Before long, we made it to Chania. We left the car on the edge of the street, with my persistent companions trying to make absolutely sure about 5 times that it was free here. We didn't find a "paid parking" sign, but they were nervous anyway. I had to stop some Cretan girls and ask. They didn't know, of course, but instead they went into a shop and tortured the clerk. The clerk answered "free," but my stubborn travelers wouldn't give up. In principle, you can understand them — considering the great chill attitude of the Cretans, pulling an answer out of thin air is a piece of cake for them. Nevertheless, we left the car anyway, bought some mineral water, grabbed the lunchbox from the trunk, and went to the park we had driven past, which was listed in the guidebook as a local landmark. The park is actually pretty fun — looks a little bit like the tropics, there are animals in cages and birds in the trees. And, of course, full of those ubiquitous chirping turtles.
As I mentioned before, the lunchbox turned out to be trash: 2 dry subs with a slice of ham, cheese, and tomato, a green peach, and a not-quite-sweet pear. Good thing there was at least a bottle of drinking water, even though plastic bottles are evil. We couldn't exactly drink from the washing taps, which were also in the park. Or were they for watering? Doesn't matter.
Having had our fill, the travelers, represented by us, headed to the bazaar, where I finally caved in to buying all sorts of stuff.
If anyone suddenly isn't initiated into the philosophy of punk, anarchism, naive Marxism, and all that, let me explain. The wall says "Consume". No need to spell it out any further probably — whoever's interested already knows, and whoever doesn't know, doesn't need to.
After strolling around the center, we noticed a small motor vessel, i.e., a motorboat. A few people were crowding around it (how can just a few people perform an action that requires hundreds? It boggles the mind). A certain tanned individual, who could easily be called a gallant captain, was luring them in, telling them what wonders awaited them ahead. It always works on me when people speak in English that I partially understand and partially don't. And when we were once again promised the coveted turtles, this time sea turtles rather than freshwater ones, and were even shown a photo in a brochure — I was instantly sold.
Andrey too, because his philosophy says "do what you planned to, and why should a tourist think." Tanya and Sergey, seeing this turn of events, didn't hesitate for long, even though there was actually little hope for the turtles — the bummer with Lake Kournas was still fresh in memory. But still, we bought the tickets (10 euros a pop, or maybe 9) and boarded the boat. It, by the way, had a transparent bottom, just like all the others at the pier. In principle, a shrewd person would figure out right there on the shore that there's nothing to look at on the bottom, so there's no particular point in a transparent bottom — but megacorporations have to put all that acrylic somewhere, and marketers have to earn their keep.
Be that as it may, the boat trip turned out pleasant (I will keep quiet about someone's seasickness so as not to ruin the romance). The waves rocked the boat like the pistons of a rocket simulator in an amusement park, so I can boldly say that in this specific case, the horizon is tilted not because of my crooked hands, but because of the power of the elements. Which doesn't excuse the rest of them, though. (Cool word, couldn't help but drop it in).
After the refreshing breeze, we decided to swallow a bit of the dust of ancient walls and went to see the old town, which basically started right at the pier. I really liked it there, but for some reason, there are no pictures: it's hard to photograph narrow streets where there's nothing special except antiquity and coziness.
I even led the squad up a brutal hill (apparently the former acropolis), but my timid tourists, seeing someone's laundry drying on the lines, got shy and started looking for the stairs down. They were quickly found and led us straight into a restaurant. Cretans have a funny way of living, you gotta admit.
To show the old town, I had to look for suitable pics on the magic wand called Flickr.
I probably ought to tell you about the history of the city of Chania, to prove its greatness to you, observed by us today only in the form of shabby structures.
Population 55k. Its initial origins are Minoan, which is to say so ancient that old man Jesus couldn't even dream of it. Then in the year 395 the barbarians came, i.e. his Christian followers, and seized everything. The Arabs didn't sleep on it either, and also owned the city for some time, but the Byzantines were persistent and gobbled the city right back up. After the 4th crusade, Chania was ruled by some marquis named Innkeeper. With a moniker like that, he had nothing good coming his way, so he had to pawn the city off to the Venetians for 100 pieces of silver.
At first, the Venetians gave the locals no quarter, but because of the eternal chill vibe reigning on the island, they soon stopped caring and started making friends with them, building them taverns, brothels, and casinos with blackjack and hookers. (Naturally, all strictly within the framework of the local Orthodox faith, even though the Venetians themselves were Catholics).
However, instead of the Arabs came another plague — the Turks, who after just two months of siege captured the city in August of '45. 1645, in case anyone was wondering. But the Turks didn't get off scot-free, because the Cretans showed some backbone: if you don't do that every once in a while, every Tom, Dick, and Harry will be harshing your Great Chill. During the siege, 40 thousand infidels bit the dust, for which the commander of the offensive was relieved of his head upon arriving back in his homeland.
Pissed off by this bummer of an outcome, the fascist Turkish invaders confiscated all the citizens' bank deposits, or rather amphora deposits, seeing as the citizens were hard up for banks. Also, following their custom, the heathens rebuilt the baznīcas (churches (Latvian) — ed. note) into mosques. The one good thing about them was they built a bunch of fountains and bathhouses, because they were cleanly and liked to watch flowing water.
Nevertheless, the Cretans forgave and forgot nothing regarding the Turks — in 1821 there was a savage brawl between the local Turks and Greeks, and by the beginning of the twentieth century Crete finally gained independence, though more likely thanks to Western schemers, who needed it to further weaken Turkey. This despite the fact that in 1800 almost half the population of Crete was Muslim. By the way, Cretans are something akin to Chechens — they willingly went as mercenaries to the Balkans to do some fighting when things got quiet back home. How that ties in with the chill vibe, it's hard for me to say. In 1913 Crete joined Greece, because the Cretans are still Greeks, whichever way you slice it, and Europe hustled along to help. By 1922 there were no Muslims left on Crete at all, everyone had scattered to their historical homelands. Basically, if this says anything, it's that we shouldn't really hold our breath for a peaceful coexistence between locals and "occupiers." Over 160 thousand Russians fled Chechnya, while more than half a million live in Latvia — we can only hope for the calmer nature of the Latvians compared to the highlanders. But something tells me that during a global crisis, if there is one, there's little hope for that. I'll have to play the part of a Pole.
Chania was the capital for practically all the time I mentioned, until 1973, when Heraklion became the main city.
I couldn't find any more normal-sized pics of the old town (the way I like it, in "FullHD" format), so you'll have to watch a slideshow of postcards, if you want. Here it is.
And this is dessert. Delicious! (Hint: you have to click on the picture)
