Everyone is smiling it seems. Sunday morning, end of season at the Venetian Harbour in Chaniá. Restaurants and tavernas line the stone wall and cobbled walkway. Touting for custom, quietly, politely. That’s the style here. Walking by I notice one gentleman, crisp white shirt, Cretan tan and shades. He’s gesturing, welcoming the Sunday passersby. As I near I actually hear him, blah bla blah bla blah blah bla blah (smiling) blah bla blah bla blah… We all laugh with some understanding of his feelings. He looks to sea and lights a cigarette.
Three musicians seated, busking. Accordion, drum and bouzouki. A tourist couple dancing, people smiling clapping. They charge up the tempo and the man is hopping, clapping, slapping, almost faster than his body can withstand. He glances proudly at his wife. Happy Sunday.
I walk in the late afternoon light to the eastern pier of the harbour where the old lighthouse stands. I touch the ancient seawall and it is warm, just perfect for a cat to curl up on and steal another hour’s dreaming, if indeed a cat would leave home for this rough and rugged wall. I gaze south again and see the mountain spines over which we crossed to get here. Two layers, one closer and darker and the higher one pastel, a woven line across the sky, hastily torn from a cartridge sheet. Then as I breathe in the colours, the sea smells, and the dark olive water softly shining, the pale vermillion orb just disappears. Kali nichta xx