The next day, I suggested to Sergey that we go on an excursion, since Tanya didn't want to. But Tanya didn't want to let Sergey go either. Then I suggested renting the car for another day, but it turned out that not only did we have to return ours, but the rest of the cars at the rental place were booked, and what's more — at other rental places too. That's the tourist season for you (if I'm lying, Tanya will correct me).
It's probably cool to vacation like this — but I need space for swimming, not a puddle
Then we started walking around and thinking. In the end, Tanya and Sergey rented a moped, aka a scooter, and I got a bicycle. Tanya's scooter had an engine displacement of up to 50 cubic cm, so it could be driven with a regular driver's license. And my bicycle could only be called that with a massive stretch — the correct epithet for it would be a "crap-o-cycle". I've written about this kind of thing before, but new heights were reached here. Half the gears (of which there were few to begin with) on the poor hunk of metal didn't work, the brakes worked poorly, the chain skipped sometimes, but what tortured me the most were the grip shifts, aka twist gear shifters. They were large, took up a lot of space on the handlebars, and were made of hard plastic with sharp edges. As a result, by evening I had chafed my index fingers so badly they were bleeding.
But the most important thing, as we know, is not the bike, but the gasket between the seat and the handlebars, i.e., the rider. Here, in a sense, I didn't disappoint — despite the steep Cretan roads and the 30-degree weather outside, I pedaled hard, albeit with breaks.
By the way, about the weather. In the report about the oceanarium, I forgot to mention the weather computer that was there. It was a touch screen where you could select various meteorological modes, visually displayed in different colors. They all looked funny — for 3000 km around Crete and a month forward and backward, a perpetual +30-34°C and not a single cloud.
So, by pedaling on a bike entirely unsuited for it, with huge treads and no bike computer, I rolled out to Lake Kournas, thankfully knowing the way and the fact that it's nice there. Upon arriving at the lake, the first thing I did was go buy some refreshment in accordance with the immortal rhyme of the Barto band, "Vladik, drink some limonadik". And here I stumbled upon the most flagrant case of the chill vibe during my entire stay in Crete — the seller was missing. There were dining Germans, there was a counter and a cash register, and most importantly — several fridges with drinks. But where was the seller? Judging by how the Germans were looking around, they were wondering the same thing. I waited for about 2 minutes, realized there was no one to wait for, opened the fridge, and took out a lemonade. Waited another 2 minutes and opened the lemonade against the railing. I didn't wait any longer, as I was tormented by thirst — so I just went ahead and drank it. Then I stood there with an empty bottle for about 4 minutes, like an idiot, and was already thinking of dropping a couple of euros on the counter and bailing, when a young guy of typical Cretan appearance rolled up in a car and asked what I'd like. In response, I waved the bottle at him, heard "1.5 euros," handed over the coins, and went for a swim. To do this, I somehow attached the bike to a bush with the lock I was given. True, the key was left on the shore, along with my wallet, credit card, and cash. If they say there's no crime in Crete, you gotta test it, right? The test was a success — no one even approached my things.
Cheered up and having gathered my strength this way, I moved further up the mountain, using a magic trick: shift to gear 1-1 and pedal until tachycardia kicks in. Oddly enough, quite soon I arrived at the village, where I rode past magically looking houses with pools and an incredible view of Lake Kournas. And I've been showing you photos of these beauties right from the beginning of the post.
Having enjoyed the vista (that's how a breathtaking panoramic view translates into English), I moved further into the mountains, not suspecting that without any ulterior motive I would soon stumble upon another attraction. It turned out to be the Kournas Cave. True, I didn't find it right away — first I came across "At the Cave" tavern, where a non-English-speaking grandma made me the cheapest and tastiest freshly squeezed juice I drank in Crete. For only 2 euros — a wonderful cool yummy treat and a great view on the balcony. Funny thing is, the tavern was cluttered with photos of her grandson, and his toys were lying around on the floor. Yet another sign of the chill vibe, all in all. Then the grandpa also emerged, and told me (or rather, showed me with signs) where that very cave pointed to by the signs was located, and explained that I needed a flashlight. Here I will shamefully keep quiet about how the grandpa hustled me out of some cash for a flashlight, despite the fact that I had my own flashlight with me in Crete, but didn't grab it from the hotel!
I found the cave only by obeying the grandpa's cunning gestures, because there were no signs pointing to it. It was located behind a rusted fence, and was covered with an equally rusted lid with torn-off hinges. At the same time, the descent had no stairs — but I don't care about anything, for I am a crazy-category athlete, and more importantly — I was dressed in cycling gear. This allowed me, spreading my legs wide, to penetrate deep into the stone belly. Inside the cave, however, there was a ladder leading deeper, which I climbed down. In the very depths it was cool, easy to breathe, and smelled like a cellar — of potatoes. From which we can conclude that the smell of cellars comes not from potatoes at all, but from accompanying fungi and lichens. Be that as it may, I didn't climb completely deep — my clothes were unsuitable, and the stalactites with stalagmites looked unfriendly. Therefore, I left the cult spot of young spelunkers, said goodbye to the grandpa, and rolled on further.
My journey didn't last long. Literally a few kilometers later, I ended up in the village of Kournas. There I found a shack, covered in multicolored paint with promotional offers. I logically deduced that it was a shop, locked up my bike, and went inside, where a man named Constantine, the owner of a family business, spent 20 minutes telling me all sorts of things. As it turned out, practically everything in the shop was made by his family, and he even painted the ceramics himself. The first thing the owner told me was that the cave I had visited was actually closed to tourists because it's dangerous. Well, you get the gist about the character of Cretans.
As a naive tourist, I'm easily enchanted, so I bought 30 euros' worth of various stuff, which I don't particularly regret. Namely, I bought local wine, olive oil, and a salt shaker of original design. As a gift, I got a map that I didn't need, and directions on how to get to my hotel, which came in incredibly handy. The funniest part is that while I was chatting with the seller, Tanya and Sergey walked into the shop — entirely by accident, they ended up in the exact same place and time as me — an amazing coincidence, needless to say.
Then some French people walked into the shop, and Constantine switched to them, because he knows 5 languages. I didn't waste any time, grabbed my bag of purchases, shoved it into the trunk of Tanya's scooter, got on my bike, and rolled down. As good old Kostik told me, all I had to do was turn left in a hundred meters and let go of the brakes, and then the locals would collect my bones to process into paint for their shacks. I meant to say, the road itself would lead me to the hotel. And so it did — it's very fun to roll down a mountain and do nothing. Although, as I learned the next day, not pedaling at all is boring. But more on that in the next episode.