After a few days of lying belly-up on the beach, we finally rented a ride for two days. First thing, we dashed off to the city of Rethymno (you can add an "N" at the end if you feel like it). The car was some sort of microscopic KIA, but at least it wasn't very old. Upon arriving in Rethymno, we immediately spotted some intriguing ruins and stomped upstairs along the ancient steps to check them out. The ruins were called Fortezza, meaning "fortress" in our speak, and getting inside cost about 4 euros, but the kind ticket-lady informed us that, as a family, the four of us could go in for a mere 10. That's a Cretan family for you. Don't forget to drop a +1 into the piggy bank of chillaxing (I’ve already lost count, it’s at 6 or 7 units). The more attentive regular readers will remember that in my story about traveling around the USA, I similarly kept count of the slogans and mottos beloved by Americans. This is no accident: if I were a real writer, I wouldn't point this out so directly. Unfortunately, on a blog, there's no hope that someone will get so invested in a post that they'll go looking for postmodernist references and parallels to previous entries. Basically, it’s probably not worth it anyway, because I have very few of those to begin with. In any case, Cretans, unlike Americans, don't harbor any particular love for mottos, but they do experience a permanent state of relaxation.
There are about to be a whole lot of pictures showing the Fortezza, so please prepare yourselves mentally.
And this is what the shore looks like
The Fortezza was built on the Palaiokastro rock by the Venetians in 1573. Before that, the acropolis of Rethymno was conveniently located on the hill. An architect named Sforza Pallavicini, facing an acute shortage of space, said screw the plans and built on a whim, trying to squeeze a mega-fortress onto a tiny patch of land. As we can see, the relaxation of the locals has a phenotypic character, not a genotypic one, meaning it comes from the climate, not from their ancestors — an architect with a name like that was surely Venetian, not Cretan. The fortress, by the way, was already open to visitors back then, because inside there was a church and other structures of questionable utility.
The Turks changed little after the capture, more on that later. However, they started restoring the structure as early as the 19th century. And in the twentieth, the EU tossed in some dough, and an organization with the magical name of 28th Ephorate Of Byzantine Antiquities zealously got to work. But since Crete is a country of eternal chill, their drive didn't last long, and half of the buildings in the Fortezza still remain in ruins.
Pushkin was right, those worthless Greeks. Always trying to mock the Russians — the letters seem familiar, but you still can't make sense of them.
In 1646, the Turks captured the city and built a mosque in the fortress in honor of the ruling sultan. They didn't just build it, they attached it to the existing church, those infidels! On the bright side, they throw discos here now. And all because the acoustics are good, thanks to the dome being one of the largest in Greece, even if it doesn't look like it in the picture. Maybe it's bigger on the inside than on the outside? It's such a relatable idea that it pops up all the time even in pop culture, not just in sci-fi or fantasy.
Also, the Turks, being an enlightened and hygienic civilization compared to the wild Europeans of that time, added a hammam to the councilors' house, albeit a small one. A hammam is a bathhouse. Impressed by this fact, the freemasons from the 28th Ephorate (see above) immediately rushed to restore it first.
They clearly didn't surrender to the Turks without a fight, photo by Rambo
Hmm, what's going to happen when the cannons rust away into dust? I guess they'll just bring up some more from the casemates; they probably have another hundred or two stashed away. Or maybe they'll cast new ones, no one will be able to tell the difference anyway. I mean, the Japanese build dozens of fake ancient castles, and nobody bats an eye.
It's hot on Crete, but not excessively so. There's little water, but not too little. Hence these kinds of leaves — fleshy, not evaporating moisture, but still leaves nonetheless, not needles. And the body is rigid and tree-like, so the heat doesn't get to it.
By the way, all the saints in Greek icons look like metrosexuals. It's totally Freudian, the repressed sexuality of the icon-painting monks making itself known.
Cleverly thought out. I should put up a sign like that at work. Might just get rich. Priests are full of crafty tricks anyway.
A hole in the ceiling instead of a window is a smart move, but then why is there no storm drainage? Oh right, this is Crete, it doesn't rain here.
Since I'm already on a roll, let me throw in a few more pics from Flickr for you.
Overall, of course, the Fortezza is a powerhouse. Everything is so ancient and mighty, just like in the joke about "everything is so tasty." I liked it, even though we had to scramble back and forth, and we still need to save some energy for the city of Rethymno itself, the story of which is still ahead of us.