourself when travelling.
There were only about thirty people at the beach and at least half were young and female and topless and happy to swim and splash about in the warm sea. Ben strapped on the diving mask and snorkel borrowed from good chum, John Vyvyan, back in Falmouth and approached the water. A deep breath, a plunge, a gasp and a speedy retreat as soon as he saw the armada of jellyfish lurking in the shallows. Anyway, after a brief discussion Kevin and Ben came to the conclusion there wouldn't be people in the sea if the jellyfish were dangerous. The sting is painful but probably harmless and with this in mind they decided it was safe enough to swim and it wasn't long before they were experiencing the world beneath the waves amongst a flotilla of sea bream, parrot fish, combers - dazzling gold, and even turquoise wrasses. Until that moment, Ben had only ever seen these fishes on a slab at Newlyn Fish Market but from that moment, any further relationship with fish would be different. There were all sizes, shapes and colours going about their gentle way often looking in curiosity at Kevin through his visor and no doubt wondering what on earth was wrong with humans. Why can't they forget their differences and just move on.
Yes, swimming amongst them was an honour and a respectful experience and the stillness wrapped him in enchantment. He watched a grey mullet digging itself in on the sea bed below stalks of grass floating like detached periscopes just below the surface oblivious to his prying eyes, and of course Ben's imagination took him flying through the air over mountains and valleys and thick forests. He wanted to reach down and stroke the trees. He sucked in seawater. Dying to cough, he had to get out and flop down gasping for air, coughing and laughing, glad to be in the warm again, and glancing at the lovely beauties stretched out on the beach soaking up the sun.
He must have fallen asleep because in wakening he was drifting along with old girlfriends, and considering how couples break up sometimes. The hardest time for him was when long distance made him break up with a girlfriend who was away at university in a city and he remembered the confusion and the hurt that came to them both from their final choice. She had often spoken of how much she wanted to take time out just for the two of them, in their own space; and how she could never be stifled, could never let anyone be possessive, and Ben felt just the same. If you care enough to make someone special in your life, how can you possibly keep a check on your feelings although perhaps feelings must be guided and at least you can be cautious. He could easily understand how she didn't want to be tied. After all, she was at university, living her life, discovering, exploring, and he didn't want it any other way but there were his needs to consider and he wanted to feel appreciated and regarded as special by someone special, a natural, simple preference by one for the other. If it happens, it happens. It cannot be forced. There was no need for rules but they couldn't go on living apart.
Kevin and Ben had Edam cheese, fresh crispy bread, grapes and sunshine for lunch on the beach. Just as Ben came to the end of his meal, he came to the end of a story he had visited throughout the trip so far. It was The Rainy Moon by Colette. The book was a gift from another friend Suzie, with instructions, 'Pass it on when you've read it. In fact write that on the inside cover. Everyone should read it.'
There was a John at the Cretan Villa who always wore a dark suit over a brightly coloured t-shirt. It turned out he was an accountant on a break which explained his constant drinking. With glass in hand his nose seemed always buried in a book and had he had just finished The Best of Rumpold, so he was really please when Ben gave him his Colette, 'Pass it on when you're ready.'
More swimming, sunning and leching, then a nap, a meander to watch the local kids shouting and fishing. They throw bread into the water, wait like statues, then gasp and shout, hardly able to contain their excitement when it's attacked and devoured by countless little fish acting far too much like Piranhas…the days were long and easy.
Back through the old Turkish quarter past a derelict mosque, along to the Cretan Villa for coffee and a baklava cake, sweet and sticky with honey and nuts and strangely, smelling of petrol. Let it roll.
In the communal room there were at least a dozen travellers surrounding the stone table swapping tales of foreign lands, dreams, jokes and probable exaggerations. There was one guy from Wigan who'd jabbed a nail into his foot only hours before and who might need attention but seemed more interested in quietly reading the label on the plain paper bag containing a pork chop for his supper, 'Lightly cooked: 7 mins. Well cooked: 10 mins.' Everyone smiled in harmony and sympathy. The gay guy was disgusted because of all the leaves covering the floor and he'd only just swept it; and most of the inmates wanted a shower; and the Irish couple's stew wasn't ready because the gas bottle was finally empty; and such was life at the happy Cretan Villa.
Kevin noticed a mouse or baby rat scurrying down the open wooden staircase and for at least the whole of the next hour everyone was engrossed in the new game of Find the Mouse, but as soon as the mouse became aware of the laughing, noisy posse it retreated right up into the bushes growing through the lattice-work forming the roof of the room. This growing roof of vines obviously let in the rain which in turn kept the mouse busy so Kevin propelled Squeaker up into the leaves and branches where he promptly disappeared, squeaking and toddling about in pursuit of his quarry until there was a sudden silence. They guessed the mouse had gone to ground and would not be seen again till morning. Eventually the kitten lost interest and became equally fascinated in flicking a cellophane wrapped tampon around the hall.
After a dinner of boiled prawns, grapes, fresh bread, marmalade, baklava and coffee, Ben felt fat again. Anyway, more games as the mouse reappeared and ran over Sue's foot down a hole in the kitchen floor cupboard but by then Ben was beyond reactions and was quite content just to sit and watch the antics of his fellow adventurers. Eventually a soapy scrub, a change into a special sweater Falmouth friend Julie had knitted for him out of string, and the Ierapetra night and the raki bars behind the Post Office were a must, and waiting for two happy campers.
There came a night when every bar, but every bar, was stuffed to bursting with the male population of the whole area glued to the monochrome TV screens watching the ball kicking game, although in the more exclusive bars it was in colour. Greece played with Spain, and Greece was winning one goal to nil. Uninterested, Ben wandered into a neighbouring bar where two guys and a girl were looking for Rooms and so, appreciating the comfort of the Cretan Villa, Ben introduced himself before taking them back to Yiorgo's bar to introduce them to Sue.
