Although a coastal town in north west Crete, there is a distinctly Italian flair to some of the pastel-coloured townhouses which back its picturesque harbour. This is thanks to the influence of the Venetians who gave the seafront its distinctive character when they ruled Chania between 1204 and 1645, one of many nationalities who stamped their influenced on the town over the centuries. At various times, Chania has been under the domain of Romans, Byzantines, Turks, Egyptians, Arabs and, more recently during the Second World War, the Germans.
This potpourri of different nationalities has resulted in a community which is cosmopolitan in its attitude to visitors. This is a town which is no stranger to strangers.

Behind the harbour lies a labyrinth of narrow streets connecting the Jewish quarter with the Turkish quarter. Alleys here are filled with tavernas, markets, stalls selling leather goods, and various artisanal outlets. It’s a town where you feel as if you’re in the east in one backstreet, then back in the west in the next.

Six of the Best of Chania

The main attraction – the harbour

Apart from being a wonderful place to promenade, with plenty of bars, cafes, and restaurants, the harbour’s crowning glory is the Egyptian Lighthouse standing guard at its entrance. Originally built by the Venetians in the 16th century, a chain once connected the lighthouse with the Firka Fortress on the other side of the harbour. This could be raised when the town was under attack, preventing access. Runner-up stand-out sight on the harbour is the pink dome of Giali Tzamisi – the mosque by the sea, where horse and carriage rides through the old town begin.

The not-so-main attraction – atmospheric backstreets

The harbour may represent Chania’s attractive façade, but the backstreets are where you’ll find most evidence of Chania’s multicultural past. South east from the harbour is the Splanzia district, the Turkish quarter which, with its mix of tavernas and cafes, churches and minarets, is considered one of the prettiest areas of the town. Head west, passing the Municipal Market and the leather stalls of Stivanadika (Leather Street – where there are still some good buys to be had; I picked up a great wallet here) to Topanas, the Jewish quarter with its museums and galleries, picturesque townhouses, synagogue, churches, and boutique shops.

The serene scene – the sea wall

Chania’s harbour doesn’t look particularly big, yet a harbourside stroll from the Firkas Fortress to the Egyptian Lighthouse via the former port comes in not far short of two kilometres. It’s a distance which deters many. When you take a pew beneath the old sea wall, you shouldn’t be sharing the panorama with hordes of people. And what a view. This is where you appreciate the ‘between the White Mountains and the blue of the Cretan Sea’ quote. We sat there in the sunshine contemplating the dramatic mountain backdrop, pondering whether their white peaks was what earned them their name or whether they were just snowclad.

Flavours of Chania

The Greeks do harbourside dining exceedingly well. There’s something about the whole package that is irresistible. Chania has plenty of seafront restaurants in which to enjoy Greek mezes involving Cretan specialities such as fennel pancakes (marathopita) and courgette fritters (kolokithokeftedes). But some of the best restaurants are found in those bewildering backstreets. Tamam in the Jewish quarter was once Turkish steam baths. It’s now a hugely popular restaurant with locals thanks to a menu showcasing the best of traditional Cretan cuisine. Our recommendation is apakia, pork that’s marinated in wine vinegar before being smoked and flavoured with spices and wild herbs. It is sensational.

A toast to Chania

Generally speaking, tourists prefer the western side of the harbour, locals the eastern curve. Which is where you’ll find Barbarossa, a lovely Venetian townhouse with super views. It’s hugely popular at sunset and weekends when the party goes on all night (take note if staying on seafront accommodation). If its bustling scene doesn’t suit, Boheme’s courtyard, a couple of streets back from the seafront, is a quirkier alternative. Past lives include being part of a monastery and a stint as a soft drinks factory. The courtyard has a 400-year-old yew tree, while decorative elements include a roof made from slats from the WWII German railway.

The quirk

Admittedly they border on the cheesy and are most definitely aimed at a tourist market, but there’s still something charming about the floating shops in the Kasteli area, where the Venetian shipyards were once located. Opposite the distinctive seven A-frame roofs of the Neoria buildings, designed for ship repairs, are typically Greek blue fishing boats converted into floating stalls selling sponges, conch, and wind chimes made from shells.

