I have yearned to go to Crete ever since I was a young adolescent reading “The King Must Die” and “The Bull from the Sea,” Mary Renault’s wonderful historic novels set in the ancient world. Finally, decades later, the opportunity to fulfill this dream presented itself. It happened while I was on a wine tasting assignment, traveling through mainland Greece earlier this summer with four other wine columnists who were also reporting on the current vintage there. When a 24-hour hole in our schedule opened up unexpectedly, everyone was game to fly to Crete. Obviously, we wouldn’t have much time there, but our notion was that we would simply take in as many sights as possible in the few hours allotted to us.
In retrospect, this was clearly a mad idea, for Crete, the third largest island in the Mediterranean, is an enormous and diverse place. Even at the manic height of our planning stage, we realized we’d be unable to cover much more than Hania, the city located (conveniently for us) near the airport on the northwestern edge of the island. With 60 000 inhabitants, Hania (also spelled Chania) is a big and reportedly fascinating city, within viewing distance on one side of the beautiful Lefka Ori — White Mountains — and, on the other side, the lovely beaches of the Libyan Sea. In other words, a place well worth a visit.
On the short plane ride from Athens to Hania, I poured over the guidebook I’d bought in the airport, boning up on background information and jotting down notes of places to see. Crete’s cultural heritage is rich and complex, with strong Byzantine, Venetian and Maltese influences. Hania, I learned, was built on top of the ancient city of Kydonia; architectural remains that have survived here date back to the Minoan Period (1900-2200 BC), and the city boasts a fine archeological museum. From1645 to 1830 Crete was governed by Pashas (196 of them in all), after which Hania was declared the capital of the autonomous state of Crete (in 1913 the entire island became part of Greece). By the 19th century, Hania was a culturally and ethnically varied metropolis inhabited by a clamorous crowd of indigenous Cretans, Turks, Bedouins, Jews and Europeans. During World War II, following numerous violent battles fought outside the town, Hania was bombed, and large portions of the old town were destroyed.
Having made our plans at the last minute, and with the tourist season already under way, we were unable to get rooms in any of the hotels situated idyllically along the port, but the nearby Samaria Hotel proved a perfectly adequate place to stay. What it may have lacked in charm, the Samaria made up for in its location (a five-minute walk to the port and old town), and in its relatively spacious guest rooms and bathrooms. It was early afternoon when we checked into the hotel, stashed bags in rooms, and then set off to explore the town.
We strolled a couple of blocks over to the large, enclosed public market, where we worked up an appetite ogling the displays of fresh produce, fish, spices and breads. At the far end of the market, we stepped out the door and into the old town that wraps around the harbor. The long, curving wharf is densely packed with shops, restaurants and cafes, and the sapphire water appeared clear and pristine under a warm, but not blisteringly hot, sun.
Our first priority after our mouth-watering tour through the market was lunch. We settled under umbrellas in front of the first restaurant that struck our fancy, promising each other that we’d eat lightly, since we expected to be indulging in a big dinner that evening. We’d get a couple of Greek salads to share, and maybe a bottle of wine. But oh, look, right there on the menu: fennel pie — a Cretan specialty that we mustn’t pass up. We also felt compelled to order artichokes simmered with fava beans, another local dish, as well as spicy peppers with feta cheese bathed in fragrant pools of olive oil. Traditional tzatziki (cucumbers and yogurt) to counteract the heat of the peppers seemed like a good idea too. While we were at it, we felt we’d better try the kallitsounia — savory cheese pies that are a specialty of Hania — and certainly a couple of onion pies as well. We also owed it to ourselves to sample chortopites, the little pies stuffed with wild greens for which Crete is famous. And, since we were right there at the edge of the sea, shouldn’t we be eating fish? Best to get an order or two of some of that cherished Mediterranean red mullet and, of course, a little grilled octopus would be appropriate, as would a serving of fresh sardines.
A couple of bottles of Antopoulos Mantinia Moscofilero hit the spot with this, um, “light” lunch. Moscofilero, the ubiquitous white grape of Greece, can be wonderfully flavorful and refreshing, and it has a nice, crisp edge that perfectly suits the cuisine.
After rounding off the meal with tiny cups of thick, highly sweetened Greek coffee, we finally pushed ourselves away from the table and checked our watches. No time, really, for visiting a museum or any of Hania’s other edifying sites before heading back to the hotel to freshen up for dinner — high culture would have to wait until the next day. On the way home to the Samaria, I did manage to pop into a couple of the shops that line the sidewalks behind the harbor to pick up a few mementos, including a much needed replacement for my old wallet. Had I known that lovely leather goods were so temptingly priced here, I might have skipped that second cup of coffee to give myself a little more shopping time.
We had dinner with Kostas Galanis, one of Crete’s foremost winemakers, who’d suggested we meet him at one of his favorite restaurants. Milos, located in Platanias, a resort town known for its long, sandy beach, has a long history, going back at least as far as the 14 century when it was an inn connected to a water mill (mylos: “mill”).
The sun was dipping toward the horizon as we sat down in the garden at a table placed under a spreading mulberry tree. We proceeded to enjoy a dizzying assortment of appetizers, too many for my pen to accurately record, though I particularly remember the rusks (dakosa), Crete’s much beloved dry and crisp twice-baked breads — in this instance topped with finely chopped tomato and goat cheese. We had fried snails (chochli), a popular food in Crete since at least Minoan times, and calzones, a specialty left over from the12th and 13th centuries when Venetians ruled the land. They were the best calzones I’ve ever eaten, with thin, crispy pastry and two different fillings, one cheese, the other vinegar-spiked spinach and onions. We had wonderfully tender rabbit garnished with onions redolent of cinnamon and cardamom, and suckling pig that had been grilled over olive wood. We drank Nostos 2005 Roussanne, made by Kostas Galanis, and after finishing off this delightfully light and aromatic young white wine, we enjoyed the Nostos 2004 Syrah, a toothsome red wine that is both spicy and fruity. The Syrah was also an exceptionally good accompaniment to the platter of cheeses that were served toward the end of the meal.
