Crete, post the fifth
Sep. 16th, 2008 05:42 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
hawkwing_lbTuesday. Herakleion. Archaeology Museum. Venetian Fort 'Rocca al Mare'. Town centre. Knossos.
The bus ride from Agios Nikolaos to Iraklio is ninety minutes, damn near precisely. We caught the 0800 bus, and encountered an odd little man who sat behind us, smelled like unwashed dog, and stuck his head between our seats when we consulted our map. Much weirdness.
We arrived at Bus Station A at approximately 0930. The bus station is located directly seaward of one of the bastions of the old town wall of Iraklio: they are massive fortification walls, and have survived extraordinarily well. Not quite as stunningly awe-inspiring as those of Valletta on Malta, but, you know, I certainly would not want to have to have taken that city by assault.
So we walked up along the top of the battlements to the Archaeological Museum, which is in the grip of renovations and has been since 2006. A reduced temporary exhibition, however, is on show. I have now seen the old pots, bits of bronze, sealings, seal-rings, reconstructed frescos, boar's-tusk helmet, and selections from the Geometric, Classical, and Roman period with my own eyes.
Man, that was cool. If I gave myself leave to describe each display, each of the pictures I took, I could bore you with detail, and my expressions of rapture -- seeing the most famous pieces with my own eyes!, it's nearly as good as getting to touch them -- but I will restrain myself for now, and move on.
So we walked down from the Archaeological Museum, back to the harbour front, and passed by the remains of the Venetian Arsenali, heading towards the pier -- which extends out into the modern harbour -- and the Venetian fort, called in its time "Rocca al Mare", the Rock in the Sea. It was getting on to be hot(ter), but in the shadow of the fort, on the seaward side the spray was hitting the stone, cool and wet.
Inside, under stone, chambers cool and dark. An overwhelming impression at once of spacious grace and brute, heavy stone. And a little cat sitting by a cannon and cannon-balls, eyeing the passing tourists suspiciously. (My cannon! Mine!) Lightwells let in squares of sun from the world above, and modern lights sat where torches might once have hung.
Outside -- I will let the pictures speak for me. That vast courtyard, strong battlements, the roar of the wind and the clamour of the surf drowning out the noise of the town: looking out to sea it could have been 1600, and all the modern visitors victims of a mysterious time-travelling event.
It gives you some sense of the space a sixteenth, seventeenth century soldier would have inhabited: some sense, also, of the vast, brute power of premodern warfare. That hulking great edifice of stone intimidates, as barbed wire and the red warning signs of modern military property simply can't: this is evidence of how small is the individual, how fragile, how heavy is all that weight of stone and how set apart the garrison that inhabited it.
Anyway.
Moving on from the Venetian fort, we walked up along the seaward part of the old town wall, past reconstruction work taking place on a Venetian period Dominican monastery of St Peter, to the Historical Museum, housed in a period building. The displays are not quite as impressive as those of the Archaeological Museum, and I don't have the historical background to appreciate them as well, but, nonetheless, they were well presented, and interesting.
We cut short our visit to the Historical Museum without seeing the Battle of Crete display, however, because I was hungry and sagging (this was the day we drank gallons of blue Powerade. Disgusting stuff, but tasty after spending too much time in the heat). So we walked up into the centre of the old town, many of whose buildings were destroyed in WWII. We had a not very good lunch at a place called Four Lions (bad pizza. Improperly cooked vegetarian plate. Nasty service), opposite the 17th century (I think) Morosini Fountain, with its lion heads vomiting water and fantastic decoration. Walking back down to the bus again, a glimpse of the Venetian loggia, somewhat the worse for graffiti but very impressive, and the basilica of Agios Titos, on the Odos Agiou Titou.
The bus station, and a small rattly bus to Knossos. The site is surrounded by several unpleasant touristy places -- I ventured to purchase a milkshake, after, and it was the worst milkshake I've had all holiday -- and has pushy guides, an overpriced souvenir shop, and a seriously overpriced bad café.