Summary

Chania is one of those destinations which doesn’t really have any WOW standout aspects. There’s nothing particularly outstanding to draw hordes of day-trippers. It’s a place that just looks and feels nice to wander around. And that might be one of the factors that make it such a pleasant town to stay in, especially for people who enjoy an interesting and aesthetically pleasing mix of history and architecture, atmospheric alleys, good restaurants, and a nice equilibrium between locals and tourists.

Eyeless cockroaches – Cueva del Viento, Tenerife
Once you’ve been told the cave, or volcanic tube to be more exact, was once home to eyeless cockroaches and giant rats it’s hard to banish thoughts of mutant creepy crawlies from your mind. It’s especially difficult when you can see webs which show that insects of some sort still inhabit the Cueva del Viento on Tenerife. Stretching 18km, it’s one of the longest of its type in the world. A guided tour makes it feel more comfortable and the beasties are now extinct… or so scientists believe. There’s still a lot of cave to be explored, so who knows what really lies in its darkest depths. At one point visitors are asked to switch off head torches – the blackness which falls is as complete as you can imagine. Nothing exists, nothing. I became only what lay inside my head… and then my stomach rumbled loudly and all philosophic pondering was stopped rudely in its tracks.

A mythical creature – Cyclop’s Cave, Crete
Google ‘Polyphemus Cave’ and a few different locations come up. I’m discounting the one in Alexandroupoli as fake as those who have visited it describe it as a den. The one we scrabbled our way up a hillside to above Sougia in western Crete was the size of a small cathedral inside. Neither did it have hordes of tourist scouring about looking, as I did, for human bones which had been picked dry by a hungry, one-eyed giant. It’s not easy to get to if you’re not reasonably fit. It’s also ideally placed for flinging rocks at an escaping ship as described in Homer’s Odyssey. And, unlike another Cyclop’s Cave in Sicily, a giant could easily roll a boulder across the entrance to trap ‘dinner’ inside. But the entrance is a problem. A Cyclops may be able to stand tall and proud once inside, but there’s no way he could squeeze his bulk through the small entrance which makes the cave hard to find. Maybe there’d been a rockfall or two since Odysseus made his escape clinging to the underside of a sheep.

Bats – Phra Nang Nai Cave, Krabi Thailand
Phra Nang Nai Cave in Krabi looks as though it’s been tarted up so it’s all bright, shiny and tourist friendly. When we made the attempt to walk the fifteen minutes or so it was supposed to take from its inland entrance to the beach things were very different. There were no lights, no entrance fee, no other tourists and we had no torch. But there was a wooden walkway, visible in the faint light from the entrance. After a few minutes on the rickety walkway we were engulfed by a black hole, the way forward an impenetrable inky curtain. It would have been silent apart from intermittent odd noises in the darkness, sometimes alarmingly close, at other times a flutter in the distance. With each ginger step the noises grew in intensity until our nerve broke and we turned and bolted for the entrance pursued by a dense, erratic cloud – the resident colony of bats.

A ghost – Ajuy, Fuerteventura
What could be scary about a sea cave visited by bus loads of excursionists daily? Ajuy Caves on Fuerteventura is hardly a hidden natural oddity. But the steep access reduces the number of people who actually explore these enormous caves. Plus, the second cave takes a bit of agile scrambling to get to, cutting numbers even further. It is here, in the damp murky interior where a smaller cave leads deeper into the rock, the atmosphere morphs from an interesting natural attracting to something more unnerving. A strange aura hangs in the air, the sea (maybe, maybe it isn’t) sounds like the whisper of the corsairs and pirates who were said to have carried out their illicit trade in the caves. Maybe an overactive imagination caused my spine to go all shiver me timbers. All I know is there’s a Ghostbuster-esque slimer on the photos I took in there.

Ice sculptures – Dachstein, Austria
With names like Castle of the Holy Grail and King Arthur’s Dome, the Dachstein Ice Cave in Saltzkammergut could easily have fallen into the overly sanitised, theme cave category. But it doesn’t. For a start, maybe stating the obvious given what makes it an attraction, it’s cold, -2C. Even warmer water which makes it way into the cave in summer months can only make minor adjustments to the naturally forming gigantic blue ice sculptures before it too becomes part of the exhibit. It is an enchanting cave with a hard edge, the sort of place where Game of Thrones’ Night King would throw a party for his undead legions. As a bonus, the mountain which hosts it is full of other quirks – a mammoth cave, the five finger viewing platform… a shark.

