Honeymooning in Crete

A memory bank of our time away on the beautiful island of Crete.

Take Off

The journey is the reward – so say those beyond the finish line – but I’ll agree that the buoyancy that appears in the days leading up to a holiday is wonderful. While I’m typically dialling up my stress levels ahead of any international travel (mainly down to an over-active imagination of things outside of my control going wrong), this time around I decided to loosen my grip and try to enjoy the process. Oh, and Katie isn’t at all at one with the idea of being a few thousand feed in the air – so I had the task of distracting her to displace my own ruminations.

Anyhow our early morning wake-up, quick goodbye to confused dogs, and hop to the airport was topped off with a trip to the 1903 lounge, courtesy of some of our delightful friends – and I can now say it’s worth its weight in gold. For just over 100 squid you can breakfast in complete calm in a spacious zone away from the typical cacophony of the airside crowd – an experience I’m sure could induce tension in a slinky.

After a quick hop over the Alps and beyond, we landed to board a coach transfer – to play every package holiday’s most exciting game – is this our hotel? Or, for the uninitiated “please don’t let this one be ours” – fortunately we rocked up at an expansive and luxurious collection of white stone buildings out of the way and fronting the ocean. And what a welcome – with the team there immediately taking our bags, giving us a cool hand towel, and serving us drinks. Not only that, but the entrance to our hotel was clearly designed to immediately tantalise the senses – with a view over the pool and beyond to the shimmering sea and mountains in the distance – we had absolutely lucked-out (through just 100 decisions and lots of planning.)

Check-in complete, room with a rose-petal love heart on the bed and welcome sparkling wine sampled, we went to explore.

Now, having only very rarely encountered all-inclusive resorts on occasion, and on account of our hefty fatigue by this point, neither of us quite knew how the place worked. We found a restaurant on site, ordered and ate our food, and assumed this would be charged to the room. But when we were served drinks at the bar later that evening, our hosts didn’t even ask for a room number…how curious, but we weren’t about to challenge it!

As ever, that first night’s sleep after a whole day of travel was blissful.

The Hammock and the Sax Man

As Brits it can be quite disorientating to witness the cloudless skies and back-to-back sunshine. And what better way to acclimatise than by getting poolside and setting yourself in the oven at 180° for 30 mins? Yes, we opted to spend our first full day mostly by the pool, with a brief interlude on a hammock overlooking the ocean.

Now, accounts differ on the precise mechanism of injury that befell me that day. My dear wife insists that my lobsterisation was primarily a factor of me taking too long to apply sun cream. I would counter that it was our abject lack of shade for the majority of the day (against my insistence on parasol-based-protection.) But regardless of the why I think it’s fair to say I was ready to film the suncream public awareness advert from then on.

Pro tip: the UV index is actually more informative than the temperature as to the level of cooking you can accomplish on a sunny day.

Anyhow, the sunburn gave me an evening’s grace before fully embracing every pain receptor on my body in the days that followed, and this evening was scored by a saxophonist who played several songs from our wedding – which was blissful!

That night we discovered The Wine Library – one of rooms at the buffet, where an on-site sommelier hawks local wines by the barrel-full. The Piccolo Mondo became a staple for Katie for the remainder of the trip.

Sunset

“Never” was the waiter’s reply when I asked him if he ever gets bored of the sunset. The word delivered with the same richness as the famous olive oil we were soaking into fresh bread that night.

Every evening we were there, a beautiful anticipatory crescendo unfolding up to dusk. Guests turned to moths – swarming the balcony to witness the daily gift. I’ve never seen anything quite like it – the shimmering carpet of light rolled out from the shore to the distant mountains, the sun slowly taking on deep orange, then red hues.

Then, kissing the mountain top, before diving head first into the horizon – accelerating all the while. It was magical. We returned every night to enjoy this natural beauty.

After our vigil, we headed down for tea at another of the place’s seafront restaurants – an Asian-inspired joint which served some beautiful sushi, followed by crispy duck. It was an interesting mix – Japanese and Chinese food on the beachfront, in a Greek hotel – but I’ll take it!

Well Read

Another day, another sun lounger. These loungers were floor-to-butt padded, not your average plastic numbers – which meant lounging was comfy for several hours at a time.

But, the comfort of my enlazied back-aside, I think it’s a good time to talk about moral values. Specifically – fairness and justice. Katie and I are firm believers that the social fabric is primarily held together through a delicate balance of these two factors – and nothing quite illustrates these critical components of civilised society like a policy of no sunbed reservations before 10:30am.

“Towels will be removed if left unattended before 10:30am, and after 50 mins grace thereafter?” I exclaimed incredulously. This was worth an early start – to bear witness to such high drama would be peak indulgence.

Skipping breakfast was a small price to pay as we watched (from the velvety comfort of our loungers) a gentlemen spread towels across 4 – count them – four! – loungers, leaving a bag atop one before strolling off to breakfast at 9am. The sheer temerity of the guy! The disregard of the only rules that separate man from beast!

