Cretanous Chronicles

They say you can never go back, and we were once serious subscribers to this viewpoint. Go back to a place you have loved and you risk finding it ruined. Crete finally convinced us how wrong we were, however. It’s been twenty years since we were there as mere whippersnappers, and ten for Mum. You hear that Chania has become a clubbers paradise and the whole place is overdeveloped, well maybe – but off season and avoiding the strip of coast west of town, it remains as lovely as we all remembered it.

Chania and Rethymnon are picture postcard Venetian ports where the young and wannabe beautiful parade along the strips of tavernas lining the harbours. The shuttered, elegantly decaying buildings are festooned with flowers and cats, with absurdly narrow streets bulging with little shops selling everything from Svarowski and Rolex to the inevitable rude statues and tourist tat. Rethymnon was the bigger surprise – the stretch of coast between the two towns is simply stunning, with the White Mountains in the background, and Rethymnon really does rival Chania for charm. We spent a lovely lunchtime there eating and mooching around the shops, but we stayed near Chania for the beautiful beaches and warm, warm seas.

But talking of warm … yes, the heatwave continued relentlessly. Crete apparently hadn’t known a spell of unbroken heat like this in 20 years, with temperatures every day in the mid forties. In Tolon we learnt that you simply can’t expect kids to fall asleep at 7pm with the sun still blazing and the tent roasting. One night we ended up at the beach at midnight to get a breeze, and in Chania we even took turns sitting in the now working air-con of the car. At 11.30 one night it was 39 degrees outside – balmy nights are one thing, but this was barmy. Undaunted, we planned to walk the longest gorge in Europe: the famous Samaria Gorge that cleaves its way from the White Mountains to the Libyan Sea, 1900 metres straight down in 16 kilometres of spectacular walking.

Now, Mum, Joe and I had all done this at least twice and felt like old pros. It was slightly disconcerting that they kept closing the Gorge as visitors kept dropping dead from the heat, but hey, we’d give it a good go! The bus guide gave all the usual dire warnings but we were there in our sandals and talking glibly of it not being THAT hard. Well, it aint when you’re twentysomething, but evidently time had glossed over some of the reality. Plus, Mum is a very sprightly ten years older and Jenna a mere 4! The guide looked rather concerned and waited at each rest stop to see we were doing OK. Its perhaps surprising that we WERE doing OK: though the walk is all downhill the ground is unforgiving, uneven, rock strewn and at some points covered in boulders. Its fairly tough going. Where Joe and I had raced down in about 4 hours, we found ourselves pushed to make it to rest stops at the suggested times to avoid the worst of the sun. Sandals were a bad idea, and Rowan’s broke near the bottom. But if this all sounds bleak, it wasn’t. It is a glorious walk through spectacular narrow passes, crossing the summer stream that in winter is a mighty river, with ibex, flowers and pines to see and some of the purest water in Europe to drink, straight from the streams. The kids were pretty scared by the signs proclaiming EXTREME DANGER – WALK QUICKLY as you get into the very heart of the gorge, with overhanging cliffs and scree threatening to tumble down on you at any moment. They can walk – or in Jen’s case, be carried – very quickly indeed when the mood strikes, and very quietly at that. Once again they made us so proud. They kept going for all 16 kilometres in good humour and without a complaint or a stumble even though we’d been fools not to put them in boots. Mum also amazed us. Without giving away her age, she does qualify for certain discounts and this was some serious terrain and heat.