Blind faith – somewhere in Sheffield
The first proper cave I entered was whilst on a works outward bound course in the Peak District. I can’t remember which cave, possibly because the experience erased it from my memory. Not that it was bad… not for me at least. One girl had to be carted out of the cave after suffering a serious anxiety attack. To be fair, it was intense; that was the point. Two memories remain deeply etched into my brain. The first involved crawling through a gap where the roof of the cave was only a few inches above my back and my hard-hatted head kept scraping the rock. I couldn’t shake the thought if the earth shifted even slightly, we’d be trapped underground. The second involved using a rope to descend into a black abyss, so black it was impossible to see the bottom. When it was my turn I lowered myself backwards, feet edging backwards down the rock face until a voice from the darkness instructed me to stop, lower my feet from the rock and then to let go even though I couldn’t see terra firma below. It required total trust. I did what was instructed and fell… about three inches before my feet made contact with the ground. It was quite bizarre, and immensely liberating.

What do you find when you venture into the deep, dark depths of caves?

You never know until you take the plunge and delve into the blackness.

A man-made lake on Crete proved the perfect setting for a couple of Slow Travel moments, appropriately as our remit was to enhance a Slow Travel holiday. The setting was scenic; the mirror-like lake backed by a decorative cornice provided by the White Mountains, snowy white against a typically blue Greek sky. The noises from the local wildlife put smiles on our faces; from strange bird calls we couldn’t identify to the manic laughter of ducks.

As well as the ‘don’t you eyeball me’ moment with a protective duck, there were proud little egrets with limited patience and a friendly little mongrel who joined us for a while during our early morning amble around Agia Lake before he toddled off to snuffle among the reeds.

The pace was slow, and the company eclectic. All in all, a perfectly relaxing start to a day of exploring the west of Crete.

Jack is co-editor, writer and photographer for BuzzTrips and the Real Tenerife series of travel websites as well as a contributor to online travel sites and travel magazines. Follow Jack on Google+

A springtime trip to Crete to spend three weeks updating walking directions involved plenty of paradise beaches, but mostly this time our interaction with them consisted of walking across the sand rather than getting prone on it.

It was an eye-opening experience and the walking was significantly different from many other destinations we’ve visited

Walking from a single base
Our first week was spent near Kolymvari, exploring the north west area of Crete from a delight of rural hotel in the hills, the Elia. Paths meandered from the door through olive and citrus groves to pass sleepy hamlets, Byzantine churches and fields of bulbous artichokes. Where the immediate scenery was pleasant, the distant view was of the stunning, snowy White Mountains. Snow on the mountains whilst people sunbathed at the beach; I’d always thought Tenerife had been unique in having that combination.

We already knew Cretan maps were of the ‘just a guideline’ variety but we didn’t know how well the island was organised as far as hiking was concerned. We soon discovered that, despite already having a relatively healthy hiking market, the answer was not very. Walking signposts were conspicuous by their absence, making the need for clear directions essential. We got briefly lost on our second walk, possibly by miscounting olive trees before a turn.

Gorge walks in the area were easier to navigate for obvious reasons. One involved passing aged olives with thick, gnarled trunks to follow a stream through a shady forest. Another ascended through Deliana Gorge, a favourite haunt with griffon vultures, to a musical cling clang soundtrack courtesy of goat bells. Sirikari was a particular favourite and involved walking from the ancient hill top city of Polirrinia to a tiny village where we bought a branch of deliriously scented oregano (we’re still shaking it into our food five months on). On a hill overlooking the gorge we ate a picnic of pastries and biscuits in a small cemetery where the breeze rattled the glass coverings on the tombs, making it sound as though the dead were keen to join our al fresco feast.

Walking across the west
After an easy week’s exploring it was time to move up a gear and get in some serious walking. Our starting point was a hotel beside the wonderfully wild sands of Falasarna, more or less empty in late April although the weather was in the mid 20s.

By then we’d gotten over the surprise of just how beautiful the west of Crete was. It has all those typical ideal Greek Island ingredients – picturesque fishing harbours with tavernas selling fresh seafood, long beaches lapped by calm turquoise waters, pretty towns of white cottages with intense blue windows and doors. But it’s also gloriously green; greener than any Greek Island we’d visited previously.

