Take me back to Crete.
By Fiacre Banks
January 11, 2019 4:22pm CST
Sometimes a hermit's cave starts to seem attractive, a place remote and stark, a nightmare for an estate agent or realtor to sell. "Far from shops, schools and entertainment, with no amenities and little natural light" - good luck with trying to sell a property like that. But so long as the hovel was carved into a hillside on the southern coast of Crete it wouldn't be all bad. On a good day you could sit and watch Africa shimmering in the distance, and your ears would pick up only the faint sound of waves washing through the shingle on the beach at the foot of the hill, and the bleating of goats. The curious light of the sun would shine loudly on you, the air redolent with wild flowers and the dry, desert wind from Africa. A weekly three mile hike along a cliff path would take you to a village where you could buy what was needed to supplement the wild cucumbers and tomatoes that grew everywhere among sage and dill. Days would be filled with swimming, reading and meditating with no need for a watch, and no reference to past or future, no tenses to learn.
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My husband and I only stayed on the north coast. We were there at the end of October/beginning of November. We belonged to the last group of tourists before the hotels closed for the winter season. I know, however, that the south coast was the area where the hippies used to stay. So you were a hippie, too? I wonder what has happened to hippiedom. Maybe the last specimen can be found in Indian ashrams, now old and wrinkly and with grey/white hair, still smoking pot and dancing in the moonshine humming monotonous tunes.