Reserved space

The Greek way to ensure you'll find your parking space outside your house on an inner city street.

Pillion passenger

A rare sight, becoming scarcer by the day: a motorbike with a pillion passenger's seat.

Exhibition

Hania has one of the highest rates of road accident deaths in the country, which must make us the worst drivers in the whole of Europe, since Greece once again tops the lists in that respect.



It's all very well to say that the roads are at fault, but since we know that, we should be more careful when we drive.



Recently, an exhibition was held outside the general hospital of Hania to highlight this fact. Cars involved in road fatalities were positioned centrally, at the entrance to the hospital, and each one had a sign saying how the accident happened, and why the driver was at fault.



This one was caused by the driver of the car. The sign says:

"He was out all night...
He was drinking...
His co-driver was a few more bottles of beer...
He set out in a foggy journey..."

I don't know which driver(s) was killed, but that's not that the point.

Bicycle lane

Hey, look, Hania's finally got itself a bicycle lane!
In front of the Agora in the centre of town.

Car crash

Shit happens.

Car accident down the road from St Luke's cemetery (no fatalities).

Closed for the winter

Stivanadika, a tourist shop avenue, looking quite empty.

The souvenir shops are locked,
the tourist season is over,
the lease on the town has expired.

The citizens of Hania
have got their town back
for their own use.

That's not where they go
to buy their leather sandals, T-shirts,
olive oil soap and herbs and spices.

They want the shops
made with glass and concrete -
the chic boutiques,

the big bright supermarkets
with their sliding doors
selling all kinds of plasticulture.

Good bye stivanadika,
have a good rest
till the next summer.

Old man at St Luke's

Agios Loukas (St Luke) church houses the town's inner city cemetery. It is located on a street that approaches the town from the west. But that's not why I took the photo. I wanted to talk to you about the old man walking on the pavement. He leaves his house somewhere further down the road, and taps his way up the corner of the road just a few more steps ahead of him. Then he turns back down the same road he came up on, and walks back home. He does this two times a day, every day.

Whenever I walk along this road, I feel very happy to see him. He uses familiar landmarks that he has mapped out in his mind, like the lamp posts, electricity poles, the texture of the walls and gates that he passes, among other things. I got to know him a long time ago when I noticed he was tapping his stick on a car that had been parked on the footpath.

"Do you need any help?" I asked him.

"Oh, no, thanks, I'm fine," he answered. "It's just this car that's been parked here for a long time, and it's blocking my access to the rest of the road."

"Would you like me to help you maneuver your way round it?" I asked helpfully.

"No, thanks, no, I don't walk anywhere else except this stretch of road if it's clear of cars. I'm completely blind," he told me.

I'm still seeing him take his daily walk here, and I think that's a good sign. It means he hasn't moved home to St Luke's yet.

Rush grass chair seats

Traditional wooden woven chairs are not as popular as they once were, but these chairs are visibly old and much loved, as they are awaiting a new woven seat. The craftsman who weaves them (I decided to give him the right to his privacy) is not new to the town; I remember the first time I saw him crafting chair seats, in the village of Therisso, 15 years ago. He is probably the only person in Hania who is in this line of work, as I have never encountered anyone else weaving chairs, and I have seen him many times since my first encounter.

He works silently, hardly ever bothering to look up, completely oblivious to the passersby who stop to watch him; who wouldn't stop and watch him - deftly weaving grasses in and out of a frame, as though it is second nature to him, even though he knows the onlookers are there, staring at him as if he is a performing monkey.

This photo was taken outside an apartment building, across the road from the municipal park, with four traditional Cretan wooden chairs (not all are visible) waiting for his expert hands to be rewoven. The owner must love traditional customs; few people in town would place such furniture in their homes now, let alone restore them to their former glory.

ABC Wednesday: C for Carriage

It's ABC Wednesday again, and C is for cart or carriage, in the lovely town of Hania which is usually written as Chania.

