Ecclectic tales from an independent wanderer…

Crete

Gypsy Heart

 
Recently I participated in a media tour throughout the picturesque Greek countryside, traversing mountain roads, reaching summits and sipping coffee along turquoise colored streams. A true wanderer, I jumped at the opportunity to join the caravan hosted by Tripology Adventures as part of a group of eleven writers & three spouses. 

The first evening sent our group through the streets of Athens, meandering down a sunlit plaza on our way to a Acropolis view taverna. While walking, I stuck up a conversation with the organizations founder, Izhar Gamlieli a native of Israel. A tall, regal man with wise eyes, we chatted about our journies, the wanderlust that fills our hearts & the things we crave to date.

“I used to desire travel constantly,” he told me. “But then, I had two children. Beautiful children, who have completely captured my heart. Now, all I want is more time with them.”

“No children yet” I told him. “But they seem like a beautiful gift indeed.”

Continuing our conversation, I started listing off some of the palces & had traveled. My lack of a hometown and the laundry list of states I’ve lived. “Sleeping on airport floors, accepting obscure invitations to unique experiences, opening my heart to the world around me, letting the world take a piece of me with it – this is how I try to live.”

With a serious expression, but the faintest hint of a mischievious smile, he turned to me and asked, “Are you a Gypsy?”

Cocking my head in contemplation, I could feel the corners of my mouth curl upwards and my eyebrows rise.

“Of sorts” was my response. A chuckle escaping with my words. “A heart of a bird I possess within this chest.”

“So where to next?” he questioned.

“Wherever the winds may lead me.” 

 


Adventures with Popí – Part 1

Deciding to come to Plátanos, and truly Crete in general was, somewhat of a last minute decision.

I’d bookmarked a number of flats in Athens to spend these four days acclimating myself after the long journey, familiarizing myself with the language and cultural nuances and most importantly jumpstarting my creativity for writing.

Stumbling upon a flight from Athens to Crete for less than 100 Euros, I started combing AirBnB for interesting, affordable accommodations.

What I found was the stone house. A place I have lovingly started calling Island Eden. 

  
My host, 26 year old Basilis was welcoming from the start, so I knew getting here would not be an issue. A small, isolated village I was hoping to spend my days in the lovely garden typing away on my iPad and possibly tooling around on the country roads via a rented vespa scooter.

What I found instead was an adoptive family that has truly taken me in as one of their own, as if I am simply their American Cousin, come for the week.

Initially upon arrival, Basilis’ mother Popí, was a bit shy, keeping to herself although completely hospitable. The first night she made dinner, ate alongside Basilis & I and then sent me into my apartment with two fresh eggs to cook in the morning. She hardly said a word to me.

The next morning, I was outside scribbling into my journal when she first came out of her house. Immediately offering me a coffee I graciously accepted and continued to write.

When she returned, she said “In more than one hour, I go. You come with me?”

I had no clue as to where she was going or what her plans might be but I immediately replied, “yes, please.”

“In more than one hour” she reminded.

So I got dressed and ready for an adventure to who knows where with a woman I had only just met who clearly speaks little english & I, no Greek. What has transpired over the last few days in undoubtedly a friendship that will span the ocean that lies between us.

Ready, I got into her car and we headed down the road.

“My English, not so good. Patient. We go to Kissamos. I have some work. You follow me?” she asked.

“What kind of work?” I questioned.

“I go to this place, we sell oil, oil from olive, then plants to put in ground, maybe a coffee, good view coffee. You follow me?”

“Yes” I said with a smile.

Piece milled conversation followed but we reached the neighboring village of Kissamos and wound through the cobbled stone streets. I still have no idea where she took me initally but it looked almost like some sort of tax office. An old building with lots of chatter coming from above. Inside a large office with lots of people waiting. What for? I can’t tell you.

She spoke briefly with a man, some women asked me a question in Greek to which I replied with a smile & shrugged my shoulders – they giggled and smiled back. Then suddenly Popí was ready to go.

“I think we go now to greenhouse. I worried they close.” she told me.

So off we went, winding once again through narrow streets where old Greek townies eyed my curiously as we sped by.

The nursery was like any other, full of starts – tomatoes, cucumbers, marigolds and even grapevines.

  

Popí starting working with a woman to select the plants she was there for and I tried to tell the owner that I work in the wine business, doing a funny little charade and gesturing to the grapevines.

“You like wine?” He asked.

“Yes, very much.” I said.

“Wait, you try. Is old, came from church today. Like Cognac. You try.” he told me as he disappeared into his office.

Back he came with a little plastic cup half full of deeply tan “wine” full of sediment.

Try” he said. “Taste.”

Hoping for the best but prepared for the worst, I took a sip, swished it around my mouth and was incredibly surprised by the flavor. Cognac had been a good description. The warm butterscotch flavored liquid had some characteristics of wine but indeed was better described as a liqueur.

