I hope only a handful of people see the story you are about to read. As unusual as this is for a publisher or writer, some of you will understand why by the time you’re finished. It is a story about authentic Crete, a rapidly disappearing paradise. A recent trip to Europe’s Southernmost city, Ierapetra (Pop. 17,000), leaves me torn. Should I do my duty as a travel expert? Or should I become full Cretan and hide something too valuable to spoil?
The masses do not see the Sirens. They do not hear songs in the air. Blind, deaf, stooping, they pull at their oars in the hold of the earth. But the more select, the captains, harken to a Siren within them… and royally squander their lives with her. – Nikos Kazantzakis
Like every great story, this one starts with a frame of a hero hard-pressed at his work, in his case, tending to the life and well-being of patients. He’s a fine, refined, and humble man, so we’ll only refer to him as Manoli the surgeon/frogman. Whatever else he is, he is truly my great friend. Another thing about him is that he will always lead you to the right place or idea. I first discovered this when he recommended that I visit a place in the far east of Crete island. It is a place of true power, unique, stunning, and inspirational to those open to its magnitude. That place, Itanos, is far, far, far from the madding crowd. Manoli is, as Kazantzakis put it, a select captain among those rowing in mud.
Now, to our most recent adventure at the suggestion of the mysterious Manoli.
Most travelers to Crete have yet to learn about the place’s value. A German or American may have heard of the ancient Minoan palaces/temples, and someone from Italy might know the god Zeus was born here. A history or geology professor from an Australian college might even teach students about the world’s first thalassocracy or the unparalleled tsunamis that swept across the Eastern Mediterranean after Thera (Santorini) erupted. But no professor, travel company, or soothsayer can educate you about authentic Crete. Talk is talk, after all. All you can rely on is the mirror reflections of others unless you’ve enjoyed real filoxenia (from filó, which means love of strangers). Filoxenia, the Cretan kind, is t a moral duty and a sacred rule of the gods. Xenios Zeus and the legend of the unknown god visiting your home is its origin. Oh my, that’s too much history/legend for this story, right?
Do not “Google” Filoxenia or Philoxenia; you’ll only see a hundred ad results for hotels, villas, and apartment stays nowadays. You see, the soul of this island is not some marketing ploy or Google ad. It’s the kindness, freedom, and beauty the great Nikos Kazantzakis wrote about. It’s in the beauty of a perfect sunset on the Libyan Sea or eyes that smile like those of Alex and George at Crete’s best taverna, Vira Potzi (Βίρα Πότζι) on the Ierapetra’s waterfront. I’ll share this with you: Manoli recommended this place a couple of years ago, and we are only sorry we’ve missed two years of culinary, hospitality, and friendship bliss. What a great restaurant!
I am a traitor. That is, telling the world of travel searchers about a place where more business can only harm. George (or Giorgos) and I discussed such facets of Crete and Ierapetra and so much more the other day. As if he were writing one of my regenerative tourism posts, the taverna co-owner almost shunned the idea of more business. Imagine that. I would like to convey the connection and mutual understanding between us properly. In retrospect, I’ll be Manoli figured on this as part of continued Phil Butler adventures. And another thing, my wife Mihaela and I agreed, and some may scoff – that there was a Godliness or holiness to this little trip. I’ll reflect on other people and places in another story. Here, though, it’s essential to show the good in the world, the intelligence and wisdom of others, and places (situations) we can experience to find ourselves again.
Talking to George about fishing, the real meaning of success, and how he swore to steal our fishing boat if we bought one spun me back to my once unequalled positivity and energy. Let me say it: there is magnetism and spirituality on this island – it’s legendary for some, but only felt if you have the right receptors. Mihaela, a woman who would as soon roast in an open pit in hell as to move, suggested we follow George’s advice to buy a boat and relocate to Ierapetra. I almost fainted; I kid you not, but here is her boat.
Okay, I am so ethereal and normative, whatever. But listen. It’s like George kept saying, “Money is not everything. Peace and calmness are far more valuable.” And this, from a successful business person, should light a path for some of you. Heraklion, Crete’s capital and where we currently live, has no such treasure or value anymore. Our new friends commented on this and other ironies that seemed straight from my mind. Irony! That’s it! When so many thoughts, ideas, dreams, and intuitions match up perfectly, and when things coast past coincidence – Well, that’s when you know something deeper is at work. Something spiritual, as I suggested earlier.
Alex and George, as well as their whole staff, personify this love of strangers and guests. Culinary perfection aside—and trust me, the food here is impeccable and very reasonably priced. For those unfamiliar, a real Cretan foodie experience is the whole package, with a spectacular view included. My catch of the day, a fantastic sea bass, was flawless. Mihaela (I kid you not) woke up this morning asking, “Where can we buy those red mullets?” I told her honestly, “They will only taste like that at Vira Potzi.”
I am sure you get the idea. A travel and food writer is not supposed to go “nuts” over a simple dish of red mullet or a bottle of house wine as good as its more famous cousins here on Crete. However, anyone should rave about excellence, especially wholesome honesty. What about a restauranteur who visits your table, looks down at a perfect warm starter dish and says, “I do not like this dish. It has no place here.” No matter how amazing, a sausage has no place beside Cretan feta cooked in the oven. And especially not in a superb Mediterranean/local fish taverna. George recommended the fillet of beef when Mihaela told him I was a meat person. I laughed, saying, “I did not know.” To which George responded, “You did not ask.”
Ah, Ierapetra’s “softer” people, as the gas station/villa owner told us when we hit town. Their sense of humour is intact; Ierapetra folks are my kind of people. It’s true. That old Crete legend about Ierapetra being so friendly that people do not even lock their doors. The flower shops on the way out of town verified this, given a million potted plants sitting outside, just for the taking. Only no one would. Sorry, I venture too far. The point is, and I think this is very important to convey, is that extraordinary people like my friend Manoli, they seem to grow up in places like Ierapetra Crete. But wait. There is only one town like this.
Please, don’t go here unless a life change is your only true quest. Where to next, Manoli?