It was time for the Lighthouse Restaurant and a raki and a little socialising so Ben collected Kevin and off they went. They had only been in there a couple of minutes when in walked the three fellow explorers who promptly ordered supper and sent a couple of rakis over to their table with a nod and a smile making them feel even warmer than the rakis. Kevin bowed and raised his glass to them before he and Ben settled in overlooking the harbour, sailing along on the river of friendly fun.
The owner spoke English at a gallop; a stream of words like a foreign language. He'd lived in London on the city fringe and proudly invited Ben and Kevin to take a look around his brightly-lit restaurant.
'So where you from?'
'Liverpool.'
'Good football'
'The best,' said Ben, not having a clue.
'Inglan. Yes. I pee all over Inglan.'
'Excuse me. I don't think I understand.'
'My uncle has a restaurant in Liverpool. I pee to London, I pee to Manchester, I pee to Plymouth. I pee all over…I like…but too much wet! Man over there? He also Inlish.'
Leaning, carefully casually against a wall, was a rancorous, coiffured, brightly coloured, well-honed, self-consumed poser. In fact, he looked like a footballer waiting to be recognised. He started on about Moroccan dope prices whilst constantly checking himself out in any available reflective surface just like Derek back in the Fish Bar. He had to make sure he still looked pressed and clean. Strangely, for a man of his appearance, he had nothing at all of interest to say but just kept on talking and talking without taking a breath. They couldn't wait to get away so without excuses they walked off after promises to return the following evening to show the owner the very best recipe for preparing cheap meat. Kevin thought he recognised the cool guy as a macho-not-so- mucho, would-be-famous, first league footballing celebrity.
Back to Yiorgo's for nightcaps. Yiorgos was almost in slumber land so after their drinks they settled their bill. With pats on the back and cries of, 'Goodnight' and 'Dankyouverymuch', and 'Zeeyoutomorrow!' Yiorgos emptied the dregs of the evil fluid into their glasses and went upstairs to his wife.
George was still awake and quietly reading when they got back. He was making a determined effort to stay dry for a whole day. Kevin engaged him in Backgammon while Ben looked on. George told how once before in Ierapetra he had met a guy also from Falmouth. His name was Beau.
Both Kevin and Ben almost fell over. There was only one Beau in Falmouth and he was a very close friend, in fact boyfriend of Julie who had knitted the string sweater. Julie was also the mother of Sarah who had given them the farewell champagne and who had suggested Ierapetra after her own journey there the previous year! Weird! And Ben once worked with Beau in a Falmouth wine bar before trekking off to California. He was completely distracted by so much flash and sizzle from the past and without thinking squashed a mosquito, didn't want to, but did.
They began to feel a little wrecked after all the raki, or wrecky as it was becoming known, so they decided to wind down. But the talk returned to Beau and of how after work one day he'd simply walked out of the Wine Bar with a fistful of the takings and was never seen again. A complete change of character. After that he was hardly mentioned in certain circles although he had always been a good friend to most and they would not judge. It was time to let things rest. not judge. It was time to let things rest.
It was their last night in Ierapetra. Ben and Kevin chose an old kafeneion on the edge of the square in which to have their last meal in Ierapetra. They sat table near the window just outside the entrance. Two other guys, quite drunk, were seated on the table behind. The sea was shimmering, reflecting a raging moon. A little lady dressed in black seemed to be doing all the greeting, seating, cooking, table service, presenting of bills, clearing of tables, cleaning and relaying of tables. As she hobbled about you could see she was limping which made her running of the place all the more remarkable. She wasn't young either.
The two young men were growing noisier the more they drank, by now their table almost blocking the doorway, and they kept dropping their empty bottles over their shoulders and sniggering in a dizzy, sort of cross-eyed manner. The old lady went with pan and brush and cleared up the debris before bringing them two more beers. Each time this happened they found it extremely entertaining.
Kevin and Ben turned to see what was going on. Oblivious, one of the young men, drained his bottle and deliberately let it clatter on the ground. Now they were encouraging each other and openly laughing. The lady reappeared but this time she marched off into the darkness as though she'd had enough and the diners thought she must have given up.
But they were wrong, after a few minutes she reappeared with a tall athletic looking young man dressed entirely in black. He wore the traditional long black boots, the stivania, and a wide buckled belt. His thick, black, shoulder-length hair fell in ringlets and swept about as, very slowly and meaningfully, he walked over to the table of the two drunks and stood behind them in deafening silence, arms crossed with clenched fists, feet planted firmly stride as he looked over their heads and out to sea.
The rowdies shut up immediately, left a wad of Euros on their table and scuttled off down the road and out of sight, leaving drinks unfinished.
The man in black picked up the bundle of notes, went inside, kissed the old lady on her forehead, handed her the money and left.
When they got back to the Cretan they saw Sue sitting alone reading a letter. She smiled when they told her what had happened at their kafeneion.
'It's extremely rare but it has been known for there to be visiting unruly elements so the village has its own, er, Super Heroes on call. You can bet those two won't be back.'
She made them cocoa as a special treat and then sitting outside, they had a long talk, mainly about building relationships; about being in tune with someone you feel is special because of who they are; about the selflessness of true affection for someone whether they like you or not. They had no sooner said goodnight when it was time to greet the day.
Then it was into the sea at daybreak, a stroll to watch the excitement in two fishermen who'd caught a fish weighing less than a kilo but obviously large enough for hand shakes, congratulations and even a posed photograph. Kevin filled a plastic bag with sand for Sue's kitten to scrabble in and walked with Ben for a lovely last glass of local lemonade and honey, feeling the early glow from the early Kriti sun.