From a walking point of view seductive scenery is a must. But where Crete excelled was each route we followed also had quite different qualities with lots of additional points of interest. In Falasarna we parted thigh-length grasses to wander around the ruins of an ancient port. At Chrysokalitissa routes took us from a monastery perched on a rock to a sea lagoon surrounded by white sand with brightly coloured bee-catchers performing impressive aerobatics overhead. On one side of Sougia we descended into a valley cut into a cleft in the hills where there was once an elegant city and where the only way in was on foot or by boat. On the other side of Sougia we scrabbled up a barely discernible path in search of a cave which was said to be home to the mythical Cyclops.

Beach walking
And then there were the beaches. Sun worshippers visiting Crete make pilgrimages to Elafonisi, but the western and south western coast is peppered with postcard fodder – sparkling bays, hidden coves and sweeping white sand crescents. Most were completely unpopulated; getting to them is no stroll in the park. There are times we could have walked barefoot on the sand, but there was also a fair amount of scrabbling across boulders. Additionally, steep descents into perfect Greek beaches usually meant equally steep ascents out again which made for satisfyingly challenging walking.

The E4 path meant coastal routes were better signposted than inland ones i.e. there actually were some signposts. But they could go missing now and again. On one occasion as we took time out on a beach for an energy bar, we watched a fellow hiker struggle to find a path out of a bay. Having watched his painfully slow progress from afar we were apprehensive about tackling it ourselves. But having seen him go wrong we were more wary of the path and spotted where he’d been misled. Subsequently our climb wasn’t anything like as arduous as our fellow walker’s.

Our final walk was through the Samaria Gorge. Crete’s most famous route was a spectacularly fitting way to end our exploration of the west of the island on foot. It was also the only time we encountered other walkers in any numbers.

Walking on Crete was somewhat of a revelation – it was far more diverse and even more beautiful than we’d imagined. There is, however, a distinct lack of walking infrastructure and the Cretan Tourist Board are missing a trick there. But there’s a massive upside to that. Apart from the better known routes, most trails were quiet. The lack of waymarking meant there was a real sense of discovery, a feeling we were treading paths which still haven’t made it onto the mainstream hiking radar yet.

Jack is co-editor, writer and photographer for BuzzTrips and the Real Tenerife series of travel websites as well as a contributor to online travel sites and travel magazines. Follow Jack on Google+

There are occasions when it feels as though the gnarled hand of the past reaches deep into my chest and squeezes my heart.

War cemeteries. The last resting places of far too many young men. Often in soulfully beautiful locations where violent, messy deaths have been turned into neat rows of simple slabs with immaculately cut green grass acting as grout.

For some reason I can’t explain, the past in Crete feels as though it walks besides us more so than in other places. An ancient marble column lying amidst the rocks on a beach is a reminder of a great civilization, now a conveniently smooth bench on which to eat our picnic. Overlooking a long, wide beach of exquisite beauty lies the remains of a once thriving port, its elegant ruins concealed by tall grasses. High on a scraggy hillside we search for a cave, supposedly the lair of the one-eyed Cyclops. ‘Ah, but that one is mythology’ you might think. But then who’s to say much of the history we think we know isn’t?

It’s in Crete’s WWII cemeteries where the past stands closest, putting an arm around my shoulder and whispering on the sea breeze “this is what fear, anger and ultimately hate looks like.”

In one cemetery there are only a couple local women carefully tending graves where dates of births etched into the headstones act like one sobering slap across the face after another. I calculate each age as I pass – 19,19,20,19,21,20…

In another, apart from us, there is only a young couple looking for a bench away from disapproving parents’ eyes. The boy is probably not much younger than many of those whose remains are marked by the marble slabs surrounding him. Young men who should have had more of a chance to sit on a bench with their arms around someone.

In a war cemetery I don’t see nationalities, only humble monuments to the memories of men barely out of childhood. The poignant cost of somebody else’s selfish power games.

“Soldier rest, thy warfare o’er.”

Memories are short and it feels as though the world could once again be heading towards darkness.

I silently wish more people would take time to stand in a cemetery such as one of these and take heed of the words the past whispers sagely in their ears.

Jack is co-editor, writer and photographer for BuzzTrips and the Real Tenerife series of travel websites as well as a contributor to online travel sites and travel magazines. Follow Jack on Google+

It’s not the best introduction to Crete. But hey, taxi drivers all over the world can be responsible for souring introductions. Nevertheless, we arrive on the outskirts of Chania old town with moods as dark as the night sky above us.