Avoiding the guides -- for lo, have I read countless books and articles on Minoan Crete (and Sir Arthur Evans' work at Knossos) for nothing? I have not -- we proceeded into the site. Being a student, my entry was (as it is to most archaeological sites open to the public here) free, and the parent had bought her ticket at the Archaeological Museum.
I am not impressed by the reconstructions. And the problem with Knossos, as a visitor, is that it is very difficult to detect where the reconstructions begin and the original (or, well, the excavated, seeing as there was more than one phase of occupation) remains end. Part of the site, also, was roped off for conservation.
West court, with the kouloures, the raised probably ceremonial walkways, and the bottom level of the facade -- ashlar masonry, plastered and indented: it is thought the second or higher storeys had windows -- was good to see. Also the central court, to get a sense for the scale of the place. The reconstructed horns of consecration, situated at the south end and aligned with Mt Iuktas -- and I have to say it was fabulous to see Mt Iuktas, even if only from a distance -- were interesting, as was the so-called 'Throne Room' complex with antechamber and lustral basin, as was the so-called 'Grand Stairwell' and the northmost lustral basin. The 'South-east House' from the post-palatial period was usefully interesting, as was the theatral area to the north. Of all things, perhaps the courts, the 'royal road' and the theatral area were most interesting and impressive, for it is things like those that give you the best idea as to the use of space by the inhabitants of the "court-centred complex" -- a term that some scholars use in place of palace, with all its connotations of kingship and the ideas of later ages -- as do the magazines and the pier-and-door partitions. I pass over Evans' more disputed reconstructions, leaving appropriate comment to those who have made it their life's work to assess his choices, and the famous 'megarons' do not seem to have been open to the public.
I have again, many pictures. Few of which, alas, I can share.
After an hour (we arrived, at 1400, in a lull between tour groups, but as we were leaving it was growing busy) we left for the bus, rattled our way back to Iraklio, and caught the 1600 bus -- the Siteia bus -- to Agios Nikolaos. It had a cranky baby on board, but I managed to sleep for half an hour in the middle of the journey.
Wednesday. Day off with diving.
Diving this evening, for about fifty minutes between half four and half five. There were fishes, and the woman instructor I was diving with, Jean, had bread, and we fed the fish -- big ones, they come in and grab it out of your hand, little ones darting for the crumbs, and all of them schooling and swirling around in front of your mask. Another octopus! A starfish! A thing of tendrils! And the great tidal heave of the ocean, swaying weedy fronds and stirring up the bottom, more pronounced tonight than it has been any other night I've dived.
Then dinner and desert at a place called Trata, and souvenir shopping -- a bottle in the shape of a satyr, complete with erect phallus, for the grandmother, some fridge magnets, some olive wood beads, some postcards. Afterwards, some internets -- I hate the way the bar smells of cigarette smoke, and makes me smell of cigarette smoke: it's a vile habit, and I don't like having to be around it.
Lato in the morning, on the 0800 bus. Tired now.
Thursday: the second trip to Kritsa, and the polis of Lato.
This morning, we arose and went to Lato. The temperatures were pushing up high again, up in the mid to late thirties, so to beat the heat, we took the 0800 bus to Kritsa. Buses don't run to Lato, which lies four kilometres outside Kritsa town, and taxis are a pain, so taking plenty of water and some blue Powerade, we set off at approximately 0815 from Kritsa, heading roughly north-north-west along the road. But first, we visited the bakery, for I had had only a pear for breakfast, and the parent, only yoghurt. Tiny apple croissants. And tiny chocolate ones. We bought one of each for both of us, and saved them against our future need. (In the event, they were nom.)
