With temperatures set to be around 34°C, walking down a gorge sounds a bit mad dogs and Englishmen. But the Myli Gorge in the hills south of Rethymno is the perfect place to be on a hot day, blessed as it is by waterfalls and pools, and lush greenery all around giving plenty of shade. That’s what I did today (Sunday)

Its name, from the Greek word Μύλοι, means mills. It was once home to thirty of them, powered by a small river that never runs dry, even through a hot Cretan summer. As far back as the mid-17^th century, when Crete was still under Venetian rule, its flour mills supplied the whole of Rethymno and surrounding areas.

From the village of Xiro Chorio, about five miles south of Rethymno, pretty white streets lead down to the head of the gorge, pictured at the top of the page, from where you can just see the sea in the far distance.

The first stage of the path crosses the gorge to a small hamlet where there are mandarin, apricot and lemon trees, and a small taverna, which was closed. Being on the wrong side of the gorge and far from the road its supplies are unloaded on to a makeshift pallet that’s then hauled across on a zip wire.

On the path I met an elderly couple carrying two buckets of freshly picked apricots. In my pigeon Greek we exchanged pleasantries. I commented on the unusually high temperature and he joked that the Myli Gorge has its own κλιματισμός, (pronounced klimatismós: air conditioning), and he pointed to the trees.

She then pointed to the apricots gesturing that I should take one, which I did, prompting an explosion of faux rage from him as he bundled up several in his hands, putting them in mine. They were the only people I met. The only other exchange that I had was later on when I met a random, rather beautiful cat, miles from any habitations. It was just sat there on a log looking very cool. As I came near it turned casually to look at me, meowed a greeting, and then turned away as if it had better things to do.

I then got completely lost and followed a track that went deep into the gorge and got more jungle-like the further I went. I stumbled upon a group of goats munching on leaves. They stared at me briefly as if surprised that I’d been stupid enough to get down there off the beaten track. And then within seconds they’d all disappeared into the undergrowth, bounding over rocks with an agility that I lacked as I retraced my steps, legs and arms scratched to bits by hanging branches and thorny bushes. A great start.

Back on the right track I ventured on passing several ruined mills, houses and the aqueducts that channeled water all over the gorge to where it was needed. There are numerous signs along the way warning of landslides, as well as evidence, as in the picture below of a crushed bridge. It was these, as well as diesel and electricity-powered mills, that eventually lead to the demise of this once prosperous area, with a gradual exodus of the villagers who lived here, and the eery but beautiful desolation of what remains. As you walk through you get a real sense of how it must once have been, buzzing with activity as donkeys hauled grain in and flour away, and the millstones turned.

The only real sign of human life within the gorge, apart from a few bins and the bridges, is the pretty church of Agia Paraskevi, pictured below. It’s a simple, small and recently whitewashed chapel that hugs the eastern wall of the gorge. I don’t know if it’s still used as a place of worship now that all the people have gone but it’s obviously well-maintained.

I sat on the bench outside and ate my apricots. The only sound was the water babbling by below and the birds singing in the trees. I’d read that it’s a twitchers paradise and I did see several varieties flitting around – birds that is, not twitchers. It was a lovely spot.

Reaching the foot of the gorge, where there’s another taverna, I’d hoped to have a bite to eat and, as I’d read was possible, get the owners to call me a taxi to take me back to Rethymno. Unfortunately it was closed too, so the only option was to walk. Emerging from the cool of the gorge the heat was full on but, with no choice, I followed a dusty track that lead through fields and the brief shade of an olive grove, pictured below, leading eventually to a proper road and to Rethymno.

The road brought me out at the far end of Rethymno’s beach, several miles long and awash with all the facilities that sun seekers need: row after row of umbrellas and sunbeds, and restaurants aplenty.

Hot and exhausted I collapsed into one and chatted to Monica, who ran it with her husband. We stumbled along for a while in my passable but inadequate Greek to the point where she asked me how come I speak the language and I explained that I’d worked in a taverna in Chora Sfakion forty something years ago. As always happens we then hit the point where I didn’t understand her response and she switched seamlessly into perfect English, which she’d studied for twelve years.

It was interesting talking to her about how they’d fared in the last couple of years. In fact they’d done well because most restaurants had closed, which meant that they were really busy, although pandemic measures meant that they’d had to space out their tables and close at 10.00pm. Nevertheless, they had a good year, although as she then went on to say, they just can’t get the staff they need. She told me that the youngsters don’t want to work as waiters or in kitchens, and they struggle to keep up because of it.

We then talked on about all kinds of things, including that I was staying on Crete for a while and would be travelling around. As I settled the bill and got myself ready for a long, hot haul along sunset strip to my end of town, she asked me if I wanted a job. “No kidding” she said when I reminded her that I’d not worked in a taverna for forty odd years, they’d take me on at €8 an hour for an eight hour day, six days a week and they could probably find me a cheap place to stay. That’s €384 a week (roughly £330). I joked that if I ran out of money I’d come knocking and we said our farewells.

I wondered if any of the young Brits holidaying here might be interested. It’s how I got to work on Crete all those years ago, a chance I leapt at back then, albeit it a very different island to the one it is today. I doubt it somehow. Most lie all day on upholstered sun loungers beside a cocktail beach bar with thumping euro disco music, looking a bit like they’re living the the Love Island dream. Which is fine, of course, because it’s probably why they came.

Much as I love Rethymno’s old town, tomorrow I’m heading to Chora Sfakion on the quieter south west coast. It’s where I used to work, different to how it was, I know, but still a beautiful part of the island. I’m looking forward to being there.

Footnote

Something I’d meant to add above but forgot. In virtually every place I’ve been since arriving on Crete there’s been music played in cafes, tavernas and on the big town beaches. With the exception of the places that play authentic Greek and Cretan originals, of which thankfully there are still some, of those that don’t, nearly all tracks are covers of well known hits etc. Some are ok, others not quite and a fair few are bloody awful. Walking back along sunset strip earlier I heard a cover of Amy Winehouse’s Back to Black, by far the weirdest I’ve heard so far.

The song was inspired by her relationship with Blake Fielder-Civil, who’d left her for an ex., Back to Black being a reference, so I’ve read, to Winehouse hitting the bottle and being depressed, and ultimately to her early death. I’ve no idea if the lyrics were true to the song because it was all in Greek and too fast to understand but the utterly weird feature was that it had been given an upbeat, happy euro disco tempo. It was truly the strangest thing I’ve ever heard.

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I tried to post a few pictures from my walk below but my Wifi signal’s weaker than the old dial up. I’ll try another time. Some uploading now but sporadically