A couple of hundred yards later, after negotiating narrow alleys and a charmer of a street lined by tavernas and little supermarkets, we arrive at the Amphora Hotel and the darkness is replaced by a glow as warm as that emanating from the tavernas. Our room looks more like it could be in Outlander than an old Grecian town house. It’s Gorgeous with a capital G. It doesn’t have a walk-in wardrobe but it does have a walk-in fireplace and a spiral stairway which descends to the bathroom. But it’s nearly 11pm and we haven’t eaten yet. We make a few ‘ooh’ and ‘aah’ noises, dump our suitcases and head out in search of food.

First sight of the moonlit water and many memories of good times beside picture postcard Greek harbours are unlocked. Chania’s is particularly spellbinding thanks to the Venetians who built it in the 14th century, as well as architectural influences courtesy of Byzantine, Roman, Turkish and Egyptian rule. The taxi driver, when we were still friends, told us locals ate at restaurants on the eastern side of the harbour whereas those on the western part were more for tourists. Lithos is more on the western side, but it’s an attractive looking restaurant with a menu which appeals. A tasty meze mix of hummus, aubergine dip and crispy little squid served with some panache confirms we made a good choice. A bottle of wine, complimentary mini jug of raki and view of highlights of Manchester United beating Chelsea on a screen in an adjacent taverna help fuel the flames of a renewed love affair with the Greek Islands.

Chania has charmed. Unfortunately we have to move on the next morning. We grab a couple of big bottles of Amstel beer from a kiosk and head back to our Outlander room to enjoy at least a couple of hours awake in its company.

Act 2: Exploring Chania old town
We return to Chania mid trip to put together a town walk around its highlights, of which it has many. Whether we get lucky or not I don’t know but we find a spot to park easily, right beside Firka Fortress. Built by the Venetians at the start of the 17th century this was the place in December 1913 King Constantine raised the Greek flag to commemorate Crete becoming unified with Greece. Three talented, cheeky-faced young street musicians provide a jaunty soundtrack to our arrival and we throw a couple of Euros their way.

When we left it had been a gloomy day, now the sky is blue and sun is shining, revealing a surprising and spectacular backdrop, the snow clad White Mountains. We didn’t expect to see snow on Crete. We follow a route along the harbour which takes us past crumbling Byzantine walls and one of the harbour’s standout features, the pink domed Giali Tzamisi – the mosque by the sea built in the latter half of the 17th century – where you can hook up with a horse and carriage for a trot around the old streets (€20 for 15mins). We leave the long harbour wall for another day and turn inland to explore the network of backstreets in the Kasteli district, the area where Venetian shipyards were once located. Now in the calm harbour waters bob a mix of fishing vessels and a couple of floating shops selling sponges and chimes made from seashells.

Chania’s backstreets are equally as charming as its seafront and full of distractions. Souvenir shops rarely seem as tacky in Greek Islands as they do in some popular holiday destinations; many are more arty and independent. The thumb ring I wear was picked up in a tiny jewellers on Symi. As we notch up old churches, museums and historic squares we also pick up a leather handbag and wallet in a shop in a souk-like alley where leather goods have been produced and sold for centuries.

Tavernas behind the harbour are as alluring as those beside it, making it difficult to choose one to refuel after an afternoon’s exploration. The menu at family run Steki in the Splanzia district appeals just that little bit more than its neighbours. Apparently it’s known for its raki – not a deciding factor for us. We over order, ending up with a table filled with dolmades, aubergine salad, Greek salad, cheese and spinach pies, taramasalata and, best of all, a filo pie filled with cheese and drizzled with honey.

We return to our rural west of Crete base happy and as stuffed as the dolmades.

Act 3: Departure
Having spent 3 weeks driving and walking across Crete’s western parts, our journey ends where it started, at the Amphora Hotel in Chania. The room is different, a marine blue airy affair with a balcony overlooking the harbour. It’s not as grand but it is equally delightful… and the view is better.

By this time Chania feels like an old friend, we’re relatively familiar with its old streets so no time is wasted turning down alleys to nowhere. Plus we know exactly where we’re going to eat. But first we’ve got unfinished business with the harbour. The route passes a lot of historic buildings with interesting past lives, including the final building before you reach the harbour wall; an annex to the Maritime Museum on the other side of the harbour where there’s a full-sized replica of a Minoan sailing ship (open 9am – 5pm; entrance €2).

