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Jack Linthicum
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 Posted: Sat Jul 26, 2008 10:22 am Post subject: Travel item from the NY Times: Palaikastro |
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I pull the relevant passage out of this description of a travel
destination and alternative vacation spot to show where 21st century
activity may lead to a new "wonder" site.
"We stopped at Palaikastro, a pretty town of about 800 people in the
rural municipality of Itanos. Nearby is a Minoan-era settlement that,
according to some archaeologists, may have approached the size of
Knossos, the palace complex about 60 miles to the west and the fabled
lair of the mythical man-bull, the Minotaur. A badly marked dirt road
leads from Palaikastro to the Minoan archaeological site of
Roussolakos, which is cordoned off by a rusting metal fence and
overlooks Kouremenos Bay. On the grounds are bouquets of wild oregano
and wild bay plants."
July 27, 2008
Journeys | Crete
Days of Wild Oregano and Goatherds
By JOANNA KAKISSIS
A SPIRALING, slightly treacherous dirt road leads to Aspros Potamos,
an enclave of 300-year-old cottages in eastern Crete once used by
olive farmers and goatherds. Peaceful and primitive, with stone
floors, oil lamps for light and a starry night sky, the cottages, now
a rustic retreat for tourists, offer visitors a glimpse into the life
of old Crete, without the boutique airbrushing.
It’s not the usual vision of Greece’s largest island, but for many,
it’s far more rewarding than the seaside nightclubs, umbrella-pinned
beaches and Riviera-lite resorts that attract many people. The eastern
Lassithi prefecture, which stretches from a lush plateau of farms to
dry crags overlooking transcendentally blue bays, offers plenty of
portholes into a disappearing Crete and its robust geography.
But the last-paradise vibe may not last much longer. Several
developers are scoping out the land for resort development, and
residents fear that the resorts will guzzle the island’s increasingly
scarce water resources. I explored this old side of Crete during a
trip last summer to the eastern side of the island. My family left
Greece for the United States when I was a child, and though I have
visited my mother’s island many times, Crete remains a tableau of
longing: the puffing chimneys on the tiny stone houses in my mother’s
village, the farmers riding donkeys to orange groves. Somewhere
between our rented stone cottage and the expanse of Lassithi, I
figured, were pieces of this reverie.
The first night didn’t go well. I had forgotten matches for the oil
lamp and a flashlight to maneuver up the rocky steps to our room, and
we had to mummify ourselves in the bed sheets to defend ourselves from
mosquitoes.
To crank ourselves up the next morning, we drank strong, unsweetened
Greek coffee on the terrace before driving north to Sitia, then east
toward the island’s tip. We passed ancient peak sanctuaries, a
stunning coastline and Moni Toplou, the powerful monastery that owns
much of the land in this area. The white turbines from Toplou’s wind
park starred the balding hills like kinetic crosses.
We stopped at Palaikastro, a pretty town of about 800 people in the
rural municipality of Itanos. Nearby is a Minoan-era settlement that,
according to some archaeologists, may have approached the size of
Knossos, the palace complex about 60 miles to the west and the fabled
lair of the mythical man-bull, the Minotaur. A badly marked dirt road
leads from Palaikastro to the Minoan archaeological site of
Roussolakos, which is cordoned off by a rusting metal fence and
overlooks Kouremenos Bay. On the grounds are bouquets of wild oregano
and wild bay plants.
A little farther northeast is another archaeological wonder, the
ancient town of Itanos, now also known as Erimoupolis (the Deserted
City). Itanos is near the popular Vai beach, which is surrounded by a
thatch of palm trees and is often crowded to discomfort in summer. You
will find far better beaches if you scope out the rest of the
coastline here. We discovered a deserted cove just beyond the Itanos
archaeological site and climbed down a jagged path to get to the
shore. The smooth-pebbled beach embraced a circling sea, which merged
into an illuminated sky. Here we ran into a middle-aged Scandinavian
couple wading into the water, wearing nothing but diving masks.
“Do you think Crete is losing its sense of nostalgia?” I later asked
Nikos Troulinos, a retired naval officer who farms bananas and olives
in the area. We had stopped by his thatched road stand near Vai, where
he sells his bananas and outstanding cold-extract olive oil.
Mr. Troulinos handed us small, fragrant Cretan bananas to sample. ”You
want nostalgia?“ he said. “Here’s nostalgia: I still milk my goats
every morning, and my 2-year-old grandson likes to help me, and we
drink the milk afterwards. I think that’s about as close to grace as
you can get. I mean, to be Cretans, should we be riding around on
donkeys to fit your idea of nostalgia?”