Not 5 minutes later he emerged from the retreating shadows of the early morning sun. Calmly and effortlessly he drew closer to the crime-scene…

The Pool Attendant.

His towel-folding was casual – his face: serene.

In no time at all the symbols of anarchy were dismantled and dislocated. And no sooner had the order been restored, had another couple poached half of the previously-claimed beds.

We didn’t even have to pay extra for this level of entertainment.

20 minutes went by before the gentleman returned (I should note, he was a muscle-bound balding man who you’d probably want on your side in a bar fight), chatting away casually on his phone as he walked up to the illicitly-gained beds – half his prey actively being feasted upon by more attendant hunters. He looked around confused, before simply walking past as if to save face.

Absolute cinema.

Anyway, we also read a whole bunch of books and dipped in the pool. By this point my sunburn was so profoundly integrated into my body that it looked like a birthmark – meaning people averted their gaze on my way in and out of the pool. How kind.

To wrap the day we were treated to a Greek feast of mezze and kebabs at the resort’s beautiful Cretan restaurant.

Club Sandwich

What’s more convenient than a diverse lunch buffet every day? You guessed it: pool-side food and drinks – specifically a monster club sandwich which threatened to disintegrate into a beautiful cacophony of mayonnaise, chicken, and tomato on every bite.

This was the first time we’ve been lucky enough to get pool-side service, and it helped us answer the question of how early is too early for bevs on holiday? (Answer: 10am, but 10:30am is fine.)

Side note: Club Sandwich is absolutely the sort of club I would join.

Swimming in Clarity

There’s a certain security you’re buying with an all-inclusive resort – the privilege to put your primary decision-making faculties on leave while you hop from one curated experience to the next – almost like a reversion to childhood where your day is architected by the grown-ups.

However at least for me, I can only do so many days of that in a row before restlessness kicks in – and thankfully there’s a salve for that in the form of excursions – in this case, we opted for a boat trip across the Bay of Souda.

A single photo, limited description, and only 1 review in English led the way to a once-in-a-lifetime experience. Once we were over the sheer terror that takes hold once your ride is even a couple of minutes late, we were aboard the coach on the way to the bay.

Aside: Greek driving is both, ahem, mental, and beautiful. While cars, buses, and scooters appears to chaotically navigate the impossibly-tight roads with overtakes abounding and tolerances measured in the centimetres, I’ve never borne witness to such skilful coach manoeuvring – is Greece also the cradle of coach civilisation?

Once off the coach and on the boat, it turned out that our driver was also the captain and owner of the boat, so we were off in no time. Not only this, but our host then informed us of the birthplace of the writer Nikos Kazantzakis – of Zorba the Greek fame – and then answered the eternal question of what else is there to do when sailing off the coast of Crete? Answer? Dancing. This guy had game.

We sailed the incredibly clear ocean to a spot just off the coast from a triple rock formation upon which, legend has it, sirens would sit.

And then, into the water we went.

I should point out here that Katie’s perfectly reasonable fear of apex predators had previously prevented any sort of open water dip. But, with a fine blend of social and spousal pressure, plus the sheer clarity of the water which would hopefully provide a heads-up to predation, she dove in without missing a beat.

Swimming in the Med, surrounded by ancient rocks, glimmering waves, and the odd screaming kid (who was likely also nurturing a healthy fear of sharks) was blissful.

After the dip, we unexpectedly had a traditional lunch onboard the boat – chicken kebabs, pita, and chips plus white wine and of course local raki- a welcome recharge.

We then sailed to Marathi, met the captain’s pet cat Sammy (who was waiting for his kebab at the dock), and took a stroll up the beach before seeking some shade (the venue just so happened to serve beverages.)

But our peaceful outing was soon to be struck by disaster…back on the boat the captain stood before us and let us know that the engine wouldn’t start. When turning the key the dash illuminated with the words in red…GREEK DANCING.

At this, he hopped ashore and beckoned for several folks to join him (I had just removed my shoes and with them enthusiasm for volunteering at this point), and the 5 of them danced to the tune of out-of-time clapping from the rest of us – and wouldn’t you know it – the engine came roaring to life. How splendid.

Honeybees, Kittens, and Goats

By Thursday the home-sickness was setting in – so of course we decided that we needed an injection of British and Manc culture – specifically – Land Rovers and bees (stay with me.)

Fresh off the high of our boat trip, we were greeted at the hotel gate by a Jason – an Englishman who had adopted Crete as his home who now drives Defenders up and down the mountains in a bid to help tourists discover unexplored car sickness and lower-back pain (thankfully neither manifest for the two of us!)

We clambered into the back of the 4×4, with some Germans and Dutch folks and set off on an off-road adventure. Our guide let us know about the population of Crete (650k) which doubles during the Summer months, the fact that there are 35 million olive trees there, and of the one national road stretching the length of the island – which carried us to our first destination – a bee-keeping tour.