It’s a surprisingly long way to the Egyptian Lighthouse at the end of the wall, a fact which seems to deter the masses; we pass only a handful of other visitors as we make our way along the protective stone arm, the views of Chania with that incredible mountain backdrop getting more sensational with each step. It’s claimed there was once a chain which connected the lighthouse with Firka Fortress across the narrow entrance to the harbour. Any threat of attack and it was raised, acting a bit like a barrier in a car park. We sit whilst time evaporates simply enjoying the view.

Lunch is in a taverna where everyone and their dog recommends. Tamam in Ovraiki, the former Jewish quarter, was once the Turkish baths and seems to be popular with locals and visitors alike. We manage to squeeze in the only one available table, jammed between what appears to be two tables of local workers enjoying lunch. Some of the dishes we order we’ve tried previously, many times during this trip in some cases (tztaziki). But there’s one which is a first, apakia – pork marinated in wine vinegar which is then smoked and flavoured with spices and wild herbs. I can’t believe I left it till our last full day to try, it is divine.

With our Cretan work schedule completed all that’s left is a final afternoon and evening to enjoy Chania at our leisure. The town was a charming introduction to Crete and is the perfect place to end a trip which has been a reminder why we returned to the Greek Islands year after year for more than a decade. There’s no place quite like them.

Jack is co-editor, writer and photographer for BuzzTrips and the Real Tenerife series of travel websites as well as a contributor to online travel sites and travel magazines. Follow Jack on Google+

Chania on a Saturday night and we’re faced with an overload of what might be described in guidebooks as ‘inviting harbourside tavernas serving authentic Cretan cuisine’. Most of them display exactly the same menu. Pumpkin heart baked with feta cheese and herbs is not on any.

Every so often we’re approached by an affable Cretan who engages us in small talk before getting round to his objective – trying to persuade us to choose his restaurant over all the rest. He does this by reeling off all the authentic dishes on the menu, the same authentic dishes served in the restaurants on either side.

He’s a nice guy, they’re all nice guys, and I’d never dream of being rude to someone trying to honestly earn a living. I say “we’ll think about it” and we move on. What I really want to say is “Why would I choose to eat here? Your menu is exactly the same as a hundred others. It shows no innovation, no creative bent on the part of the cook (note: cook not chef). I’ve been eating from this same menu for two and a half weeks.”

Before anyone gets all prickly and castigates me by pointing out how diverse and wonderful Greek gastronomy is, I already know. I love Greek cuisine. We cook Greek food on a regular basis. This is an interchangeable gripe. It could be aimed at any number of destinations where most local chefs and restaurateurs never stray from the ‘authentic local food the way grandmother used to make it’ path.

Talk of a rural Crete taverna which breaks the mould
On a drizzly day in a volunteer information centre below the ancient hilltop city of Polyrinia, the two British residents running the cosy coffee sanctuary talk to us about off the beaten track places we ‘must’ visit whilst they play a weird version of gin rummy and sip steaming coffee. One of them nurses a mug which says ‘Still hate Thatcher’ on the side.

One of the ‘musts’ are natural white pyramids. Another is a taverna at the top of the Anidri Gorge, a place which serves food that is “ delicious and a bit different”. It’s not the first time the restaurant has been recommended, usually accompanied by the person who’s doing the mentioning going all dreamy-eyed as a memory forces an involuntary lip lick.

Our taste-buds perk up. We’re due to walk the Anidri Gorge.

Straying from the traditional path at the Anidri Gorge
From a kafeneion (Greek coffee house) decorated with a washing line of powder blue gourds, we follow a trail that takes us past agricultural hamlets and olive groves where black nets carpet the ground, obscuring the path at one point. As we climb, the silver groves give way to open rocky hillsides where vultures glide by at shoulder level and goats gorge on wild flowers, ignoring the bizarrely beautiful stinky lily, for obvious reasons.

At the village of Azogires we pop into the Alpha café to ask about an art gallery opposite, on the basis an art gallery in a tiny rural Cretan village deserves to be asked about. Another artist with a soft Scottish accent,Linda, introduces us to Mr Lucky, the owner of the eclectic café. It’s as much a mini agro-museum and place to pick up all manner of local goodies; from herbs and honey to olive oil and wine in plastic bottles. Mr Lucky is a jewel-rich mine of useful information and with his walrus moustache and shepherd’s crook he makes the eccentric café seem almost mundane.