Delicious, he brought me two more tiny cups while Popí, finished her shopping and caught up with a friend.

When she was finished, she turned to me and asked, “you want now, to go for coffee.”

“Sure, neh parakahlo (yes please).” was my response and off we went again, back into the heart of Kissamos and straight to the waterfront.

In the parking lot, we found her friend from the greenhouse and the three of us entered a Cafe with a stunning view of the bay. Filled with chatter of friends of all ages, we took a table and enjoyed a small cup of Greek Coffee. 

  
Before we finished, Popí turned to me and said “Yessica, this afternoon we put flowers in the ground, okay?”

“Yes Popí, sound good”

Before heading back to the village though we had one more stop – the fish market. There we purchased a bag of small fish she told me we’d have for lunch. A large map on the wall was the perfect way for me to show her where I had come from. “Savem” it read and she and the shopkeeper chuckled at how far away it really was.

Heading back to the village we passed a small church built directly into the hillside. Popí stopped and told me, “come, come.” Inside the cliff’s edges were still raw & rugged. Water dripped down from its course surface – she lit a candle, I said a little prayer. 

Combined with the stunning surroundings the entire atmosphere made it tranquil, peaceful and somehow entirely perfect.
  
Once home, Popí told me to get ready for lunch. She salted the fish, prepared a large tomatoes salad with olives and pickled peppers and sliced fresh bread from the wood fired bakery. The fish were quickly fried and then picked apart by the three of us.

That afternoon we planted the garden. Basilis dug the rows while Popí chose her placements. 

  
She put me in charge of picking large fava beans and told me that later it would be our dinner.
Once I had filled a bag, she put me onto the dill and showed me how big of a bunch to pick.

  
Beans sautéed in olive oil with the dill and potatoes, leftover fish, another great tomato salad and some easter cookies and cured lemon for dessert. The meal, was nothing short of incredible and the three of us sat around in the chilly night air talking & drinking Raki far too late into the evening.  

 

Yessica, tomorrow I go to Hania… You follow me?” She asked gleefully.

“Absolutely Popí. What time?”

   

    


Talking to Strangers

Interesting observations from a woman who travels solo. 

 

Being an only child makes you inherently comfortable with spending time alone. It simply comes with the territory. Still, many only children are extremely social by nature. The level of comfort we take in solidarity doesn’t necessarily mean that is our preference.

Now thirty, my passion for travel is raging more than ever. Independent, I often find myself with the time & finances to travel and very few friends who are interested or able to accompany me. 

Now, I simply dive in on my own, not thinking too much of it anymore.

Interestingly enough, it’s others reactions to knowing I am alone that still tend to surprise me. For instance, yesterday I flew from Athens to Crete and in the airport, sparked a conversation with a man in an Oregon State University sweatshirt. 

Turns out, he’s not from Oregon or even the US but rather South Africa; traveling with his parents to visit is Brother in Law (the OSU alum) who is an American now stationed at the Naval Base on Crete.

He mentioned to his parents that I was traveling alone & his father got a very worried look on his face. 

Later, in baggage claim, the kind man introduced himself to me and suggested they pick me up to go tour the island together. 

Politely, I declined the invitation, telling him that I was staying an hour away in a small village. 

He asked me how I was getting there and when I told him my host from AirBnB was picking me up, his ebony face nearly turned white. 

“It’s okay,” I told him. “I feel very safe & always use good judgement.” 

Sure enough, outside of the airport was my host Basilis, the absolutely picture of a handsome Greek man. 

Again, the kind man asked me if I was certain and I smiled, shaking his hand and told him everything would be alright.

Fast forward an hour and Basilis & I arrived at his home. A beautiful traditional stone house, the quiet village welcomes you in with an immediate air of tranquility. His mother Popi was there to great us and asked quickly if I would like a Greek Coffee. 

Together the three dined alfresco, farm fresh eggs over-easy with bright runny yolks, pan fried potatoes, crispy bread & traditional “Docas” like large bruschetta topped with fresh cheese, tomatoes & oregano. All of this was paired perfectly with locally produced Raki, a clear drink high in alcohol but smooth in flavor and back dropped by a stunning sunset. The evening could not have been any more delightful. 

 

Conversation followed and Basilis asked me to tell him about my life. Interested in my travels he looked at me perplexed and ask “how do you feel traveling alone?”

“Fine,” I told him as I went through my normal response. It was his next question that really threw me for a loop though.

“What do you do when you want to talk to someone?” he asked.

“I just talk to someone.” was my immediate response.

“But how?” he replied. “Do you simply go up to a stranger & say ‘hey you! come talk to me.'”

“Kind of” I told him. ” People are always curious to learn about someone new and different and I guess I’m just far from shy.”

Perplexed, he simply smiled & shook his head at me.

We sat together swapping stories & sipping Raki until the sun fully set & I retired to my apartment after a very long day of travel.

“From halfway around the world” he says.

Indeed. Making long journies and talking to strangers who quickly become friends.