A new beginning on Crete

Another bright spot in the lives of the many black-clad widows in our neighborhood is the nightly meeting at the koutsoúri in front of our house. There they gather at the end of the mild day, watch and comment on the people driving by, exchange rumors, reminisce and relive the past. With their weather-beaten faces, headscarves, long robes and wooden sticks, they are the biggest attraction in Vagionia.

Dimitris's arrival in the village with our new Ranger was triumphant. People in the kafenía in the village square craned their necks to see who owned this magnificent vehicle and many acquaintances congratulated us on the purchase and wished us kalotáxido - a good trip. They flocked from everywhere to admire the Ranger's cockpit, seats, engine, cargo area and passengers. There were very few identical vehicles in the whole of Crete and it was a real sensation in the village that Dimitris, of all people, was the new owner of this car for real men. Dimitris received some envious, even contemptuous looks, but also many warm comments and of course everyone wanted to know if the car was new and how much it had cost. It was noticeable that Dimitris's loser image was crumbling and some men suddenly wanted to swap places with him. However, our great joy and pride were soon to be clouded.

When my sister Anita and her family visited us in Crete, we went hiking together in a remote gorge to satisfy the adventurous spirit of her husband Tamas and their young son Elio. Halfway up we came across a one-and-a-half-meter obstacle in the form of a huge rock that was towering in the riverbed. Climbing was not easy as the rock was wet from the river water, but with a joint effort we managed to pull each other up. Although Lara did not like being lifted up, I tried to lure her into my arms so I could hoist her to the top of the rock. She refused energetically. Instead, she took a running start, jumped halfway up the rock, bounced off with her short legs, let her small body shoot up again, clung to the top with her white paws and pulled herself up with tremendous energy. She more than deserved our applause and the hiking group was able to move on.



For about a year, Lara taught me dog language, loyalty and unconditional love. Then one day she disappeared and it broke my heart. I still can't accept that she's gone, I hope so much that she's still alive and well and that one day, as if by some miracle, she'll show up again with us.

Chrisoula didn't have an easy life as an orphan and an outsider, and when we gave her the ram Minos, her fate hardly improved. The couple's life together was marked by violence. Chrisoula was repeatedly maltreated by her rough partner with headbutts. She often gave Dimitris a look that seemed to say: Why on earth did you choose such an idiot for me? At some point, Dimitris could no longer bear to watch the abuse. The hoped-for reproduction between the two was out of the question. The mismatched pair could not get together, even with the best will in the world. So Minos ended up in the cooking pot and Chrisoula's quality of life improved significantly.

Good Friday is the most beautiful day of the year for me, because that is when the solidarity in our village is most noticeable. After the mass, the priests and the singing churchgoers take the flower-decorated coffin of Christ, the Epitáphios, on a procession through the whole of Vagionia, stopping in front of every single building. Fires are lit in the middle of the street in front of the houses and the participants in the procession are given refreshments by the residents of the houses while the priests bless the buildings. The believers receive their blessing by walking under the Epitáphios. In our family, it is customary to offer Spanish nuts to the believers waiting during the procedure. Those who do not take the fasting rules so seriously can enjoy the chocolate eggs that I have imported from Switzerland. When the procession moves on, I join the procession through the village with our guests while Dimitris prepares dinner. Each neighborhood tries to outdo the others and on our tour through the village we try limoncello, rakí, candy, walnuts, almonds and boiled snails until our stomachs are full and our heads are spinning. We wish the generous donors a long life: Chrónia pollá! The procession ends at the cemetery where the priests, in remembrance of the dead, read the names of the deceased, which are written on pieces of paper that the faithful hastily pass to them.

He has probably never been to Kofinas on September 14th, when the mountain church of Timios Stavros celebrates its religious feast of the Holy Cross. That is when entire families from the village of Kapetaniana make a pilgrimage to the mountain peak to pray and celebrate together. Even very old but hardy believers pool all their strength and struggle up the steep path in their black robes and with their walking sticks to honor Christ's sacrifice for our salvation.

While we were unpacking our sandwiches on the benches in front of the church, Manuela sat down on a rock and looked at the vastness of the turbulent sea in the abyss. Suddenly the waves calmed down in one place and a group of dolphins jumped out of the water. Before she had a chance to call us, the spook was over and the majestic animals disappeared into the depths of the sea. While we envied Manuela for her observation, the young woman was intoxicated by this event, which manifested itself to her like a revelation. And the island had once again cast a spell on someone with its magic.

The bright full moon rose over the eastern hill, casting a bright glow on the pitch-black sea water before us. A wolf's howl sounded from the western hill as Hermes expressed his despair at not being able to be with us. Hermes's lamentations had already died down when we heard the sound of an engine and a black pickup truck appeared next to the stranded fishing boat at the left end of the beach.

Three young men got out and shone their flashlights into the water. I assumed they were fishermen checking their equipment. Marina had other ideas. She whispered to me anxiously: "Mom, if these men wanted to harm us, there would be no one here to help us. Not even Hermes could protect us now." "Don't worry!" I replied. "Here on Crete you can feel safe because there is very little crime." Then I had a sudden idea of how I could defuse the situation even further. "If we stop talking and wrap ourselves in our sleeping bags, they won't even notice that we are women when they discover us and won't even get any stupid ideas," I told Marina. She thought this was a clever suggestion and we both retreated silently into the depths of our night camp. I saw the boys shining their flashlights in our direction.

We show our guests the cycle of nature.

Together we plant and cultivate the garden, harvest the vegetables and fruit and process our own products in the kitchen. We cook, bake and preserve.

We make cheese and yoghurt from sheep's and goat's milk.

In our village of Vagionia, olives are harvested in winter. Our guests learn how olive oil is made and help with the farm work.