The place is known for producing particularly scrumptious omelettes filled with a mix of secret ingredients; a recipe originally created by Mr Lucky’s grandmother. Sadly our timing is out; we’re too early for lunch so finding out why Alpha’s omelette is so sought after has to be put on hold. Mr Lucky sends us on our way with a gift of a bottle of wine and details of a detour to a waterfall and Venetian bridge, an enchanting diversion which eventually hooks up with our original route at the Monastery of the Holy Fathers.

Our timing when we descend to to the hamlet of Anidri at the head of the gorge of the same name couldn’t be better. We’d been warned it might be difficult to bag a table at Kafeneio sto Scholeio, but there are still a handful free in the shady courtyard.

Blackboards with dishes written in multi-coloured chalks come in two languages, Greek and English. There is dakos salad (lilac chalk), fennel pie (also lilac) and kalitsunia (yellow)… and there is also pumpkin heart baked with feta cheese and herbs (olive) plus many dishes that are strangers to other traditional menus.

After much deliberation we order lentil purée with carrot, potato and walnuts (orange), and a slice of fig, blue cheese, and walnut tart (olive). By the time our luscious lunch arrives (leaping effortlessly over expectations) there are no other tables to be had. The place is bursting with a blend of hikers, independent travellers and locals.

This traditional menu with a delicious difference has inspired a wide range of people to make a pilgrimage to dine at Kafeneio sto Scholeio.

Attracting customers by being traditional and yet different is a priceless penny which will never drop with many, many restaurateurs in countless destinations across the world.

Jack is co-editor, writer and photographer for BuzzTrips and the Real Tenerife series of travel websites as well as a contributor to online travel sites and travel magazines. Follow Jack on Google+

Some walkers are more tricky than others as they spread themselves across the path. The regular walkers are fine and I fall happily in behind them, our pace matching. It’s the inexperienced walkers that are tricky as they wobble and deviate across the path in anarchic movements. The surface below our feet is uneven and the stones are worn slippery with the feet of thousands. People are nervous. I too am nervous. No-one wants to fall.

Descending the narrow, winding path, the gorge drops away from the other side of the fence and I find myself walking along the edge of an abyss, a magnificent abyss where sunlight falls on caches of snow tucked into granite creases in the cliffs opposite, and lights up myriad leaf patterns in the canopy below. The vegetation is so dense, it’s impossible to make out how far below me the bottom of the gorge lies. But there’s no time to stop and gawp. No time to take in the beauty around me. One delay and I’ll be right back where I was, stuck behind hordes of other walkers like a fast car in slow moving traffic.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to be.

At 7:45am my taxi pulled up at the entrance to the Samaria Gorge, one of Crete’s most popular excursion destinations and a classic European gorge walk. Even as I paid the taxi driver, a coach pulled up alongside and hordes of people disembarked. I was surprised and irritated in equal measure. The taxi driver had assured me that a 7am start from Sougia would guarantee we arrived a good 15 minutes before the coaches, allowing me to enjoy the gorge without the crowds for which it is so well known.

I hurried to the entrance and waited behind a French walking guide and her group who were showing tickets to a ranger.
“You have to buy your tickets before you can begin,” she informed me. “The ticket office has moved this season, it is now on the other side of the car park.”
My mild irritation goes up a gear to annoyed. What was the point of paying for a taxi if I wasn’t going to avoid the masses? As I hurried back along the road to find the ticket office, three more coaches arrived and disgorged their passengers, all of whom already had tickets and headed straight to the gorge. By the time I got back to the entrance, there was a tide of walkers as far as my eye could see.

It’s not until I reach the stream at the bottom of the gorge, almost an hour into the route, that the crowds thin and then pretty much disappear, swallowed up by the vastness of the landscape. Finally I can relax and begin to take in my surroundings. Tall, elegant cypress trees reach towards the top of the gorge walls which rise 500m above the valley floor. Around them, oaks, maples and Calabrian pines cluster, elbowing each other out of the way in their bid to get more light. Along the banks and beside the path, rock roses, anemones and cyclamen nod their heads in the gentle breeze. Despite the crowds, it feels like a secret place. In the confines of the gorge, everything is exaggerated; the birdsong is piercing and multi-layered, like a complex symphony; the vegetation is dense and chaotic; and the heat sits heavily, finding brief respite in the shade.