Everyone loves going for a ride in one of these old-fashioned carriages. These ones are heading towards the old harbour; as relics of older times, they suit the mood of the lovely port lined with the many little cafe bars. They are used mainly by tourists (at 20 euro for a short ride, the price is a bit steep), and they are also hired for weddings. The town is too small and the roads are too narrow for open-top tourist buses, but these are prettier and will stay in your memory for much longer.

If you're wondering what the Christmas lights are doing in the picture (another 'C' word) on a warm summer's day, don't worry: we don't light them until Christmas time; it's just easier to leave them hanging there rather than taking them down and putting them up every year...

Although the name of the town of Hania is most often written with a 'C' ('Chania'), the 'C' is never pronounced. To pronounce the name of the city correctly when you see it written as 'Chania', pretend it's not there, and say 'Hania' instead. That's why I call my blog 'One day in Hania'.

A night on the town

The beach is one of my favorite places to play in, pretending to be a pirate hiding treasure or looking out for other pirates who want to ransack my deserted island. But I don't really care about swimming. Mum says she doesn't want us to miss out on learning to swim like she did, but I think I take after her; it doesn't look like I'll be learning to swim very quickly either. Some people are just not made for water. I hate it when water seeps up my nose. So you can imagine how glad I was when a couple of days ago the weather was so windy that the beach pool was bulging with frothy waves and the lessons were cancelled.



After school broke up for the summer, we've never stayed at home in the afternoon since those swimming lessons started. We were at a loose end that day when it was too cold to go swimming. The sun was shining, but the wind was tipping the chairs over on the balcony and we couldn't sit outside. The house hadn't cooled down enough to sit outdoors.

"What shall we do instead?" she asked us. She's always taken a democratic view in our leisure choices, but always seems to get us to do things she wants us to do anyway. Christine wanted to go horse-riding: 'it's too late in the afternoon"; I wanted to go to the water slide park: 'if it's windy here, they're going through a hurricane".

"How about a trip into Hania to see your favorite paediatrician?" she suggested. That's where she wanted to go, so we agreed with her, otherwise, she might not have taken us anywhere. We knew we were up for our last vaccination, and we wanted to get it over and done with too. I only felt a little sting in the beginning but after that, I didn't feel anything. Christine tried to run away at one point; I wonder what she's going to do when she gets her tuberculosis vaccination at school next year.

"Isn't it too windy to go to Hania, too?" I asked. Dad always checks the weather before we go out.
"Wear a jacket," she replied. But no one else was wearing one, so I didn't take one either. She'd make me carry it if I ended up taking it off in town. But when we left the doctor's, the wind was still quite strong. "I'm cold," Christine said, hugging her arms, but she was laughing.

"I love this weather," Mum said. She never wears a jacket, but never complains about the weather. I suppose it felt better than the feeling you get when the sun is too bright and it's burning down on you. As we walked towards the town, I noticed I didn't sweat. I was beginning to see why Mum liked this weather. My body felt much lighter than it did during the day, and I didn't have that sticky feeling on my skin.

"Now that we're in Hania, would you like to have something to eat in town?" I knew she'd take us out for the meal of our choice. That's what I like about Mum: she knows we don't want to eat at a sit-down taverna which serves all those meals she makes at home. Neither does she, in any case. We chose Goody's because with each happy meal they give you a toy.



Mum ordered our happy meals: a hamburger, some chips and a soft drink. "Aren't you having anything for yourself, Mum?" I asked her. "I wish you'd eat everything so that I didn't have to eat your leftovers." We never eat it all. Mum hates throwing away food, so she never orders anything for herself. I got a Ninja turtle figurine in my meal, while Christine got a bracelet with pink light-up hearts.

When we left Goody's, it was already dark, and there was a lot of traffic on the road. I've never seen so many cars on the road before; where were they going with all their lights lit up?



"Where are they all going, Mum?" we asked.
"Out for fun," she replied.
"Where?"
"Anywhere, wherever there's something to do."
"Can we go where they're going, too?"
"You're already there," she replied.
Sometimes she likes to be secretive and get us to work out the answer. She says it helps us to become cleverer. I think she just likes to tire us out.