Kritsa is a small town. It lies in the embrace of mountain cliffs. It's in the countryside: there are olive groves, and goats, and chickens. There's a gorge about two kilometres from the town, but it doesn't lie on the direct route to Lato, so we did not detour to see it. But walking in that morning, with the long shadows under the olive trees, and two or three hawks outlined against that clear blue sky, goats and chickens and the occasional little old Greek lady all in black working her plot amid the groves, in the grip of mountain arms, with their red rock teeth outlined against the sky and the land falling away to the valley and the sea -- were it not for the tarmac on the road and the occasional passing motorbike, it could have been any century since the dawn of olive cultivation.
All uphill, though not very steeply. We passed over the shoulder between two hills after about three quarters of an hour, and reached a part of the way where the view is of the plain of Lakonia, spread between the mountains, full of olive groves. When we reached the old trail to Lakonia (signposted by the ministry of tourism), at the foot of a curve around the shoulder of another low peak, we knew from the information we had that we were nearly there, and paused for a moment to stare down that old way, twelve or fourteen kilometres to Agios Nikolaos and the region's port, now as in ancient times, when it was called Kamara.
I believe, though am not certain, that we passed a Minoan tholos tomb by the side of the road as we walked. It could have been a shepherd's dwelling from later times for transhumance -- the corbelled stone construction, my books claim, is similar -- but I am inclined to believe, as the site report available at Lato mentions the existence of both tholos and rock-cut tombs in the area, that it is indeed a tholos tomb.
Took us an hour to reach Lato.
Lato. Lato lies on the shoulder between two peaks, and in the col between. Worn steps lead up from the remains of the gate, past workshops, to the agora and the prytaneion. From the agora, you can see into the valleys both north -- down to Agios Nikolaos and the sea -- and south, until those red, rocky mounts obscure the view. The peaks on either side -- there was an acropolis on the north peak, which we did not hike up to -- loom like horns. It is fantastic. Fantastic.
So we wandered around the agora and the houses of the prytaneion, a circular tholos area and an exedra -- erosion has, I think, claimed part of the agora area and the route down into the lower part of the polis: I must read the site report (I bought a copy) more carefully -- and the theatral area, a temple: the base for the cult statue appears still present, and something outside that (in advance of more careful reading of the report) I believe is the altar. The theatral area backs onto the drop down into the col between the peaks: can you imagine that kind of backdrop for productions of the Classic tragedies? And comedies, of course.
Can you imagine what it must have been like in the 3rd and 4th centuries BCE, at the height of its importance, buildings of plastered limestone with the occasional marble relief or statue, statues of bronze with ivory, and the press and energy of a living town, albeit a small one, but a town that conducted small wars and skirmishes, possessed its own town council, or prytany, passed laws and regulations and made treaties and traded and controlled the port of Kamara? And surrounded, all the time, by that astonishing space, that sheer liminal backdrop?
Spent an hour and a half there. We went through our water at a shocking rate, and begged some more from the two girls in the ticket office (two euro in, if you're not an EU student, and a bargain at the price) for the walk back. We set out for the return to Kritsa at approximately 1050. Despite the fact that it was mostly downhill, and took perhaps a little more than half an hour because of that, it was a strenuous journey. No shade, or very little, and the sun heading on for the burning heat of noon. Spotted another hawk on the way back, closer this time, but did not manage much of a picture.
Got back to Kritsa -- I will not whine about the walk, but I'm really glad we got the 0800 bus, because any later? Would probably have finished both of us off -- and the parent drank beer while I drank the locally bottled lemonade, and we waited for the 1230 bus back. We finished, between us, two things of salted peanuts -- and I don't even much like peanuts.
At Agios Nikolaos, we went for lunch in the little bar opposite the dive place and promenade -- lunch was necessary, truly, for if we had stopped collapse would have followed, and collapse on an empty stomach is not good -- and the parent drank more beer while I had lemonade and a strawberry milkshake and caught up on LJ.
The afternoon was full of collapse. Also packing. And a last dinner at Pasifae restaurant, wherein the parent drank much, and embarrassed me by asking the handsome waiter to have his picture taken with me.