Traversing a particularly splendid section of path lined by oleanders and shaded by plane trees, just outside the village of Samaria, something catches my eye in the dappled light of the woodland. I stand still and watch as a female kri-kri (Cretan wild goat) and her kid wander through the undergrowth, snatching mouthfuls of vegetation. I hardly dare breathe and as I take a step to get closer, the two become aware of my presence and in a few, short, graceful leaps, are gone.

In Samaria village I rest beneath the trees and eat my ham and cheese croissant, hastily thrown together from the ingredients left in my room the night before in readiness for my pre-breakfast departure. The village is a strange place. Once a refuge for Crete’s partisan rebels fighting against Turkish rule, and home to a small community of lumberjacks until 1962 when the National Park was created and they were forced to leave, a small handful of empty stone houses nestle amongst the plane trees beside the river. Wooden picnic tables are dotted around in the shade and there’s a water spring and some toilets.

As I cross back over the bridge to continue my descent, I’m surprised to start passing walkers coming the other way. I’m suddenly unsure if I haven’t made a mistake and would have been better ascending the gorge instead of descending it. It would certainly be tougher, involving a climb of 1200m or so, most of it in the last 2km which would be something of a thigh killer at the end of a steady, 14km ascent, but it would have saved all that vying for space at the start.

The next hour is spent walking along the stony riverbed and criss-crossing the stream on stepping stones. It’s not a place to dawdle. Signs spasmodically tell you not to loiter due to the real possibility of rock fall. The gorge is at its most dramatic here, the sheer sides rising and closing in as I progress until I reach what is known as ‘the gate’, the dramatic entrance to the gorge where the cliffs are at their narrowest. Beyond, the gorge opens out and I finally emerge and hand in my ticket stub.

From there, it’s a flat walk to the ‘new’ village of Agia Roumeli, the original village having been destroyed by a flood in the 1950s. I buy a ticket to Sougia and head to the shaded terrace of a taverna for the long wait for the ferry.

My only regret is that I missed the beauty of the beginning of the gorge as I was trying to create some breathing space for myself. With hindsight I wish I had just accepted that I was far from alone and still taken time to enjoy where I was. Eventually the crowds would thin, I was just impatient.

The trouble with Samaria Gorge…
is that everyone wants to walk it. After the site of the ancient city of Knossos, it’s Crete’s most popular day excursion, and visitors travel from across the island to descend it. Unless you’re prepared to get up in the middle of the night, or stay the night in Omalos, and get here for a dawn start, it’s difficult to avoid the crowds. Alternatively, wait until after 11am to begin but you’ll need to be fairly certain of your ability to complete within 6 hours or you’ll miss the ferry from Agia Roumeli and will have to stay there for the night.

The only other way to beat the hordes is to spend the night in Agia Roumeli, setting off early (around 8am) from the village, and ascending rather than descending the gorge. If you time your ascent right, you’ll get to the village of Samaria before the tide of walkers on their descent. You can then wait there (a long, leisurely brunch would be nice and there are plenty of places to pick up supplies in Agia Roumeli before you set off) until the mass of walkers has gone before continuing. You should have the second half of the route virtually to yourself.

Getting to Samaria Gorge:
Beginning in the White Mountains and ending in the village of Agia Roumeli which is only accessible by sea, Samaria is a long way from anywhere on Crete. The easiest way to get there is to join an excursion. It’s the most cost-effective option and if you choose one that gets you to the gorge before 8am, you’ll still manage to avoid the bulk of other walkers.

We were staying in Sougia from where a bus departs at 7am and reaches the entrance to the gorge at 8:10am, right in the midst of the multitudes of coach excursions. Getting a taxi from Sougia (€50 for 2 people, €60 for four and the taxi driver will find the other two passengers) takes just 45mins but you’ll need to leave Sougia around 6:30am to avoid the first coaches.

Ferries depart Agia Roumeli at 17:30 for Sougia (€11) and for Chora Sfakion (€12.50) where coaches wait to take people back to their hotels or drop-off points.

Andrea (Andy) Montgomery is a freelance travel writer and co-owner of Buzz Trips and The Real Tenerife series of travel websites. Published in The Telegraph, The Independent, DK Guides, Wexas Traveller, Thomas Cook Travel Magazine, EasyJet Traveller Magazine, you can read her latest content on Google+