After a tough day, all is calm and tranquil in Agai Romelli, as the sun disappears below the horizon.
Greece is the word or is it ‘Grease’ is the place? Forgive me but I always wanted to say or write that as we struggle in Crete, hoping to see Olivia Newton-John. John Travolta, not I. With that out the way, let’s get going.
It always worries us when there is more action on the journey than the slopes…and there’s plenty in the mountains. So what’s with the journey? United Airlines flew us into Athens and then Aegean took us to the island of Crete, city of Chania, and all went well. The skies were friendly, as advertised by the airline, although the journey from San Diego—4am wake-up and arrival a cool thirty hours later. Beats walking and we suppose swimming, too. It’s a problem when one is unable to sleep on a plane but that’s a minor irritation in the scheme of things. The first problem was air temperatures. Although it was over 90 degrees in Newark airport, the artificially cooled air remained in the low-sixties—where’s an energy crises when you need one? We felt the chill getting into our bones. This was compounded by the airline thinking it had to match the airport temperature. With jackets in the hold, our luggage was nice and warm but we weren’t. It was only a matter of time before we would catch a chill, followed by the sniffles. (continues at the end...)
At the entrance to the gorge, 11.5 miles to reach the town, 4,100 feet below.
Much lower down, the editor strides through the narrows.
We reach the town after 4.5 hours and think we made a wrong turn. Where's the Greek signage?
Since the financial crisis, maintenance has fallen off a bit. 'House on the Hill'.
A view into the gorge from another hike, another day.
'Look left, look right and if it's safe'. Very weary on the long road up to the top.
You know you've lost it when even the 'kids' are pulling tongues at you.
"Stepped into a church, I pass along the way, California dreamin'". We reach sea level but not yet the town. The commencement point is in the background. The return journey is looking tougher each moment.
The remnants of an ancient town, many littered throughout the gorge.
Another ancient...um oldish scene but lovely (if I may say).
The gorge at its narrowest.
'When we get behind closed doors'...a church cave with a formal entrance and door.
(Text continues...)
The most excitement before reaching Samaria Gorge, our first hike, was during the period from the car rental depot to our hotel. All went well until it was time to drive off. Oh dear, we had a flat tire and the editor was not to blame—she hadn’t even been near the Skoda. The assistant told us to go to the garage and pump the tire. Customer service (care?). Imagine that occurring in the United States. I tried to explain that these things don’t just happen perchance—it usually means a puncture of the tire. He was not amenable to helping or changing the wheel. I explained that we had a long journey before us through the mountains and on deserted roads. He agreed with the assessment but was unmoved.
We filled the tire with air and headed into a desolate part of the island after passing through small towns via narrow and winding roads. It gave us a taste of the scenery and life on the island. Unfortunately, darkness descended toward the latter part of the trip which was further affected by goats lying in the roads while taking in the warmth for their bellies. Only after some friendly persuasion did they even consider moving. Fortunately, we arrived at the hotel safely, in good time, too and were welcomed in a friendly manner. The town comprises three or four hotels and not much else. The tire looked good at that stage but we don’t think we looked that fine, especially after dragging our luggage up the stairs. Sleep came easily and the following morning we were ready or so we thought, to take on the Samaria Gorge, 23 miles up-and-down with 4,100 feet elevation change, each way. A tough start, we thought. The editor shows no sympathy to her aging partner who by that time was ‘with cold’, lacking sleep and jet-lagged, to mention a few ailments. Meantime, Jenni seemed to be getting a cold, too but otherwise was in fine ‘shape’. Of course, women are far stronger, whine less and generally sturdier than men, so she reminds me every now and again.
The first thing I did as I prepared to load the car was check the tire. Flat again. Big surprise! I could not help thinking of the ‘genius’ at the car rental depot. We took the spare-tire out of the trunk, a few tools and prepared for the change. Should you want to understand the concept of a ‘mitzvah’ (a deed of kindness), here comes one: As I began fitting the jack under the chassis, two bikers dressed in leathers and helmets walked out of the hotel lobby, saw us in action and approached the car. They looked at the situation, sized up the age and lack of intelligence of the editor’s husband and decided we needed help. They took over, allowing no argument, and changed the tire. It was not surprising that they were Israelis. I know we show some bias but in all our travels, an Israeli, when in the vicinity, is quick to come to a distressed person’s aid. So although we would have managed—Jenni is pretty useful in car repairs—it was a magnificent gesture and one in which we were humbled, yet again. One should not watch the news as a gauge of human behavior but rather look around and see people behaving like angels.
Onto the slopes. The trail takes a person from Omalos to the coastal town of Agai Romelli some 11.5 miles distant. One walks down 4,100 feet over rocks and stones. It is a very popular walk but the thing is most people only hike down. As an example, on our return, 780 people walked from top-to-bottom while on the uphill return, there were only ourselves and one ranger. It was tough, compounded by the hot weather and our less than healthy bodies. As an aside, the typical route is down to the town, pick up a ferry and return to the trailhead or somewhere else, by bus. The only access to the quaint town is on a ferry or foot. No cars can enter the town unless brought across on water. There are a few vehicles in the town for residents. Why anyone would need a car in this small region beats us.
We were the first to leave the town at 7:15 that morning. Therefore, we passed every single person along the route. It was funny, at times, as we passed walkers going down into the gorge. Many asked if we knew what to expect at the commencement of the last two or three miles before the top (steep). Of course, we knew what awaited us having walked down a couple of days before. Two women on separate occasions remarked that we appeared to be going the wrong way. We also met a young Canadian couple who have friends in common, back in Toronto. Unfortunately, the level of courtesy and friendliness on the trail of most of walkers was poor. By the way, the gorge was filled with nationals of many countries, not only Greeks. We often wonder how people, after being greeted or allowed to pass as we stand aside for them, can actually look right through us without the slightest acknowledgment. It proves to be disappointing.
Whether it was health issues or something else, (the editor blames lack of nutrition), although she did well on the hike, I found it to be the most trying hike ever. We remember struggling up 6,000 feet in the Andes one year but not feeling as bad then as this latest hike. In normal circumstances, we would rate the gorge as tough but comfortable. Carrying heavy backpacks made quite a difference. Although not full, a bag of twenty pounds or more on the back over that distance and terrain is taxing. It could have been worse though. Flowing water was available at various intervals, thus we did not have to carry too much of it. One trusts that the authorities ensure reasonable purity. It often reminds us what an amazing ‘marketing’ concept it is for people to pay to have water delivered to their homes, in bottles by truck, when it is available, literally, on tap.
The locals we’ve met thus far have been friendly, speak understandable English and are helpful. The more we travel, the more we wonder why the world needs so many languages. Over the years, we have come across so many nationals that it staggers the mind; we’re still trying to master our own language.
After resting for a while upon returning from the gorge, we met a young man in the hotel. We recognized him from the trail. He had just arrived back by bus after taking the ferry from the town below the gorge. He was Lithuanian and asked us whether we had ever visited his country. “Not since our grandparents left,” we mentioned light-heartedly. It can be a small world provided one does not have to walk it.
Cheers,
Jenni and Jeffrey
Loving kindness from two Israelis. (See text above.) I think I like being a supervisor.
No comments:
Post a Comment