Tag Archives: Heraklion

Part III: Southern Heraklion in sixth gear, baby

We rented some form of Suzuki SUV for our 10 days in Crete because we needed something with a higher-than-usual carriage for driving on dirt roads. The Beast did most of that driving, which was often very terrifying. I did the rest, which wasn’t a walk in the park. Crete’s interior is filled with mountains, which means multiple switch backs. I’d like to think I became very good at shifting up and down these hairpin turns. There was one moment, however, when I may have gotten carried away. The Beast told me to veer to the left but instead I veered to the right and yelled “SIXTH GEAR, BABY!” just as I shifted into said gear and burned fucking rubber up the hill. Five minutes later, after I made a U-turn on the hill on a road as wide as a credit card, we had a good laugh about that.

And it’s also a really suitable motto for our three days and four nights in southern Heraklion, which is still fairly untouched by tourism. We really hit our groove, packing our days full of hikes, archaeological sites, caves, churches, and swims. From Chania we drove just over three hours to our the south of Heraklion. The drive alone, through endless olive groves on the slopes of Mount Ida, was breathtaking. We made one pit stop at Eleftherna, a Doric Greek site (900 B.C.) which made it practically new compared to all the Minoan ones (circa 2000-1500 B.C.) They’ve just built an incredible museum to house the archaeological finds. (Again, my favourite sort: only one hour to thoughtfully visit!) The real find here was a Geometric grave  that sounds exactly as one described in The Iliad: the funeral pyre of Patrocles including Achilles’ HUMAN SACRIFICE of prisoners of war! Afterwards, we had lunch with a view of the ruins at “Snack Bar Tavern Anatoli”.

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Part 2: Greece, a Cretan good day to you

Soon after we arrived in Crete, we knew that the locals had warmed to us because they gave us the traditional Cretan greeting. That’s when you say: “A Cretan good morning to you, sir!” while you fake-shake the end of a man’s penis.

This is not actually a traditional Cretan greeting but one of us envisioned that it was. We’d pretend to greet each other like this, even though I don’t have a penis, over our three days on the island, during which the Beast did all the driving. (We got a VW Polo, which was marginally better than the Suzuki Celerio.) This was cause for another fight because he tried to drive like the Greeks: fast, and down-shifting on hills instead of breaking. I asked him to slow down. He took offence. As a cis male, he said, it was in his blood to drive this way, like the Cretan (cis males) did, and how could I possibly understand?

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