Wednesday 06/09/2006 0 the number of the worst

Up early for a triumphant bacon and egg breakfast cooked using the most rudimentary equipement by me. The ferry journey to Chora seemed to take a long time, not made any shorter by picking up the bin lorry, and taking it to " rubbish island " to collect the bins.

This set the tone for an eventful but not particularly enjoyable visit to Chora Sfakion. Disembarking in a hurricaine we set about trying to find accomodation from the guide but didn;t fancy the recommendations on the busy seafront. As it turned out, the inclement weather meant we needn't have worried about the noise.

At taverna 3 brothers we asked for a room with a fridge and kitchenette and were led on a 5 minute climb to a room with neither - insprational. We ended up back at Stavros Rooms which we had declined to look at earlier , so we asked them for the same as 3 brothers \and were shown a room with neither a fridge nor kitchenette. When we pointed this out, the guy said " you should have said this at te beginning " - he did however show us a studio.

Seeing that it had the aforementioned equipment, a balcony and aircon, and at hearing Chala's surprise at seeing a bath, and given that it was 30 euro I figured it was a great idea, took control and agreed to a 2 night stay. The guy took my passport to copy and Chala asked me to fetch the air con remote control.

Not wanting to relinquish the only decent room we;d seen so far I paid up front for 2 nights on receipt of the remote. Cue embolism number 1.

Chala became apoplectic at not being consulted on this pivotal decision, and also at the potential ( not yet evident ) of noise from the balcony, and the " sewage smell " which I could not setect and which she had neglected to mention at any point so far. I managed to close the shutters to reduce the imaginary noise but Chala complained that the air con was noisy as well. Cue more embolisms.

We did manage to suspend jibbering long enough to go for sonething to eat, to the shop, and to have a look around, before Chala went for a siesta and I went fior an explore. We also sought information from the exchange office, which was alledged to provide info and bookings for excursions as well as bus and boat times. From here on, any staff referred to at this office shall bbe known as " the storyteller ".

Thinking that with the noise issue sorted things may improve, I returned to find Chala;s bags packed and embolisms 5 and 6. During her siesta Chala had summarised that Chora was a shit tip and that all the tavernas were tacky tourist crap. No amount of pleasant or exciting excursions could cover the forror of spending another moment in Chora it seemed. Cue more " discussions ". An hour later, things became even more interesting - we were locked in.

After clambering onto and shouting from the balcony a man from the taverna came to let us out, but conceded that his Dad needed to look at the broken lock. We went out for tea knowing that the door needed to be baricaded during the night to stop it blowing open. Further hilarity ensued when we chose Niko's taverna - I had seen the menu earlier on and it seemed OK, and was easily the busiest premises on the waterfront. The emplty tavernas could have been due ti the fact that all of them had no provision for eating inside, and it was blowing a force ten gale.

Undeterred and protected by a wind break of tables of hardy Germans, we went through the menu ordering dishes that were either out of season, ficticious or finished, rendering the menu pointless. As they had no chicken, we reluctantly ordered chicken souvlakis - don't ask me how that works. After a fruitless hoour of chasing the tablecloth and mats and personal belongings around the wind tunnel we went back. The spectacle reminded me of film from Blue Peter in the 1980's which invariably featured cub scouts on a rollercoaster trying to drink milkshakes and eat crisps. To ruond off a crap evening I managed to somehow contrive to get the seat not the bowl and had to have a shower in te strange coloured bath to get clean. At this pint I had to agree that we would be leaving a night early for Plakias.

Thursday 07/09/2006 - Escape from Chora.....

After not too bad a nights sleep , thankful that the door had neither blown open to strew our possessions around the coast, or jammed shut again, condemning us to escape via the balcony, I immediatelyu set about once again packing my rucksack, followed by cramming at least a 3rd of Chala's stuff into it as well. This gave me ample time to think of a pisspoor excuse for why we were leaving a day early and therefore wanted my 30 euro back.

We were out by 09.30, and having lost the element oof surprise by emerging right in front of the taverna, found the owner and blurted some convoluted tale about bus time misinformation, Gavdos misunderstandings, then tagged on the end " so can I have my money back ? ". It somehow worked.

By now, Chala had already begun an epic series of embolisms based on the lack of opportunity in a traditional creatan village to purchas a mocha. Whilst I had packed, she had gome to visit the storyteller, who had woven a fanciful yarn about a magic bus that tuyrned up between 10 and 10.30 ; but it could be early or may not think of stopping so we needed to wave our arms frantically at it.

En route to the bus stop we visited a kafenion, to the stunned silence of the regulars. to have a coffee and for Chala to have another seizure about the lack of choice of coffees. despite having been forewarned by experience and common sense. After a brief sup and following more jibbering we arrived at the bus stop and started to wait. And wait. " Luckily " Chala managed to remind me over 100 times how crap Chora was, and then look at the timetable ( or that which had not been rendedred unreadable by bullet holes ) and then her watch, exasperatedly, approximately every 30 seconds. Soon, 10.00am passed, and the mildly amusing spectacle of two whistle happy traffic wardens trying to herd cars into parking spcaes in the baking sunshine was now seeming tiresome.