The next day we went west to the verdant stretch of Lassithi, passing
the miles of greenhouse-lined shore near the drab southeastern city of
Ierapetra. We stopped in the seaside village of Myrtos for honey-
drenched kataifi (walnuts, sugar and spices wrapped in shredded
phyllo) and a walk through the tiny streets, which were full of Dutch
tourists and looked, unnervingly, like a movie set. Then we went on to
the forest of Selakano, where there are startling views of the Libyan
Sea.
Situated in the Dikti mountain range (where Zeus was said to have
frolicked as a boy-god) Selakano is a slow drive through narrow
switchbacks and breathtaking gorges. The way to Selakano isn’t well
marked, so we stopped at a roadside cafe in the village of Males for
directions. An old man in a weathered three-piece suit and a sweeping
mustache pointed to my tiny rented Hyundai. ”You’d do better with a
donkey,” he said.
Indeed the puny car struggled uphill, but we made it to the forest,
which was thick with pine, plane, oak and cypress. The air was cool
and rain-scented, the prelude to a shower that sent us to Stella’s
Cafe in the hamlet of Selakano. A blossoming canopy of almond and pear
trees embraced the village. Nearby, a bearded young goatherd managed
his flock.
Over mugs of herb tea and plates of baby-walnut spoon sweet, the cafe
owner, Stella Fanouraki, and her brother Manolis Kritsotakis, a
retired 3M executive, described life in the village: mornings of
tending flocks or gardens of tomatoes and peppers, and evenings
sharing dinners of stewed goat and white beans. Mr. Kritsotakis, who
grew up in the area but now lives in the tony Athenian suburb of
Ekali, said he spent summers here, growing grapes, making wine and
hiking with his daughters.
There’s no place to stay in Selakano, but Ms. Fanouraki said a couple
of her fellow villagers were planning to open guesthouses soon.
Though Aspros Potamos isn’t nearly as cozy (or populated) as Selakano,
the rustic cottages there have the same bygone magnetism. An Athenian
transplant, Aleka Halkia, bought the abandoned buildings in 1985 and
moved in with her daughter Myrto Botsari. Over the years they added
rustic wooden furniture as well as bathrooms and terraces. A
photovoltaic solar energy system powers a small refrigerator and warms
water for bathing.
The mother and daughter both still live there, though Ms. Botsari’s
husband, Manolis Kounelakis, now runs the show. Their guests —
Americans, Britons, Irish, Germans and citified young Greeks — revel
in the surroundings. They hike along gorges to the nearby mountain
village of Pefki to hear local musicians recite mandinadhes —
improvised couplets — at a tavern called Piperia (Pepper) and play the
lyra, a pear-shaped, three-stringed lyre voiced with a bow. They eat
snails fried in olive oil, rosemary and vinegar and drink raki (a
potent Cretan spirit made from grape must). They chat with old men in
cafes about the old days. “It’s like you get to live another life,”
said Dita Hussain, a nurse from Portland who stayed at Aspros Potamos
earlier last year.
Older Greeks stay away or leave bemused, like my mother, who laughed
at my fascination with the oil lamps. Greeks who lived an impoverished
childhood in their villages during the 1940s and ’50s would rather not
relive it. “But their children, who have grown up in cities and crave
nature and a connection to a diminished past, stay for days sometimes,
playing their guitars under the stars,” Ms. Halkia said.
FAR FROM THE HAPPENING CLUBS
Aspros Potamos (30-284-305-1694; www.asprospotamos.com) has 10
cottages not far from the beach town of Makriyialos. The cottages,
built at least 300 years ago, have been beautifully restored. Just
don’t count on your laptop; there’s no electricity. Expect to pay 40
to 90 euros, about $65 to $145 at $1.62 to the euro, a night (minimum
three nights), depending on the season and the number of beds.
If you can’t live without TV, go to the homey Thalia Hotel
(30-284-306-1448; www.palaikastro.com/thaliahotel) in Palaikastro,
where double rooms cost about 37 euros. Another option is the Villa
Mirtini (30-284-209-0130; www.mirtini.net) in Myrtos, where prices are
35 to 60 euros a night depending on the room and the season.
In the mountain village of Pefki, Piperia (30-284-305-2471) serves
excellent Cretan food. A nerati (a flat pie stuffed with a ricotta-
like cheese and drizzled with honey), an omelet with staka (which
resembles clotted cream), hortopitakia (wild-greens pies) and a round
of wine and raki cost around 20 euros. Local musicians often play on
weekends.
On your way to Selakano Forest, stop at Stella’s Cafe
(30-284-209-1235) for fasolakia me katsiki (beans simmered with goat)
and a tiny plate of preserved fruit with a cup of herb tea.
http://travel.nytimes.com/2008/07/27/travel/27journeys.html |
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Jack Linthicum
Guest
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| Posted: Sat Jul 26, 2008 10:23 am Post subject: Re: Travel item from the NY Times: Palaikastro |
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On Jul 26, 6:22 am, Jack Linthicum <jacklinthi...@earthlink.net>
wrote:
[quote]I pull the relevant passage out of this description of a travel
destination and alternative vacation spot to show where 21st century
activity may lead to a new "wonder" site.
