between the rock and the cold, cold sea

Pictures.

Divers.

Archanes house model at Heraklion Archaeological Museum.

Venetian Fort at Herakleion. Inside. Outside, upper courtyard. Another view. Ramp to courtyard.

A bit of Knossos. 'Royal road' at Knossos.

Countryside near Kritsa. Hawk near Kritsa. Lato, agora. View from Lato.

I have about 500 pictures from Lato alone. The same amount from Herakleion and Knossos.

Looking at them now, god, I want to go back.

( Tuesday. Herakleion. Archaeology Museum. Venetian Fort 'Rocca al Mare'. Town centre. Knossos. )

( Wednesday. Day off with diving. )

( Thursday: the second trip to Kritsa, and the polis of Lato. )

Friday was full of travelling, and the rest you know.

Pictures will follow in a separate post.

( Friday: diving again )

Saturday: a day off. Swimming, lunch in the bar run by the two Dutch ladies, and then hiding from the heat.

Diving in the evening, from five to six. With Baptiste again, from the shore. This time I held two octopi in my hands, cool and warm and soft and fragile and strong, strange alien creatures that they are.

And fish. A multitude of fish, big ones, small ones, colourful ones, dark ones, pale ones. And the detritus of settlement on the sandy bottom, pots and handles and bottles and a bit of old newspaper, or page torn from a book, the lettering still sharp and clear, until you trailed your fingers against it and it dissolved into mulch. A thing that looked like a starfish, five spines, but it eeled and moved itself under a weed.

Afterwards, dinner at Pasifae Restaurent, beside the lake, for the second time. Their lamb kleftiko is excellent, and they do a damn good pizza, too. And, by the way, two of the waiters are absolutely gorgeous. And there is a little catling that runs in and out of the tables and turns big begging eyes on you: a very cute animal, indeed.

( Sunday: the first trip to Kritsa. )

( Monday: I reproduce here verbatim my diary entry of the time )

Tuesday, with Heraklion, Rocca al Mare, and Knossos, soon to follow.

I will put a picture of the fluffy-tailed marmalade cat up soon.

On Thursday, before our minor exodus, I went climbing. Four routes, much improvement: only sent one of them, but I got my hand on the top hold of the white 5 (it's been regraded to a 4+), but there's nothing on it, no friction, no purchase. I also improved the greys, to the top of the overhang, and a couple of other routes, and ended up ripping the middle part of my right hand's middle finger down to blood. Luckily R., the gorgeous engineering MA from Amsterdam, had surgical tape, because I wasn't about to stop. (It's only just started to heal.)

Thursday was a good day. I got my mile in nine minutes, and my 1.5 in 14:30, and after climbing went to the open mic poetry's third anniversary. There was poetry, much of it good, and chocolate cake, and a couple of people whose opinions I respect complimented my mass grave/war crimes poem, which reassures me that it is not made of complete fail.

Of course, I didn't get home until midnight, and I had to get up at three am.

And all that progress has been lost now.

( Friday, Saturday, and Sunday morning )

( Sunday afternoon and the church of Agios Nikolaos, c11th or 12th century CE, after which the modern town takes its name )

Monday, and the island of Spinalonga - former Venetian fortress, Turkish fortress, and one of the last leper colonies in Europe - to follow.