It’s any port in a storm when Zeus, the god of thunder who was born in a Cretan cave and is entombed in a mountain on this sprawling Mediterranean island, unleashes a couple days of striking lightning, cracking thunder and driving rain. The king of gods was obviously irritated about something this week and even otherwise self-sufficient MedTrekkers in northwestern Crete frequently had to run for cover during the intermittent deluges.
The Venetian harbor, iconic lighthouse and crescent-shaped seaside promenade in the buzzing and busy port of Chania, one of the hottest social spots on the Mediterranean, definitely had a dark, foreboding and mystical appearance when The Idiot hit town after crossing the vast arid and windswept Akrotiri Peninsula (http://bit.ly/l7jH2g), where he had lunch in Stavros with the Oscar-winning cinematographer of “Zorba the Greek” (http://bit.ly/eBk8qN).
Looking out to sea.
Lights out in Chania.
Though soaked and soggy, The Idiot found a number of dry havens during the stormy period the next day while MedTrekking from Chania to Kolymbari (http://bit.ly/iJwmco).
I was helped out of the rain by a Romanian gardener (he let me into his shed), sheltered from the storm by the English receptionist at the singles-only Hotel Mistral in Maleme (she invited me into her hotel @ www.singlesincrete.com), protected in a bunker at a former World War II German air base (I climbed into an old pillbox) and kept dry at a Greek Orthodox monastery (the monks gave me cover).
Leaving the Gonia monastery after a downpour.
When the sun returned, The Idiot spent a glorious day traversing the Rodopos Peninsula between the villages of Kolymbari and Kissamos amid nearly vertical olive groves, well-balanced grazing goats, nectar-seeking buzzing bees and exhilarating views of the multicolored (brown from the rain runoff, grey from the reflection of the clouds, blue in some spots) Mediterranean Sea. Although under the impression that there was no hurry, I admittedly had a somewhat determined goal to reach Kissamos sometime on Friday.
That was the day, of course, that the village temporarily changed its name to Kissalot in honor of the royal wedding and, according to Cretan buzz, would become the temporary snogging capital of the world.
The Idiot, not only during the rain storm in the bleak German bunker but also on the sunny heights of the Rodopos Peninsula, might have fantasized a bit too much about the possibilities and potential of arriving solo in the snogging capital of the world. I even changed clothes, putting on orange hiking shorts and a bright blue shirt, at a beach on the outskirts of town.
Goodbye Rodopos Peninsula, Kissalot here I come!
Delayed by the rock du jour.
My changing room.
When I entered Kissamos late on Friday afternoon, expecting to have scantily clad lithe Greek maidens in long white gowns throw rose petals in my path and smother me with kisses, I was informed by an arrogant Cretan tween on a moped that the kissing had stopped the second the wedding ended in London. I was hours late.
“You should have been here earlier!” the kid chortled.
Naturally I went to the temporary Kissalot city hall and appealed to the temporary Kissalot mayor, who looked all puckered out, but was abruptly (a bit too abruptly, I thought) told that Kissalot was dead. I was back in good old Kissamos.
“You should have been here earlier!” the mayor chortled.
I was so distraught at my bad timing that I walked to the end of the beach (http://bit.ly/jgNd6J), reflected on the many injustices in the world and decided to catch a bus to Paleohora on the southwestern coast to MedTrek somewhere else for a few days. I need a break from angry Zeus and temporary Kissalot.
The temporary Kissalot city hall.
Kissalot’s temporary mayor.
Text and Photos: Joel Stratte-McClure
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