Here, scored by the buzzing of cicadas and purring of cats, we heard about the process of bee-keeping and harvesting honey – including how the technology has developed over the years – plus the fact that the drone bees are essentially just air conditioning units for the hive that live 1/45th of the time of the queen (poor fellas, but cool guys nonetheless.)

We wrapped by tasting honeys of different types (created from the pollen of different plants) and of course bought a jar of our favourite.

Next stop: the monastery.

We climbed the mountainside through small villages until arriving at a stunning vantage point set into the rock-face. Here we were greeted by the ancient monastic order of kittens – who followed us throughout our stop off.

“It gets bumpy after the monastery” Jason said, a wry smile…wrying its way across his face.

And reader I can confirm, it was not a route I would take in the Ford Focus. But it was great fun watching our driver enthusiastically barrel down 40 degree dirt-and-rock-cobbled paths, turning bends I could have sworn were meant only for mountain goats – talking of which…

Our next stop – The Shepherd’s Hut set in a farm granted us the pleasure of seeing goat’s cheese made from scratch, right in front of us in the span of a few minutes. Sprinkled with a little salt, and washed down with – you guessed it – more raki, it was delicious – similar to a warm, looser mozzarella.

But seeing the cheese made wasn’t enough. We had to go back further along the provenance of our snack. All the way back.

And that’s where our mate Bertha came in – both Katie and I took to milking her immediately!

Finally we made our way to a mountain-top restaurant for some traditional Greek food – a simple mix of a greek salad, slow-roasted pork (note to self – slow roast pork more often), and puff-pastry pillows of sweetness to round it out. And raki. Always raki.

Mercifully the trip back to the hotel was decidedly on-road, which meant we were able to fully digest the lunch.

After a brief nap back at the hotel, we dropped into the bar for our nightly sun-bound farewell, before heading to the resort’s Italian restaurant. There, we bravely powered through appetisers, starters and then mains – seriously savouring the savoury – before slowly stumbling to slumberland.

The Spa, the Beach, and the Fancy Restaurant

As we rounded out our time in Crete we decided that we hadn’t quite indulged enough, so opted to dial it up to 11…

We started with some early morning sun by the pool (remember, 10:30am is an acceptable time for bevs), sampled another club sandwich without moving, grabbed an ice cream from the roving ice cream wagon, and then dropped into the on-site spa for a couples massage.

Sounds like a classic honeymoon activity right? I certainly thought so. Indeed, having a large native man provide deep tissue massage to me (and his colleague Dora the muscle-explorer for Katie) in the same room was nothing short of true romance. I for one enjoyed it – even if having the chap whisper instructions into my ear and hearing the sounds of oil slathering all about was…unique in many ways.

Unfortunately for Katie, she spent the entire time giggling to herself that I was “getting a rub down” right next to her. Nothing says romance like a rub down, right?

Tension banished, muscles wobbly, we collapsed onto some beach beds. And as if the resort team couldn’t get any better, they were trapising up and down the beach running a full drinks service. It would be rude not to.

That night, we dropped into the fine-dining restaurant – The White – to eat rather fancy food at sunset – including an absolutely filthy beef carpaccio and decidedly do-lally candyfloss tree. No complains from me – I’m always happy to branch out in my food choices.

Once you’ve gone barking up that sort of culinary tree, there isn’t much mouthfeel left to explore, so we nobly switched entirely to liquids at the bar – allowing the cocktails to flow – encouraged by the staff who double served our last drink of the night – almost as if they knew we needed to be knocked out cold (and it did the trick.)

All Included

The next morning we played suitcase tetris and boshed it. As I farmer’s carried our cases down a couple of flights of stairs (out of sheer guilt for not having used the on-site gym once), we ping-ponged guesses at our final bill.

We were floored when the front-desk team told us it was just the double rub down that needed payment. No mention of the mini-bar raids or cocktail clowning. No demands for our ravaging of the restaurants or brazen boozing. Outstanding.

As we ventured out for one last dip in the beautiful sea, it hit me that one of the major upsides of a resort-based trip (and many similar style holidays) is the element of safety, trust, community, and abundance that is inherent in a place like that. In the UK (and much of the west) we’re programmed to distrust, to frown and take things seriously. But on holiday everyone is there with the simple mission of having a good time.

You’ve all paid up to take a break from the reality we’ve collectively manufactured. In the case of a hotel like the one we were at, you’ve paid to take a break from constant decision making and planning, so that energy can go into sheer relaxation. That’s the real pleasure in a well-executed holiday in my mind.

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I’m deeply grateful to our wonderful family and friends that made this trip possible through the generous donations to fund this unforgettable time away. We’ll cherish these memories for a lifetime, and to the exquisite locals and adoptees of Crete, I say…

Σας ευχαριστώ!

“Thank you” (pronounced eff-farris-stow)