Friday was full of travelling, and the rest you know.
Pictures will follow in a separate post.
The bus ride from Agios Nikolaos to Iraklio is ninety minutes, damn near precisely. We caught the 0800 bus, and encountered an odd little man who sat behind us, smelled like unwashed dog, and stuck his head between our seats when we consulted our map. Much weirdness.
We arrived at Bus Station A at approximately 0930. The bus station is located directly seaward of one of the bastions of the old town wall of Iraklio: they are massive fortification walls, and have survived extraordinarily well. Not quite as stunningly awe-inspiring as those of Valletta on Malta, but, you know, I certainly would not want to have to have taken that city by assault.
So we walked up along the top of the battlements to the Archaeological Museum, which is in the grip of renovations and has been since 2006. A reduced temporary exhibition, however, is on show. I have now seen the old pots, bits of bronze, sealings, seal-rings, reconstructed frescos, boar's-tusk helmet, and selections from the Geometric, Classical, and Roman period with my own eyes.
Man, that was cool. If I gave myself leave to describe each display, each of the pictures I took, I could bore you with detail, and my expressions of rapture -- seeing the most famous pieces with my own eyes!, it's nearly as good as getting to touch them -- but I will restrain myself for now, and move on.
So we walked down from the Archaeological Museum, back to the harbour front, and passed by the remains of the Venetian Arsenali, heading towards the pier -- which extends out into the modern harbour -- and the Venetian fort, called in its time "Rocca al Mare", the Rock in the Sea. It was getting on to be hot(ter), but in the shadow of the fort, on the seaward side the spray was hitting the stone, cool and wet.
Inside, under stone, chambers cool and dark. An overwhelming impression at once of spacious grace and brute, heavy stone. And a little cat sitting by a cannon and cannon-balls, eyeing the passing tourists suspiciously. (My cannon! Mine!) Lightwells let in squares of sun from the world above, and modern lights sat where torches might once have hung.
Outside -- I will let the pictures speak for me. That vast courtyard, strong battlements, the roar of the wind and the clamour of the surf drowning out the noise of the town: looking out to sea it could have been 1600, and all the modern visitors victims of a mysterious time-travelling event.
It gives you some sense of the space a sixteenth, seventeenth century soldier would have inhabited: some sense, also, of the vast, brute power of premodern warfare. That hulking great edifice of stone intimidates, as barbed wire and the red warning signs of modern military property simply can't: this is evidence of how small is the individual, how fragile, how heavy is all that weight of stone and how set apart the garrison that inhabited it.
Anyway.
Moving on from the Venetian fort, we walked up along the seaward part of the old town wall, past reconstruction work taking place on a Venetian period Dominican monastery of St Peter, to the Historical Museum, housed in a period building. The displays are not quite as impressive as those of the Archaeological Museum, and I don't have the historical background to appreciate them as well, but, nonetheless, they were well presented, and interesting.
We cut short our visit to the Historical Museum without seeing the Battle of Crete display, however, because I was hungry and sagging (this was the day we drank gallons of blue Powerade. Disgusting stuff, but tasty after spending too much time in the heat). So we walked up into the centre of the old town, many of whose buildings were destroyed in WWII. We had a not very good lunch at a place called Four Lions (bad pizza. Improperly cooked vegetarian plate. Nasty service), opposite the 17th century (I think) Morosini Fountain, with its lion heads vomiting water and fantastic decoration. Walking back down to the bus again, a glimpse of the Venetian loggia, somewhat the worse for graffiti but very impressive, and the basilica of Agios Titos, on the Odos Agiou Titou.
The bus station, and a small rattly bus to Knossos. The site is surrounded by several unpleasant touristy places -- I ventured to purchase a milkshake, after, and it was the worst milkshake I've had all holiday -- and has pushy guides, an overpriced souvenir shop, and a seriously overpriced bad café.
