My favourite time of day in Rethymno is when it begins, the sun’s pale forehead peeping up over the far end of town before bursting out in a blaze of orange. And there’s no one else around – just a few early morning joggers and dog walkers. All the hundreds of sun beds along the city’s long beach lie empty and the old town’s a delight because it’s all yours, shared only with the odd shop keeper pulling up the shutters, and cats stretching in the morning light.

The two pictures below are of the Rimondi fountain, usually encircled by day as throngs of people take photos, most of which almost certainly feature other people taking photos of other people taking photos, the fountain lost in the background.

It was built 398 years ago in Platanou Square, the centre of the city, by its Governor, Alvise Rimondi. Clear spring water still flows into its basins through lion-faced spouts, although two were out of action this morning. I wondered who you call to get 400 year old Venetian plumbing unblocked.

The fountain has four fluted Corinthian columns, the supports for the architrave above ornately decorated with acanthus leaves. The architrave itself is inscribed with the words Liberalitatis Fontes, which Chat GPT tells me is Latin and translates as “The Sources (or Fountains) of Generosity.”

Rethymno’s harbour existed long before the Venetians turned up but from the 16th century onwards things really took off. Their arrival saw the city become a major commercial centre as ships sailed to and from far off ports such as Alexandria, Marseille and Constantinople (Istanbul today).

It’s a pretty little spot, with elegant arches, intricate carvings and colourful facades, barely visible in the first picture below, and probably not at all on a phone. I took it from the lighthouse, shown in the next one, with a view of the old town facades at the front, although much of it’s hidden from view.

(There are a few more detailed posts about Rethymno and its history from when I was here a couple of years ago, linked to at the top of this page under ‘Crete Trip’).

This morning’s sunrise was a beauty, although the sunsets are much grander. Watching last night’s reminded me of when Josie was a tiddler and Pip and I used to bring her here to Greece.

We went to Meganisi once, a now popular island between Lefkada and the Greek mainland, relatively untouched by tourism back then but now adorned with posh hotels and villas.

We used to browse a glossy brochure produced by a company called Simply Greece, who were good at remote and beautiful places, and flogged expensive holidays to ‘discerning’ travellers.

We’d ring up the hotels direct, the one we called on Meganisi being one of only a few small, family run affairs at the time and, Pip speaking reasonable Greek, would book us in.

We made our own way there by plane, bus and boat. The family who ran it were absolutely delightful, and delighted because we had a beautiful baby in tow. They used to pass her round, as did the old ladies in the village when we went strolling in the evening.

It was heaven for us but less so for the Simply Greece guests who arrived a few days later and had paid a lot more than us for the privilege. They’d sought out the place for its remote location and authenticity but hadn’t reckoned on anyone other than Simply Greece clientele, or kids, and Josie was a wonderfully inquisitive child.

They’d be sat sampling wine with a twirl of their glasses, sniffing bouquets before sipping, and she’d come hurtling out of the kitchen and tour the few tables introducing herself or asking diners if they were enjoying their meals, the kitchen staff, mother and daughters, peering out adoringly and hoping she’d soon return to them. They loved her.

There was one particularly unpleasant man who wore a fedora and a red cravat, he and his wife evidently less enamoured by her charms. If they’d ever had kids it seemed likely that they’d packed them off to boarding school at birth. They looked down on her as you might a stray dog.

Most evenings we’d eat early and the family would hang around or be calling Josie to join them in the kitchen. Stavros, the man of the family, would magic lollipops from behind her ear or pick her up and swirl her around until his daughters got their turn and they’d disappear somewhere for hours. It was heaven.

But we’d twigged that the simplers, as we called them, were best left to dine together and, as they began to appear all dressed up for dinner, we’d go into the village where the old ladies would coo with delight as Josie homed in on them, and them on her, or we’d go for a walk on the beach.

One night we’d watched the sun go down and, as it slipped away behind a mountain and the light began to fade, Josie, quite taken by what she’d seen, asked where it had gone and if it went to sleep at night like we do. Unsure of how best to respond we’d said yes, sort of, and we should too, and made our way back to the hotel

When we got back the simplers were well fed, had obviously had a few and were busy mingling and chatting. Josie marched straight in and announced that we’d just seen the sun go to sleep and the red cravat, pretentious blow hard as he was, head slung back as if treading the boards at the Globe, recited a line I learnt later was from an Emily Dickinson poem: “Bring me the sunset in a cup.”

For a moment there was silence, some of the simplers as unsure as we were of what it meant and others, perhaps like us, thinking what a twat.

Josie, mimicking his gestures, looked thoughtfully towards the heavens, as if treading the boards at the Globe herself, and said “That’s stupid. It’s too big.”

All there roared with laughter, bar the red cravat, who didn’t get it, upstaged and bewildered as he was by this little urchin who, as it turned out, would years later play that very part in Les Miserables on the West End stage.

There was laughter too from the kitchen as the family looked on, not understanding a word of what had just happened, but delighted nonetheless. And, as I like to think, Stavros having actually stood and clapped, they took some pleasure in seeing the red cravat’s comeuppance at the hands of their sweet little friend.

It was a great holiday, different to this one, but feeding into it. Happy days.

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