The pebbles and thorns made “sleep” into a constant cycle of drifting off, then waking to remove a sharp rock poking into my ribs, or to remove a thorn that had worked its way through my sleeping bag and into my flesh. I got my revenge on Filip by snoring loudly when I did manage to sleep, ruining his sleep.
It was a tough but scenic climb up to Thrypti. Once above the cliffs, which were resplendent with great caverns, crags, and even a spectacular stone arch over empty air, were came into pine forest, and a long snaking mountain road that could have been in the Canadian Rockies. This took the better part of the morning.
Around Thrypti there are farmed terraces, just like in the lowlands, and also ample grazing for sheep and goats. There are even vineyards. It’s obvious that the Etiocretans could have found sufficient resources to sustain them in their long, sad centuries of exile. There’s even a taverna in the village, and we had some omelettes for lunch. But the other “roads” marked on the map appeared to be more fiction that fact, and we needed to get to our reserved room on the other side of Crete by evening. So we decided to hitchhike back the way we came and from thence to the south coast at Etiapetra.
Once in Etiapetra, we determined that the only way to get across to our destination at Agia Pavlos was to return to Iraklion and find a bus going southwest. Even then, we could find nothing that would get us closer than forty kilometers from our target. We hitchhiked the rest, getting lucky with a single ride, especially since Agios Pavlos is twelve winding kilometers off the main road across a range of hills.
We arrived at a small cove on the the southern coast. A little hotel serving the more adventurous, solitude-seeking travelers. A civilized, clothing optional beach. We unwound for awhile on the cool, windy patio, looking at the moonlight sparkle on the dark Mediterranean.
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