Free The Greek Islands by Lawrence Durrell Page A

Sicily, Sardinia, Corsica and Cyprus, it is the largest island in the Mediterranean. In continuity of history and purity of bloodstock, it is probably true to say, as the Greeks do, that it is ‘the most Greek’ of the islands.
    Though beautiful in its spacious style, its ruggedness and its sudden changes of weather make it a disquieting place for the visitor. It strikes a minatory note, which is echoed in all the enigmatic and somewhat vexatious folklore it has accumulated around figures like Zeus, Minos and others – not to mention the famous Minotaur which must still lurk somewhere underground today, like the Loch Ness Monster, waiting to be discovered by television. Yes, it is a strange place, full of echoing wind-haunted valleys and grand glades, of plains full of secret villages which lie baking in the noonday sun, of mountains with holm-oak forests where the charcoal burners stand, like black demons, over their fuming pits.
    Its shape is rugged as well, for Crete has been sculpted by a conflict of tides which forever range and gnaw at its cliffs. From the air, it looks something like the case of a violin that has been absent-mindedly cut about with a hacksaw by a retarded child; the whole northern part is heavily indented, yet poor in big harbours. Suda Bay, next to Chanea, is to some extent an exception , but even that is not a really fine commercial harbour. However, smaller craft and yachts will generally find a lay-by, though it is more difficult on the southern coast, for there the mountains rise iron-bound from the deep sea and form great walls against which the sea pounds and shocks and explodes all the year long. The best way into the island and the mood of theisland is, as always in Greece, by sea, which gives the pace and the dimension necessary for the traveller to take in what he sees.
    But today the traveller who harbours romantic notions of a sort of Greek Tibet will find himself in for a shock. The air-time from Athens is under an hour, and tourism has swamped the island with summer sun-lovers – which has had an inevitable effect on prices, urbanization, and morals. The whole of the northern coast – or a good two-thirds of it – is turning itself into a playground, a place of summer habitation, for sun-hungry Nordics. However, we must make the best of what is left. The Cretans remain dour and gay, which makes one feel slightly better about it; and who could say they are wrong to pine for a higher standard of living – as we all so quaintly call it? In the thirties, when we stayed in a village or camped, we managed without such indispensable things as washing-machines and fridges. Our fridge was the nearest well, or the sea even, into which we lowered bottles and perishables; the village granny was our washing-machine, an excellent one (and glad of the money), even if sometimes we caught trifling children’s illnesses like ringworm or Dobie’s itch from badly washed clothes. All Cretan housewives would agree that among modern amenities there are real godsends like Buta-gas, insect spray, and washing soaps (it is odd to realize how recently these have appeared on the scene; and even DDT, penicillin and the sulfa group of drugs only date from the end of World War II). Life was quite different without them in remote places like Greek islands. For my part, I would site the island telephone as a worthwhile modern amenity; today you can ring from one island to another, from one hotel to another. You never could before; even pre-paid telegrams did not work. You just had to hope you would find a room when you arrived at your destination.
    The Cretans have seen everything – the collapse of the Minoan Empire, the rise of Venice, the slave markets of Turkey, Nazi parachutists and American hippies – nothing has been spared them. If they remain a trifle sceptical and shy, brusque and censorious, it is hardly surprising. One must also realize that they have only belonged to Greece since 1913, though the