Returning to Crete: A Journey 47 Years Later

July 2 - 22, 2021

Forty-seven years ago, I arrived in Crete. I was 20.

I landed in Chania then headed south to a little town called Paleochora. I set up my tent on the beach and looked around. It was small and quiet. A few small streets populated with locals. A couple of restaurants.

It was also a meeting place for youthful world travelers — the place to be if you were young and broke, like me.

Little did I know it at the time, but the next month would change my life.

Now, at 67, I’m about to return.

I was a bit trepidatious. Would Crete still capture my imagination? Or would it be ruined by years of growth and tourism? I knew it would be different, but I secretly hoped it would still have the magic that it once had.

My plan was to retrace the route I took in ‘74, but due to flight schedules I had to adjust. I would now start in the capital city of Heraklion — a place I missed in my youth.

HERAKLION

The flight from Albania was almost full as I arrived late in the evening. Getting through immigration was the usual hustle, though this one included a Covid Rapid-test. I think my sinuses are permanently damaged from all the swabs I’ve had shoved into them.

But once at my very clean and modern hotel (Hotel Kastro), I shuffled across the street to a little cafe that was still open and ordered my favorite dish: Greek salad.

There is something special about eating a Greek salad in Greece. Fresh local tomatoes. Cucumbers. Red onion. Olives. Maybe some thinly sliced peppers and always topped with a nice chunk of feta cheese and drizzled with olive oil and a little salt. Yum. I arrived in the middle of tomato season which only enhanced my passion for this simple but awe-inspiring dish. I ended up eating it about twice a day for the rest of my stay.

The Cretans, being the independent souls that they are, put their own spin on the salad. They think they do it better by calling it a Cretan salad and replacing crumbly feta with their very own soft mizithra cheese. Personally, I’ll take the feta any day.

I spent the next few days in Heraklion exploring. It was a nice town for people watching. I checked out the nearby Rocca a Mare Fortress, and visiting the ancient site of Knossos (at 4000 years old it is Europe’s oldest city).

Of course, all the time feasting on the amazing (and filling) Cretan cuisine.

MATALA

I have wonderful memories of driving to Matala with a few of my new friends in a beat-up VW bus while listening to the newly released Bob Dylan album, Blood on the Tracks (still my favorite album of his).

I didn’t know much about Matala at the time, other than it had some caves that hippies used to live in (they were kicked out even before I got there). Also, Joni Mitchell spent time there and wrote the song Carrie: “The wind is in from Africa, Last night I couldn't sleep… and they're playin' that scratchy rock and roll beneath the Matala moon.”

I didn’t rent a car in Crete, so I took the bus to Matala. I got in my seat, turned on my Airpods and listened to both Bob and Joni — the whole while flashing back with a smile at my younger, more innocent self.

Matala has upped its tourist game since 1974. Happily, it has also embraced its hippie past.

RED BEACH

As special as Matala was, it is the nearby Red Beach that was calling me.

A sweaty forty-five minute hike up and over a hill and there you are — a world apart.

Now, Jannis didn’t have his famous Mojito bar there at the time. In fact, there was nothing much there other than naked beachgoers from far-off lands.

Happily, nudity still reigns.

There are two Red Beach memories that still live with me. Both involve the acid trip I took while there. The flashbacks from that distant day came back as I walked across the hot sand looking for a shady spot to call my own.

The first occurred while floating in the ocean — I turned my head and saw a large white rock floating next to me. Tripping plays all kinds of games on you, so I kept staring at this rock, knowing full well that rocks don’t float. I reached over and picked it up. It was very light. Pumice!!! Ok, It wasn’t the acid after all.

Today, floating rocks were nowhere to be seen.

There was second flashback I had:

As the acid trip waned, I slowly wandered back to town. Twilight had descended over the hills. I stopped at the top of the ridge overlooking the town taking in the day’s experience. It was quiet and peaceful. Off in the distance, I heard bells tinkling softly — a shepherd was bringing his goats home for the night. I listened, not moving, for the longest moment. The simplicity and the immensity of it all filled my heart.

