Sunday Morning Comin' down Part 5 Crete
Sunday Morning Comin' down Part 5 Crete
So it's mid December or a bit later and two rube guys are on the docks of Piraeus. Before, a friend, Francoise, helped us navigate our way onto a ferry in Brindisi. But this sweet funny french girl wasn't around. We are looking at a bunch of ships. A bunch of docks. And we don't speak Greek. And we don't read it either. We were smart enough to recognize a ticket office. A white, wooden structure trimmed in blue. I was overwhelmed so Stats took on the job of trying to find out the ship to Israel and whether our eurorail pass would get us onboard. Ehhh. He came back in a bit. Yeah...there was a ship went to Israel...but our eurorail passes were no good. The cost...one way...was outside our budget. Not to mention roundtrip. Fuck it. Might have been our first time getting blocked on where we wanted to go in a few weeks. "But, the guy said our eurorail pass would get us aboard the ferry to Crete" said Stats.
Crete? WtF? And yet, I did recall the daughter of a friend of my mother's had come to our house to visit with her mom. She'd been a traveler. And, she was stoned while she visited our home in Sellersburg. She told me about being in Crete and it was 'cool' like cool how you should smoke camel no filter cigarettes ...but only if you burned the blue marking and smoked it 'backwards'. Yeah. Crazy eyes. Far..faraway eyes.
We took a look at the ferry boat. Ok. It looked just like the one we'd taken to Korfu. What the hell. Where else were we going to go? So we went aboard. We had everything we owned on our back. Stat's tooth was better now. We didn't think to buy food or anything for the voyage. I'm not sure we were even concerned with how long the passage would take. Went on board and stashed our packs. (my duffle bag had become a real pain in the ass by now. It had one strap you looped over one shoulder and it dug in like a knife the longer you carried it. I flipped back from left shoulder to right..but it was a real drag. We explored the boat and watched as it pulled away from the docks. We started out inside sitting at the formica tables that are ubiquitous on such boats. Maybe playing cards? Not sure. Killing time. I didn't know much about Crete and all I knew or wanted to know was that we were headed for some damn town called Iraklion.
I was too dumb to have noticed that the price of beer, on board, was extra high from my first ride on a ferry and hadn't thought to buy some onland before departure. We both thought about buying a beer but we were both too stubborn to buy them at ...hell..prices just like they charged in France! So, when night fell we headed up and out on deck to see what might be seen.
First, this is when we discovered that 95% of our fellow passengers were Cretan's who lived on the mainland heading home to Crete for the Christmas holiday. They were having a damn party on deck! The party consisted of some greek music playing and a large circle of men and women standing/dancing in a big circle. One or two people were in the middle making a 'buzzing' noise and wobbling back and forth towards the circle....and then finally ..with both hands together and both forefingers out ...would 'sting' someone in the circle who then became 'the bee'. It was 'the bee dance'. I would guess the blood alcohol content of most dancers was north of .06. They were drinking Ouzo and having a blast!
Stats and I looked for a bench or something to sit on and watch...but they were all taken by friends or family members of the dancers. We wandered around outside the circle and came to the Starboard side and there, sitting on the floor with his back against the gunwale ...was Oliver. Oliver Keller! The swiss guy who'd saved Stats with his Oragel tooth pain medicine and had shared a meal in Brindisi while we warded off the anti-Americans. "Boh! Stats!" ...he called out. We joined him. He was as glad to see us as we were to see him. He had a bottle of Ballantine's Scotch Whiskey.
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Oliver as I mentioned in part 4 was Swiss. He had shoulder length mat of red-ginger hair that hadn't been combed in years. If he were black, you would've called them dredlocks. He was about half drunk when we got up with him. He smoked. His cigarettes and his booze were always "on the table" That meant...if it was out...you were welcome to share it. He had an easy laugh..a chuckle that was coming out from the top of his mouth and going down. His eyes were well sighted but...often a little watery from the booze. He didn't eat too much. He preferred to drink. He was smart. He had traveled all over the place. His routine was to work in his hometown of Lausanne about 6 months a year and then travel as much of the other six he could manage. He'd had girlfriends but never married. He told us about Spanish women. It made me want to go to Spain. When conversations came to a difficult place....he would just say "Boh". It was his all purpose expression. "We're out of beer"..."Boh". "We need to leave" "Boh" "Sir, you aren't allowed to smoke on the bus" "Boh". He was like a king or some kind of Baron of traveling on the road. He wore a denim jacket a size too big. Worn blue jeans and leather shoes. He had a small back pack and only a blanket. (no sleeping bag). Handsome and looked like a traveler.