Avoiding the guides -- for lo, have I read countless books and articles on Minoan Crete (and Sir Arthur Evans' work at Knossos) for nothing? I have not -- we proceeded into the site. Being a student, my entry was (as it is to most archaeological sites open to the public here) free, and the parent had bought her ticket at the Archaeological Museum.
I am not impressed by the reconstructions. And the problem with Knossos, as a visitor, is that it is very difficult to detect where the reconstructions begin and the original (or, well, the excavated, seeing as there was more than one phase of occupation) remains end. Part of the site, also, was roped off for conservation.
West court, with the kouloures, the raised probably ceremonial walkways, and the bottom level of the facade -- ashlar masonry, plastered and indented: it is thought the second or higher storeys had windows -- was good to see. Also the central court, to get a sense for the scale of the place. The reconstructed horns of consecration, situated at the south end and aligned with Mt Iuktas -- and I have to say it was fabulous to see Mt Iuktas, even if only from a distance -- were interesting, as was the so-called 'Throne Room' complex with antechamber and lustral basin, as was the so-called 'Grand Stairwell' and the northmost lustral basin. The 'South-east House' from the post-palatial period was usefully interesting, as was the theatral area to the north. Of all things, perhaps the courts, the 'royal road' and the theatral area were most interesting and impressive, for it is things like those that give you the best idea as to the use of space by the inhabitants of the "court-centred complex" -- a term that some scholars use in place of palace, with all its connotations of kingship and the ideas of later ages -- as do the magazines and the pier-and-door partitions. I pass over Evans' more disputed reconstructions, leaving appropriate comment to those who have made it their life's work to assess his choices, and the famous 'megarons' do not seem to have been open to the public.
I have again, many pictures. Few of which, alas, I can share.
After an hour (we arrived, at 1400, in a lull between tour groups, but as we were leaving it was growing busy) we left for the bus, rattled our way back to Iraklio, and caught the 1600 bus -- the Siteia bus -- to Agios Nikolaos. It had a cranky baby on board, but I managed to sleep for half an hour in the middle of the journey.
Wednesday. Day off with diving.
Diving this evening, for about fifty minutes between half four and half five. There were fishes, and the woman instructor I was diving with, Jean, had bread, and we fed the fish -- big ones, they come in and grab it out of your hand, little ones darting for the crumbs, and all of them schooling and swirling around in front of your mask. Another octopus! A starfish! A thing of tendrils! And the great tidal heave of the ocean, swaying weedy fronds and stirring up the bottom, more pronounced tonight than it has been any other night I've dived.
Then dinner and desert at a place called Trata, and souvenir shopping -- a bottle in the shape of a satyr, complete with erect phallus, for the grandmother, some fridge magnets, some olive wood beads, some postcards. Afterwards, some internets -- I hate the way the bar smells of cigarette smoke, and makes me smell of cigarette smoke: it's a vile habit, and I don't like having to be around it.
Lato in the morning, on the 0800 bus. Tired now.
Thursday: the second trip to Kritsa, and the polis of Lato.
This morning, we arose and went to Lato. The temperatures were pushing up high again, up in the mid to late thirties, so to beat the heat, we took the 0800 bus to Kritsa. Buses don't run to Lato, which lies four kilometres outside Kritsa town, and taxis are a pain, so taking plenty of water and some blue Powerade, we set off at approximately 0815 from Kritsa, heading roughly north-north-west along the road. But first, we visited the bakery, for I had had only a pear for breakfast, and the parent, only yoghurt. Tiny apple croissants. And tiny chocolate ones. We bought one of each for both of us, and saved them against our future need. (In the event, they were nom.)