"We stopped at Palaikastro, a pretty town of about 800 people in the
rural municipality of Itanos. Nearby is a Minoan-era settlement that,
according to some archaeologists, may have approached the size of
Knossos, the palace complex about 60 miles to the west and the fabled
lair of the mythical man-bull, the Minotaur. A badly marked dirt road
leads from Palaikastro to the Minoan archaeological site of
Roussolakos, which is cordoned off by a rusting metal fence and
overlooks Kouremenos Bay. On the grounds are bouquets of wild oregano
and wild bay plants."
July 27, 2008
Journeys | Crete
Days of Wild Oregano and Goatherds
By JOANNA KAKISSIS
A SPIRALING, slightly treacherous dirt road leads to Aspros Potamos,
an enclave of 300-year-old cottages in eastern Crete once used by
olive farmers and goatherds. Peaceful and primitive, with stone
floors, oil lamps for light and a starry night sky, the cottages, now
a rustic retreat for tourists, offer visitors a glimpse into the life
of old Crete, without the boutique airbrushing.
It’s not the usual vision of Greece’s largest island, but for many,
it’s far more rewarding than the seaside nightclubs, umbrella-pinned
beaches and Riviera-lite resorts that attract many people. The eastern
Lassithi prefecture, which stretches from a lush plateau of farms to
dry crags overlooking transcendentally blue bays, offers plenty of
portholes into a disappearing Crete and its robust geography.
But the last-paradise vibe may not last much longer. Several
developers are scoping out the land for resort development, and
residents fear that the resorts will guzzle the island’s increasingly
scarce water resources. I explored this old side of Crete during a
trip last summer to the eastern side of the island. My family left
Greece for the United States when I was a child, and though I have
visited my mother’s island many times, Crete remains a tableau of
longing: the puffing chimneys on the tiny stone houses in my mother’s
village, the farmers riding donkeys to orange groves. Somewhere
between our rented stone cottage and the expanse of Lassithi, I
figured, were pieces of this reverie.
The first night didn’t go well. I had forgotten matches for the oil
lamp and a flashlight to maneuver up the rocky steps to our room, and
we had to mummify ourselves in the bed sheets to defend ourselves from
mosquitoes.
To crank ourselves up the next morning, we drank strong, unsweetened
Greek coffee on the terrace before driving north to Sitia, then east
toward the island’s tip. We passed ancient peak sanctuaries, a
stunning coastline and Moni Toplou, the powerful monastery that owns
much of the land in this area. The white turbines from Toplou’s wind
park starred the balding hills like kinetic crosses.
We stopped at Palaikastro, a pretty town of about 800 people in the
rural municipality of Itanos. Nearby is a Minoan-era settlement that,
according to some archaeologists, may have approached the size of
Knossos, the palace complex about 60 miles to the west and the fabled
lair of the mythical man-bull, the Minotaur. A badly marked dirt road
leads from Palaikastro to the Minoan archaeological site of
Roussolakos, which is cordoned off by a rusting metal fence and
overlooks Kouremenos Bay. On the grounds are bouquets of wild oregano
and wild bay plants.
A little farther northeast is another archaeological wonder, the
ancient town of Itanos, now also known as Erimoupolis (the Deserted
City). Itanos is near the popular Vai beach, which is surrounded by a
thatch of palm trees and is often crowded to discomfort in summer. You
will find far better beaches if you scope out the rest of the
coastline here. We discovered a deserted cove just beyond the Itanos
archaeological site and climbed down a jagged path to get to the
shore. The smooth-pebbled beach embraced a circling sea, which merged
into an illuminated sky. Here we ran into a middle-aged Scandinavian
couple wading into the water, wearing nothing but diving masks.
“Do you think Crete is losing its sense of nostalgia?” I later asked
Nikos Troulinos, a retired naval officer who farms bananas and olives
in the area. We had stopped by his thatched road stand near Vai, where
he sells his bananas and outstanding cold-extract olive oil.
Mr. Troulinos handed us small, fragrant Cretan bananas to sample. ”You
want nostalgia?“ he said. “Here’s nostalgia: I still milk my goats
every morning, and my 2-year-old grandson likes to help me, and we
drink the milk afterwards. I think that’s about as close to grace as
you can get. I mean, to be Cretans, should we be riding around on
donkeys to fit your idea of nostalgia?”