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Can't recall how long we stayed out on deck watching the greeks and their funny games and drinking Oliver's Ballantines and smoking rolled cigarettes but it was a happy evening. The next morning we were coming into port at Iraklion.
There was nothing at all notable about Iraklion when we disembarked the boat. Grey. Dirty. Nothing charming or inviting. "Boh...let's go to the bus depot". Of course we followed Oliver. It wasn't too far a walk to the bus station. The Crete buses were probably 10-15 years old. At the front of the bus station was a guy sitting on a stool with a Baboon on a leash. Like Iraklion the Baboon was a dirty gray color. It did little somersaults if you gave it a peanut or something. It had a red red tongue and mouth and butt.
Oliver took charge of buying our tickets. We were headed to some place called "Galini"
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If we'd had culture shock landing in Copenhagen or in the sin of Amsterdam or the beauty and grace of Paris...now we had another sort of shock. History shock. Each mile we rode into the interior and to the south of Crete...it was as if years, decades and centuries were stripped away. Yes, there were cars. But just as frequent...donkey carts. The homes were medieval hovels. There were shepherds with flocks of sheep the bus had to stop for. At bus stops..in villages ..seated in front of the tavernas were old Crete men with their ferocious mustaches...their grizzled faces apparently got a shave about once a week..but the mustaches! They wore peasant jackets, knee high boots...pantaloons men had worn since probably 1500. They sat there...glaring at the bus..drinking their greek coffee in tiny cups with a washer of Ouzo. Getting pleasantly drunk as the afternoon whiled away. The women were kept hidden. Long plain dresses with button up sweaters and invariably a scarf on their head. Long hair (what you could see of it.). Modest shoes and ankle high socks. There was no 'makeup'.
Oliver tutored us on the world we had entered. First, there was to be no foolishness on the unlikely event you interacted with a Cretan woman or especially a maiden. In fact, you were quite welcome here and Americans loved here because we had struck mighty blows to the Germans in the 1940s. The Germans had occupied Crete in WW2 and were universally hated. They had instituted such rules as "if one German soldier is killed...then the men of the nearest village are to be decimated". That meant the Germans came in, rounded up all the men of the village and executed every tenth man standing. While Greece, on the mainland, had succumbed to the German occupation...the Cretans had NEVER capitulated .. and had maintained a resistance to the end. Here...the Cretans were friendly and hospitable and your money was welcome. But...please...no loud music...no topless western women...none of that foolishness. It was the custom that the family of the bride would display the bloody sheets of the wedding bed as a proof of the virtue of the daugher-bride and, their family.
The bus carried us all the way down to the quay in the fishing village of Agia Galini. "Galini" as we called it. It sits on the southern coast of Crete and about 200 miles north of Africa. The village has one main street and a couple side streets. It was developing a tourist economy and there were a few old buildings that had been converted to hotels. Down the main street, there were a few cafes serving similar type food. One specialized in seafood. There was a bar. Ridiculously named (for the benefit of the Westerners) "Zorbas". It was down by the harbor facing the sea. The owner was a man named Georgio whom, Oliver informed us...was always on the make for American and Canadian girls. Georgio always had one going when he moved on to someone new. Georgio had fitted his bar with a decent sound system and an excellent collection of western rock and roll. He, like Oliver, was also some species of travel royalty.
Oliver led us to a hotel ...up the hill that provided three single beds and common bathroom and shower for $9 a night...total. That was 3 bucks each for Stats and me and Oliver.
We were tired of traveling. Things looked good. This ...not Bethleham, was where we would spend Christmas.
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