Kritsa is a small town. It lies in the embrace of mountain cliffs. It's in the countryside: there are olive groves, and goats, and chickens. There's a gorge about two kilometres from the town, but it doesn't lie on the direct route to Lato, so we did not detour to see it. But walking in that morning, with the long shadows under the olive trees, and two or three hawks outlined against that clear blue sky, goats and chickens and the occasional little old Greek lady all in black working her plot amid the groves, in the grip of mountain arms, with their red rock teeth outlined against the sky and the land falling away to the valley and the sea -- were it not for the tarmac on the road and the occasional passing motorbike, it could have been any century since the dawn of olive cultivation.
All uphill, though not very steeply. We passed over the shoulder between two hills after about three quarters of an hour, and reached a part of the way where the view is of the plain of Lakonia, spread between the mountains, full of olive groves. When we reached the old trail to Lakonia (signposted by the ministry of tourism), at the foot of a curve around the shoulder of another low peak, we knew from the information we had that we were nearly there, and paused for a moment to stare down that old way, twelve or fourteen kilometres to Agios Nikolaos and the region's port, now as in ancient times, when it was called Kamara.
I believe, though am not certain, that we passed a Minoan tholos tomb by the side of the road as we walked. It could have been a shepherd's dwelling from later times for transhumance -- the corbelled stone construction, my books claim, is similar -- but I am inclined to believe, as the site report available at Lato mentions the existence of both tholos and rock-cut tombs in the area, that it is indeed a tholos tomb.
Took us an hour to reach Lato.
Lato. Lato lies on the shoulder between two peaks, and in the col between. Worn steps lead up from the remains of the gate, past workshops, to the agora and the prytaneion. From the agora, you can see into the valleys both north -- down to Agios Nikolaos and the sea -- and south, until those red, rocky mounts obscure the view. The peaks on either side -- there was an acropolis on the north peak, which we did not hike up to -- loom like horns. It is fantastic. Fantastic.
So we wandered around the agora and the houses of the prytaneion, a circular tholos area and an exedra -- erosion has, I think, claimed part of the agora area and the route down into the lower part of the polis: I must read the site report (I bought a copy) more carefully -- and the theatral area, a temple: the base for the cult statue appears still present, and something outside that (in advance of more careful reading of the report) I believe is the altar. The theatral area backs onto the drop down into the col between the peaks: can you imagine that kind of backdrop for productions of the Classic tragedies? And comedies, of course.
Can you imagine what it must have been like in the 3rd and 4th centuries BCE, at the height of its importance, buildings of plastered limestone with the occasional marble relief or statue, statues of bronze with ivory, and the press and energy of a living town, albeit a small one, but a town that conducted small wars and skirmishes, possessed its own town council, or prytany, passed laws and regulations and made treaties and traded and controlled the port of Kamara? And surrounded, all the time, by that astonishing space, that sheer liminal backdrop?
Spent an hour and a half there. We went through our water at a shocking rate, and begged some more from the two girls in the ticket office (two euro in, if you're not an EU student, and a bargain at the price) for the walk back. We set out for the return to Kritsa at approximately 1050. Despite the fact that it was mostly downhill, and took perhaps a little more than half an hour because of that, it was a strenuous journey. No shade, or very little, and the sun heading on for the burning heat of noon. Spotted another hawk on the way back, closer this time, but did not manage much of a picture.
Got back to Kritsa -- I will not whine about the walk, but I'm really glad we got the 0800 bus, because any later? Would probably have finished both of us off -- and the parent drank beer while I drank the locally bottled lemonade, and we waited for the 1230 bus back. We finished, between us, two things of salted peanuts -- and I don't even much like peanuts.
At Agios Nikolaos, we went for lunch in the little bar opposite the dive place and promenade -- lunch was necessary, truly, for if we had stopped collapse would have followed, and collapse on an empty stomach is not good -- and the parent drank more beer while I had lemonade and a strawberry milkshake and caught up on LJ.
The afternoon was full of collapse. Also packing. And a last dinner at Pasifae restaurant, wherein the parent drank much, and embarrassed me by asking the handsome waiter to have his picture taken with me.
Friday was full of travelling, and the rest you know.
Pictures will follow in a separate post.
