Agios Nikolaos, Crete, Saturday March 22nd

Keith and Christine would love to hear from you with questions, comments, personal news and any news at all from Australia or wherever you are. We will reply to all emails!

Please write to either

windlechristine@gmail.com or

windle.keith@gmail.com

We packed early in order to make it to the bus station to leave our packs for the day (€2 each) prior to setting off for a jaunt to Agios Nikolaos at 8 am. I had really wanted to visit Spinalonga, the ex-leper colony featured in my book, which is off the coast nearby, but we already knew that that would not be possible due to it being the off season. There was just a tiny possibility that, if we could make it to Plaka, we might be able to find a fisherman willing to take us over. All our hopes were dashed at the Agios Nikolaos bus station where it turned out that there are few buses to anywhere on a Saturday, none to Plaka and the only one to the textile specialising village of Kritsa returned too late for us to travel back to Iraklio in time to catch the ferry to Athens.

We explored Agios Nikolaos, which is a charming town on a promontory with a port, a marina and a lake that joins the sea at a narrow bridge. The water in the lake is very clear so we spent time looking at the exhibits swimming around in this natural aquarium.

Our time there had been confusing, with nothing on our map seeming to be in the right place. We asked for help and discovered that the bus station had been recently built in a new location off the tourist map that we had. We decided to return to the bus station and be sure of where it was so that we would be ok at the end of the day when we had to be there at 5 pm. The whole town is not very big so it was no bother. We found an olive grove complete with goats in the middle of the built up area.

Touching base at the bus station, we set off with renewed confidence and headed off to the Ammouda Municipal beach. The land rises steeply from the shore in the town so there are steps for some streets and the land is terraced to allow for many three and four storey buildings. After a street or two of level land it drops again to fall down to the other side of the promontory. It is obviously a tourist town with currently closed supermarkets, souvenir shops, tavernas and cafes all along the sea front.

Mostly there are rocks right to the water, but in a few spots there is a stretch of beach. At Ammouda, the buildings that in the summer would house cafes and changing rooms for a fee, were deserted. A few English families watched their children play in the water and several people had found rock ledges to sunbake on. I helped myself to a changing room with a broken door and then stepped into the crystal clear water. Ever since we had been paddling at Plakias I was carting my things around in case we found somewhere to swim, but Keith, fully convinced that swimming now would be too cold, had come unprepared.

Once I had acclimatised to the water, I felt totally relaxed since the waves were so gentle, the water was mild compared with Victoria’s ocean beaches, and I was by this stage the only one in swimming. Looking shoreward the town rose like a painting without perspective, up the hill from the beach. Looking out to sea, the details of the small island that was protecting this bay were clear, with a path leading up to a chapel. Beyond that the mountains rose in a blue haze. This would have to be my second best swimming experience ever, the best being at Dalhousie Springs in Central Australia.

Keith was happily enjoying the sunshine reading about Turkey as the time drifted on. Eventually, with fingers starting to prune, I came out to drip before drying, and was approached by an Italian man who said, “You are a courageous woman.” His wife had been in for a little while, so maybe my staying power was impressive.

We strolled along the shoreline, past a shop with the direct and to the point name of ‘Mother Cook’ (closed of course), and on around the point. I still was completely disoriented but luckily Keith knew where we were.

We climbed the steep stairs to a stark little church with its door facing out to sea. Inside it was beautifully decorated, with most icons draped with a shawl of intricate lace work, a trademark of the crafts of this region. People had left many tin tokens, with nearly all of them representing eyes. Eyes were also carved into the woodwork of a chair. We didn’t know whether this church might be dedicated to a saint who cares for eyes – there was no-one to ask and no name displayed for the church.

Our meandering led us finally to a café by the sea where we relaxed for an hour over cappuccinos and water. This felt like a real ‘holiday’ day, with no agenda, a pleasant 25 degrees at 5 o’clock, and the film of salt tightening my skin as we rode the bus back along the coast to Iraklio.

After a picnic tea we collected our packs and set off for the nearby port. We repeated our sleeping arrangements of the previous trip. Unfortunately Keith was directed to an area with Pullman seats, which was ok, but he was near a draughty doorway where late talkers congregated and smoked in spite of the no smoking signs. I shared a cabin with a delightful Greek lady who taught me some words, but my sleep was also disturbed.

Everyone loves trees to be growing on the footpath, ut when the streets are narrow and there's lots of traffic, it's also very difficult to walk on the road!