It has never left.

CHANIA

Chania is about a three hour bus ride from Matala. You travel north then west. I had time for another listen of Blood on the Tracks.

The last time I was here, I arrived on the overnight ferry from Athens. I remember a quiet fishing village with an ancient stone waterfront. As I walked towards the village in the early morning, a man in the distance was repeatedly heaving something large and wet onto the stones at his feet. I got closer and realized it was a large octopus. He needed to soften it to make it more edible. Wow.

The day I spent there, I walked around the old streets and markets filled with locals selling their goods. A proud man with a huge white mustache sat on a wooden stool. Before him was a dozen tins of shoe polish, all with elaborate decorated tops. I remember staring at him and admiring him. So proud to be a simple shoe shiner. A lesson for us all.

Once I arrived in 2021, I could quickly tell that none of that exists anymore. All gone.

It didn’t matter. I loved it.

Modern Chania has a great vibe. It’s more spread out than Heraklion. More visually interesting. More restaurants. More tourists.

It’s a lovely place to walk around and explore. Curiously I kept asking the locals about the places I remembered from my past. They looked at me blankly. Maybe they never existed. Was it the acid?

After few days of exploring, hanging out at the beach and eating more Greek salads and I was ready for the grand finale of my trip.

PALEOHORA

Everything up to now was just a warm-up. I got to see Matala and Chania, but it was the little town of Paleohora (or Paleiochora) that I was holding my breath to see. This is where I slept on a beach for three weeks. It is where I turned 21 and had my world traveler friends throw me a surprise party (they didn’t have a cake, so they found an old door and spelled Happy Bday Scott in baklava). It is where, for the first time, I met travelers, nomads in more modern terms, who lived by letting the wind take them to their next adventure. Who lived on nothing but a few dollars a day. In the 70’s, Greece was like Laos is now. Cheap. It was where you went to find yourself.

I did.

Back in 1974, after my month in Crete, I took a bus back to Brighton, England where I was in my third year of university.

Three weeks later, I quit. I was done with school. Done with classrooms. Done with learning about life. It was time to experience life on my own terms.

I flew back to the states. Back to my astounded parents who lived outside DC at the time. I told them my story. My late father often told me that as furious as he was that I quit university, our early morning talks together about who I was and why I made the decision that I did, bonded us in a way that changed how he saw me. He felt closer to me than he had ever before.

Then I hitchhiked across the country to start my new life.*

* Just to be honest, starting a new life on my own terms was much harder than I thought it would be. I often said it was like running full speed into a brick wall. But I survived. And flourished. And became the man I am today.

When I told my story to the locals, it gave them chills. They loved hearing about how their sweet little town was like forty years ago. Most of them were not even alive when I was there. I even might have hung out with their parents or grandparents.

Now, once off the bus and looking around at this tiny town, I started to relax. No high rises. The streets were blocked off to cars. Locals and tourists lazily filled the cafes and restaurants. People were here to chill. It had that vibe. Yes, the town had grown and changed, but it had managed to keep its soul.

I spent two weeks here. I went for walks along the beach. I swam. I put up with the heat and the winds (I didn’t remember how windy it was). I made friends.

There is a beach bar next to the very spot that I had pitched my tent. I would sit there with a negroni in my hand and stare at the sand. So much has happened in my life since that time years ago. I am not the same man and yet he is in me. That spirit. That willingness to take chances and make crazy decisions that change my life forever.

I did it then. I’m doing it again now.

The corner where my 21st birthday party was held.

Let’s talk now about the here and now…

FOOD & DRINK

Crete is known for its food. Such a variety. Fish. Meat. Tomatoes. Wine!

**Raki**

The tradition is to serve a bottle of Raki (think Grappa) and a small sweet after every meal. No extra charge for this.

Honestly, if I had a one complaint, it’s that every plate they served was huge! So much food. I rarely finished a meal and felt like I had to make up excuses to the waiters as to why I didn’t finish it.

“I loved this meal. I’m just so full!”