Summertime. The tourists in their rental cars. The Athenians in their jeeps. The locals jostling for space among the foreigners. Walkers get to their destination faster than drivers. We were standing opposite the taxi stand.
"Shall we check whether Dad's there?" she asked us.
"There he goes!" Christine shouted.
"That's a TOYOTA," I told her. "The SKODA's behind it," I pointed out.
"Is that Dad's taxi?" Christine asked me.
"No," Mum cut in. "Did you notice the licence plate?"
We didn't know it in the first place, so Mum told us to remember to look at it the next time the taxi was parked in the garage.
"Do you know it, Mum?"
"Of course; that's how I recognise Dad's taxis from the others."
She's right again. All the SKODA's looked the same to us too, except that some had more scratches than others.

There was music coming from the park next to the taxi rank. People who looked very different from us were wearing feathers in their long black hair, singing and dancing. We thought they were Indians. Mum told us they were from South America. We watched them perform some songs and dnces, then Mum gave us money to throw into their collection box. "Time to go," she told us, which was a pity, because we were quite comfortable sitting on the ground with all the other people who also looked very different from us - they had blonde hair, pale faces and very red skin from sitting in the sun too long.



We walked on to the corner. Now the road was crowded with people and lights from the shops.
"Where are we going, Mum?" Silly question, she wasn't going to tell us. But I thought I recognised the street. Could this be...? I still wasn't sure which road it was. Suitcases. Swimsuits. People. Towels. Glasses. So many people. Cats. Glass cats in all colours. Could this be a toy shop?



"Shall we go inside and have a look, Mum?"
"Don't touch anything!" is all she said, diverting us to the opposite side of the street.
Gold. Silver. Pretty rings. Hats. Horses. Carriages. More people.
"Can we ride on one of those one day?"



Mum smiled at us. I knew what she was thinking: we don't need to take a horse and carriage, because we have a car and a taxi. That's why we don't use public transport, either. But I'd like to ride on a bus one day. I asked Mum if we could take a bus into town one day. She told me that even if we did catch a bus from the main road into town, we'd have to walk up the hill when we returned home. I agreed with her that it wouldn't be a good idea to take the bus. Who wants to walk up the hill under the hot sun breaking out in sweat?



Sweets. Bottles. People wearing shorts and sandals. They looked like they had just come from the beach. Chairs. Music. People sitting at cafes. People walking. A fountain!
"What's behind the fountain?" Mum asked us.
What was behind the fountain? There were too many people to see anything distinctive. A light. The lighthouse. The lighthouse!
"O faros!" Christine and I shouted out the answer together. We knew that's what Mum wanted us to say. We were at the old port.



"Are we going to sit down?" Everyone else seemed to be sitting down or looking for a seat.
"Let's take a walk ...," Mum insisted, while we moaned.
"... and then we'll have---"
"ICE CREAM!" Christine and I shouted together.



So we walked around the harbour a little while to make Mum happy until we got tired and Mum thought we were going to fall into in the water. We turned back up Halydon St and she bought us our ice-cream. We were very tired by the end of the night, but the whole adventure had been a wonderful staycation. I wish we could take a bus back to the car. Or at least see Dad at the taxi stand so he could drive us back.

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Motorbikes

Admittedly, it's not the prettiest part of town, near the central fire station. The mode of transport depicted is one of the most frequent causes of deaths among young Greek males, usually through a combination of the following reasons: not wearing a helmet, speeding, bad road conditions, joyriding, being knocked over while driving legally. In the last seven years of my life, I have lost relatives and friends' sons through potentially avoidable motorbike accidents: my cousin was wearing a helmet but didn't strap it under his chin, the son of a colleague of my husband's bent down to pick up his ringing cellphone, and drove into the back of a lorry, a friend's son fell into a ditch on a stretch of road that had been dug up for pipe-laying; these three cases are the most memorable.

At least this guy is wearing a crash helmet. He looks like a delivery agent.

