Cretan Adventure

I've told this piece so often it may be familiar to most of you, but I still believe it 's worth relating again. In Iraklion, Crete, I boarded a local bus for the east shore of this remarkable island. I'd heard good things about its coast.

My funny looking local bus was right out of a Gordo cartoon: people with live chickens, a goat, everyone with those net shopping bags that hold everything from a week's groceries to a winter coat, a bicycle, too, maybe. People were jabbering to one another in a way suggesting that this ride was one of their ways of getting together.


Nearly everyone smiled at me as I worked toward the only available seat near the back. And everyone pointed at my camera. You get used to that.


As the little bus rumbled over the rough, narrow roads, the driver paused at various lonely spots for someone to alight. The passenger hadn't signaled, so the driver clearly knew his passengers' habits.


After nearly two hours, nearing the top of a long, steady rise, and with no house, side road, or even fence visible, the driver stopped and left the bus. Turning, he leaned in and beckoned to me. Every passenger turned and pointed at me, nodding. I was to get off.


WHAT!!!  I thought. This is forty miles from nowhere, and I haven't seen any other bus going back toward Iraklion! What have I done wrong?


But, as the driver and a dozen passengers wanted me off, off I got.


The driver then led me across the road and up to the crown of the hill. He kept repeating ""Paolo, Paolo," and, at the crown he smiled broadly, pointing over the edge.

Hundreds of feet below, was a tiny village with a surprisingly large church. Just beyond was an acropolis, and beyond that a land-locked lagoon, a creamy green lining at its edges. Also visible was pale pink coral. I have never seen anything more beautiful. 


The bus driver stepped next to me whispering again, "Paolo." Then I realized that this local Greek bus driver, with his passengers' approval, had stopped the bus to reveal to this wandering American a scene even Paul himself never had the joy of viewing. I doubt that professional tours were so privileged.


And at last I understood. This was where St. Paul re-supplied on his journeys to Greece or Rome.

I was not now surprised, as we returned to the bus, the passengers cheered, as if I had done something wonderful. The driver even patted me on the back.


When we all left the bus at the village, the remaining passengers said something in Greek, which didn't sound much like "drop dead." as they dispersed.


The people in the village were especially warm, too. As I climbed the acropolis steps, a fellow who spoke excellent English introduced himself. He was on leave from Australia to marry off his sister. He spent the whole afternoon telling about Greek weddings, and the acropolis. He took me into the church to explain the services and the murals, and he proudly informed me that the Greek Orthodox church predates the Roman Catholic. (There are no pews. Everybody stands.)

As we parted, he said that he was not concerned for his sister, because, while the groom may bring only his shirt to a wedding, if the marriage is dissolved, that's all he leaves with.