At 10.15, a bus appeared and pulled up infromt of us depositing numerous visitors. Because there is no official KTEA uniform, I had an interesting exchange of half understood ideas with a local man unloading his baggage, who didn;t seem to know if he was goiing to Plakias anymore than I did. However, all of a sudden, as gandalf had prophecised, another bus came down the road. Heeding the storyteller's advice, we shouted and frantuically waved our arms at the bus.

The driver, clearly a veteran of sweaty flustered tourists flapping their arms in front of him, motioned for us to be calm, and noncholantly informed us that he was ging to Plakias, but not until 11.00. Cue armageddon.

Meanwhile, back on planet earth, a number of passengers were now amassing at the bus stop, so Chala decided to blanket accuse them all of pushing in when the bus was ready to leave. After embarking on a full 10 minute embolism, following my offering Chala the chance to leave the greenhouse and fetch herself a cold drink, we agreed that I would go into the village and arrange for a taxi to take us to Plakias. Hilariously, the taxi office informed me that there would be no taxis available until the evening, so I grabbed two iced coffees and trudged back up the hill to tell she beast. Cue frothing.

By now, the assembled passengers, terrified by Chala's seeming possession, were hastily rearranging their travel plans to avoid travelling to Plakias on the same bus as us. The Chania bus loaded first, to reveal that only two other passengers dared to board the bus to Plakias. Finally, at 11.00 we set off on what turned out to be an amazing journeyn through tiny mountain villages and along narrow winding roads with precipitous drops either side. The view was incredible, somnething like one of those cinema tents at fairgrounds where they project film onto the roof of the tent and everyone watching falls over when the vehicle goes round a bend ( or a lady with a pram unexpectedly walks out ).

Plakias was just as windy as Chora but far nicer. The directions in the LP were typically vague for anyone without a compass, and at first we walked away from the accomodation along the seafront. Back on course, the first rooms looked good but Chala decided we should see other choices first. Unable to find any of the guids landmarks we asked an English bloke at a car rental company for directoins. We were soon at pension Thetis, receiving a warm and heartfelt welconme from Nikos. The room was clean and had a separate kitchen and a balcony overlooking the garden.

We had a very tasty inexpensive lunch at the taverna round the corner, and while Chala had her sisets I went exploring along the seafronnt and found " on the rocks " bar, serving excellent Craft Pilsner on draught. This was fantastic, with a hoppy flavourwhich reminded me of Pilsner Urquell or Edelstoft lager, and it was the first time I had enjoyed a good beer since Paleochora. I got beer mats and merchandis to take back and tell Dave at the shop about.

That night we ate at Medousa where I had excellent Kokinisto, and the obligatory raki and wine. Bed early.

N.B - There is a postscript in my diary from Chala, and in the intereest of fairness I wil paraphrase what she said and cut it down to a couple of lines - her tiredness, homesickness IBS nad ongoing depression made ghr really unable to cope with the mounting disappointments of Chora. To be fair, we went back ib 2007, only for an hour, and its like a magic potion that sends her ccazy. Must be the fog......

Friday 08/09/2006.

We had breakfast on our balcony befor taking a leisurely stroll round to the second " sandy " beach for a relaxing sunbathe. I say sandy only in respect of the way all beaches on the south cpoast aren't 0 - there are a few odd patches where the sea has pummelled some of the less resilient pebbles into scratching shingle.

Unfortunately the rest of the beach comprises small pebbles and rocks, and all around the wartes edge the pebble dunes move with the tide, so paddling out fills your footwear with gravel almost instantly. Having helpfully advised a giant German couple that we thought the sunloungers might be free, a sou, muscular harridan came round to demand 5 euro for the pleasure of a crappy lounger and parasol, whilst doing an excellent impression of a bulldog licking piss off a thistle.

After an hour pr two of expensive discomfort we headed to on the rocks for dinner then went back to the gravel pit to balance precariously on a rocky outc rop, involving further endurance waddling and pain. I have often mocked those who spend hours entrenched motionless on sandy beaches every day of their holiday but would have been overjoyed by just one day of soft sand at that moment. I did finally find a suitable rock to perch on, and was soon under attack from shoals of tiny fish who were overjoyed by the prospect of nibbling some of the dead skin from my shins - an amusing side effect of a diabetes related skin conditoin, which is greatly improved by sunshine and seawater, but not by piscene mastication.

Back on the loungers of uncertainty, and with no written terms and conditions on display about the rights and permission of their users, I opted to escape Evil Edna's icy gaze and console myself lying on the other beach for an hour with two naked Scots ladies. It was disconcerting that they both sounded 80 years old, but when, through circumstances beyond ny control, I got more vista than I bargained for, they turned out to be about 40 - and had been at the first accomodation when we were trying to find a room the day before. I went for a calming couple more beers before meeting up with Chala at Thetis.

We had a fantastic meal at Kri Kri, which despite its worrying adoration for Italian and English cuisine also served excellent greek dishes - although we both had calzone. We also splashed out on some Santorini wine which was very nice, but afterwards were inclined to go for a late night stroll and a beer at the pension rather than sup in some of the bars on the fromt. Bed late.

Next time - Preveli, Elounda Island and Kato Elounda