ABC Wednesday: Vauxhall Victor vintage vehicle

It's ABC Wednesday again, and V is for Vauxhall Victor.

This one in particular doesn't seem to have moved in a long long time. Although the car's not roadworthy, it obviously means something special to the owner, as he (I doubt it's a woman) is keeping it parked in his driveway, and doesn't seem to want to part with it. It is clearly an FB model which means it dates back to at least 1964 - that car is over 40 years old.

I think my father's first car - from what I can remember - was a Vauxhall.

SkyWatch Friday: The sky through a child's eyes

While I was queuing for gasoline during the petrol tankers' strike, I let my daughter use the camera, and she snapped a million obscure shots while she was sitting in the car with me. This photo was one of the few I felt was worthy of being shared: the sky from the car window, as a child saw it, from a slightly dirty windscreen. Looks a little like what you'd see if you ate a magic mushroom, or something like that (I suppose, never having eaten one myself).

And the answer to yesterday's photo's question is: the small line of yellow lights right underneath a red aerial spotlight in the very centre of the photograph is the ship!

ABC Wednesday: Taxis

It's ABC Wednesday again, and T is for taxi.

In Hania, we have two different colours of taxi cab. Taxis whose base is outside the town of Hania (ie, they are registered in a village) are grey, while taxis registered in Hania are blue.

The new rules governing cabs now state that a newly bought town taxi must be painted blue all over. The one in the photo has a white roof, because it was bought before the new rule came out.


And here's my husband sporting his (new) taxi, parked outside our house.

Nana's rooms

Another example of the multi-faceted uses of neoclassical houses in Hania. You can barely see the sign on the top balcony - it shows the name of this 'pension'-style hotel; the English bed and breakfast. But that's only the two top floors of the building. The bottom floor is a residential property - I've been inside it quite a few times. It's got high painted ceilings and it's decorated in an old-world style by a very proud owner. The owner also tends a large garden very lovingly. No one would think this town villa is located on a busy road leading into the main centre only a few metres away from the municipal gardens.

The former Italian embassy

This unassuming edifice once housed the Italian embassy in Hania, which was formerly ruled under the Venetians. It is located in the centre of town, right across from the municipal gardens, and can be viewed by the public by appointment only. I've never seen it open; a sign remains affixed on the inner wall next to the door with a few details relating to its former glory. Since Crete became part of Greece in 1913, the Italian embassy became obsolete, with all embassies relocating to Athens.

Volvo P220

I really don't know how this Volvo P220 manages to look brand spanking new - it dates back to 1968, so it's 40 years old. It has a 2008 road tax sticker, the body work is original, the interior is in perfect condition; the owner must be very proud of it. Only the license plate looks a little beaten up. It was parked right outside the Agora; I'm amazed the owner actually drives it into the town, which has recently filled up with reckless drivers.

ABC Wednesday: Street sweeper

It's ABC Wednesday again, and S is for street sweeper.

I admire the patience of this immigrant to my town, taking on the job of sweeping the main street right in front of the Agora clean for the benefit of the locals and tourists alike. He didn't bat an eyelid when he saw me photographing him; he just proudly carried on with his work. Notice how he's tied a few blue bin liners behind him; he's just doing his job.

Horse-drawn carriage

The tourist season is in full swing in Hania at the moment. Here is one of the ways they like to spend their time: an old-fashioned horse and carriage ride. The ride doesn't actually start from here - the taxi-drivers' union would be up in arms if it did (it's right in front of the taxi stand). This road leads straight down to the old harbour, where the driver will park himself and wait for his customers. The ride is only along the harbour front - it is clearly a tourist attraction, and at 20 euro a ride, a rather expensive one.

The little laughing olive tree took her son on one of these and they told me they both enjoyed themselves immensely.

Rubbish collectors

I like to see people working in public on the streets of my town. They're just doing their job, in full view of all the passersby. Where would be without these rubbish collectors who migrated from goodness where to collect Greek people's rubbish?