The next day we went west to the verdant stretch of Lassithi, passing
the miles of greenhouse-lined shore near the drab southeastern city of
Ierapetra. We stopped in the seaside village of Myrtos for honey-
drenched kataifi (walnuts, sugar and spices wrapped in shredded
phyllo) and a walk through the tiny streets, which were full of Dutch
tourists and looked, unnervingly, like a movie set. Then we went on to
the forest of Selakano, where there are startling views of the Libyan
Sea.
Situated in the Dikti mountain range (where Zeus was said to have
frolicked as a boy-god) Selakano is a slow drive through narrow
switchbacks and breathtaking gorges. The way to Selakano isn’t well
marked, so we stopped at a roadside cafe in the village of Males for
directions. An old man in a weathered three-piece suit and a sweeping
mustache pointed to my tiny rented Hyundai. ”You’d do better with a
donkey,” he said.
Indeed the puny car struggled uphill, but we made it to the forest,
which was thick with pine, plane, oak and cypress. The air was cool
and rain-scented, the prelude to a shower that sent us to Stella’s
Cafe in the hamlet of Selakano. A blossoming canopy of almond and pear
trees embraced the village. Nearby, a bearded young goatherd managed
his flock.
Over mugs of herb tea and plates of baby-walnut spoon sweet, the cafe
owner, Stella Fanouraki, and her brother Manolis Kritsotakis, a
retired 3M executive, described life in the village: mornings of
tending flocks or gardens of tomatoes and peppers, and evenings
sharing dinners of stewed goat and white beans. Mr. Kritsotakis, who
grew up in the area but now lives in the tony Athenian suburb of
Ekali, said he spent summers here, growing grapes, making wine and
hiking with his daughters.
There’s no place to stay in Selakano, but Ms. Fanouraki said a couple
of her fellow villagers were planning to open guesthouses soon.
Though Aspros Potamos isn’t nearly as cozy (or populated) as Selakano,
the rustic cottages there have the same bygone magnetism. An Athenian
transplant, Aleka Halkia, bought the abandoned buildings in 1985 and
moved in with her daughter Myrto Botsari. Over the years they added
rustic wooden furniture as well as bathrooms and terraces. A
photovoltaic solar energy system powers a small refrigerator and warms
water for bathing.
The mother and daughter both still live there, though Ms. Botsari’s
husband, Manolis Kounelakis, now runs the show. Their guests —
Americans, Britons, Irish, Germans and citified young Greeks — revel
in the surroundings. They hike along gorges to the nearby mountain
village of Pefki to hear local musicians recite mandinadhes —
improvised couplets — at a tavern called Piperia (Pepper) and play the
lyra, a pear-shaped, three-stringed lyre voiced with a bow. They eat
snails fried in olive oil, rosemary and vinegar and drink raki (a
potent Cretan spirit made from grape must). They chat with old men in
cafes about the old days. “It’s like you get to live another life,”
said Dita Hussain, a nurse from Portland who stayed at Aspros Potamos
earlier last year.
Older Greeks stay away or leave bemused, like my mother, who laughed
at my fascination with the oil lamps. Greeks who lived an impoverished
childhood in their villages during the 1940s and ’50s would rather not
relive it. “But their children, who have grown up in cities and crave
nature and a connection to a diminished past, stay for days sometimes,
playing their guitars under the stars,” Ms. Halkia said.
FAR FROM THE HAPPENING CLUBS
Aspros Potamos (30-284-305-1694;www.asprospotamos.com) has 10
cottages not far from the beach town of Makriyialos. The cottages,
built at least 300 years ago, have been beautifully restored. Just
don’t count on your laptop; there’s no electricity. Expect to pay 40
to 90 euros, about $65 to $145 at $1.62 to the euro, a night (minimum
three nights), depending on the season and the number of beds.
If you can’t live without TV, go to the homey Thalia Hotel
(30-284-306-1448;www.palaikastro.com/thaliahotel) in Palaikastro,
where double rooms cost about 37 euros. Another option is the Villa
Mirtini (30-284-209-0130;www.mirtini.net) in Myrtos, where prices are
35 to 60 euros a night depending on the room and the season.
In the mountain village of Pefki, Piperia (30-284-305-2471) serves
excellent Cretan food. A nerati (a flat pie stuffed with a ricotta-
like cheese and drizzled with honey), an omelet with staka (which
resembles clotted cream), hortopitakia (wild-greens pies) and a round
of wine and raki cost around 20 euros. Local musicians often play on
weekends.
On your way to Selakano Forest, stop at Stella’s Cafe
(30-284-209-1235) for fasolakia me katsiki (beans simmered with goat)
and a tiny plate of preserved fruit with a cup of herb tea.
http://travel.nytimes.com/2008/07/27/travel/27journeys.html
[/quote]
http://www.uk.digiserve.com/mentor/minoan/palaikastro.htm |
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