Even in pre-Minoan times Crete was known for its cheese, which in addition to being enjoyed at home, was even then also exported to other lands. Most Cretan cheese is made from ewe’s or goat’s milk; cow’s milk cheese is almost unheard of here. Most visible is Graviera Krytis, a nutty, slightly salty cheese that closely resembles the Gruyere from which it takes its name. Anthotyros is a delicate and moist soft cheese in youth (when it is often drizzled with honey for dessert), while in maturity it hardens and develops the strong, complex flavor common to most good goats’ milk cheese.
Galanis’ eyes gleamed with enthusiasm as he expounded on the significance of goats’ milk in Cretan culture. “Its importance goes back thousands of years,” he said. “Remember that Zeus, father of the ancient gods, grew up in the mountains of Crete, nourished from milk given by the goat Amalthea. In fact, the concept of the Horn of Plenty derives from the ram’s horn he drank from.”
Since I felt I’d spent the previous day feasting from the Horn of Plenty myself, I was out early the next morning, hoping to walk off some of the excess calories. Museums and galleries weren’t yet open, but it was a perfect hour to wander through the old town. I threaded my way through the maze of ancient, narrow streets, listening to the babble of bird song and human voices that mingled melodically in the early morning air, and sniffing the good aromas of coffee and toasted bread seeping out from the old houses. Sleepy-eyed waiters down by the port were just setting out cafe tables. The enormous stones in the Venetian breakwater glowed in the pale morning sunlight. Cats darted in and out of the shadows, as if attending to important errands.
By the time I rejoined my companions back at the hotel they had decided that we should drive out to Vatolakos, a village southwest of Hania where the Nostos vineyard is located. “But I thought we were going to visit the museum today. And we’d talked about visiting a monastery too,” I protested.
“It won’t take long to pop out to the vineyards,” they said. “We’ll have plenty of time before our flight back to the mainland this afternoon to visit the museum.” And they said, “It’ll be interesting to see what vineyards in Crete look like.” “Besides, we already called Kostas Galanis and he’s expecting us.”
“Oh,” I answered. “Well. Sounds like fun.”
And it was. We headed southwest, driving through miles of citrus orchards and olive groves. The road was lined with fennel and artichoke plants growing wild. When we reached the vineyards, Kostas Galanis first gave us some background information about Nostos’ owner, Ted Manousakis. A Cretan by birth, he moved with his family to Washington, D.C., when he was a child. After a successful career in business, Manousakis — who says he always felt a “spiritual bond” to the land of his grandparents — decided to restore the family home in Vatolakos. An ardent wine buff, he gambled on planting vines on the property, focusing on Rhone varietals — Syrah, Roussanne, Grenache and Mourvedre. He named the estate Nostos, which in Greek implies a return to the past (think of the English word “nostalgia”). The first vines were planted in 1993. The task of installing a vineyard on the steep, boulder strewn hills was daunting, as were many other challenges, such as digging wells for the irrigation of infant vines, and constructing access roads. But the investment has paid off, at least in terms of quality, for the wines are certainly classy enough to compete on the world stage. For the most part, they are internationally styled with bold, ripe flavors, yet most of them also have a distinctive spicy character (reminiscent, sometimes, of dried fennel) imparted by the unique terroir of the Cretan hills.
We were reluctant to leave this gorgeous land with its vista of the sea and the city in the distance, but were mindful that we had a plane to catch. If we grabbed a quick lunch along the way, we’d still have time to visit a particular monastery not far from the airport.
Galanis recommended a small, informal eatery, but not only did we have trouble finding it, we had trouble finding the village it was in. No more than a bump on the landscape, Paksinos is really only a minute or two off the main highway, but we circled around aimlessly before finally zeroing in on the modest little white tavern — Taverna Sifi.
We were the only guests, seated at a long table in the courtyard. We started out by pointing more or less randomly to various items on the menu, but then we just settled back and let the food arrive out from the tiny little kitchen, course by course, like a gastronomic theatrical production. Starring in the first act were bowls of thick, dark and delicious lentil soup, each with its slick of wonderfully fruity olive oil floating on top. Large classic Greek salads appeared, as did plates of oil-cured olives. There were platters of fried baby okra, and perfectly roasted chickens with crackling skin and delicate flesh. Steak of some sort made an entrance, accompanied by French fries (as is traditional in Greece, these potatoes were cooked in olive oil, and were crisp on the outside and melt-in-your-mouth succulent inside). Everything was washed down with carafes of local red and white wine. The only disappointing moment in the whole meal was the sudden realization that in order to get to the airport in time we would have to skip dessert.
As the plane reached cruising altitude, I thought briefly of all the museums and monasteries we didn’t visit, the archeological digs we never saw, the mountain trails we didn’t hike on, the beaches whose sand never caressed our toes. But just before sinking into the kind of pleasant slumber that can result from an overindulgent midday meal, I had the cheerful thought that even though I had not yet really seen Crete, I had certainly tasted it.
USEFUL NUMBERS:
— Samaria Hotel, Kidonias 69, Hania, Crete, Greece, 30 282 10 71271-8.
— Milos, Platanias, Crete, Greece, 30 282 10 68578.
— Nostos Winery, Giamboudaki 65, Hania, Crete, Greece, 30 282 10 60216, kgalan@otenet.gr.
— Taverna Sifi, Paksinos, Crete, Greece, 30 282 10 63202.
