Getting lost near the White Mountains and finally reaching Heraklion.

Tuesday, August 13

We’re up very early, bags all ready to go, and have a quick breakfast before we leave the hotel. A tall doe-eyed man from the hotel waits patiently with me, while Oswaldo gets the car. While we wait he tells me his wife broke her collarbone in a car accident. “Before she did everything in the house,” he says, “now I have to do it.” He sighs. “It’s hard for both,” he says, “she gets impatient, because I don’t know the right way to do things.” I laugh – I certainly know how hard it is to relinquish one’s usual bossy and competent self.

But here is Oswaldo with the car, dodging distracted breakfasters in the narrow street, and they load me, the chair, the crutches, and the luggage into the car, and we leave the same way, forcing outraged tourists to get up once again.

We set the GPS (and what a nightmare it is to set that thing up. Greek locations have at least 3 spellings, as far as I can tell). Additionally it falls off the window all the time…. Anyway, the girls at the hotel suggested we check out a couple of traditional Crete villages on the way. The GPS refuses to recognize even one, so we move hesitatingly into the dry landscape, where in the background we see the magnificent White Mountains, across which, we’ll later learn, King Peter and his Prime Minister during WW2 had to flee the German invasion on foot, to seek refuge in Egypt.

We drive through a couple of villages, none of which seem particularly appealing, and now we’re also looking for a bathroom for me, which means we drive close to the establishment to check for steps. Finally we find one with a ramp where I can move slowly on my crutches to the ladies, always with the concerned Oswaldo by my side. Classic, really. Another spotless lavatory – again, Brazil could learn a lot here. Then on we go, following a GPS direction to an excavation. Suddenly we’re on a dirt track snaking through olive groves, but the GPS lady calmly goes on, “After 400m turn right,” we turn, more dry, low trees, “After 390m turn right.” Same thing. Finally we rebel and override her instructions to head in the direction of some houses we have spotted. There we hit a cul-de-sac, but one with a splendid view of the whole area we’ve just crisscrossed, white mountains in the distance, and next to us a profusion of purple bougainvilleas and clusters of ripe grapes.

Once back on the E-75 we drive along the coast, admiring the blue sea, the bright sun and the ragged cliffs. We managed to enter Heraklion (on GPS Iraklion) and find Hotel Galaxy without a hitch, and from then on it’s a breeze. The staff is wonderfully attentive, a porter takes are of me, luggage, car, leaving Oswaldo to check in with beautiful and efficient Maria, who has upgraded us to an Executive Suite with a view across the rooftops to the sea.

I roll happily around on the marble-floor of the cool lobby – there’s so much space, and everything seems so easy.

A complimentary bottle of champagne awaits us in the room with some snacks. We devour it all and take a long nap. Then showers and a cab to the old Venetian harbor, where it seems those Greeks, who haven’t gone away for August, are all out walking, jogging or just strolling. A fresh breeze is blowing the heat of the day away, the daylight slowly fades and lights come on in the city behind us.

Another beautiful receptionist, Anastasia, had suggested a restaurant, Parasies . “Like the Russian princess,” I said when I heard her name, “the one who got away.” The male hotel manager next to her said proudly, “And she looks Russian with her blonde hair.”

Greek people are fabulous, there’s something warm and direct about them. And they work very hard.

Anyway, back to the fort. We hold our map in the flapping wind and try to figure out now to get to our destination. A young father with a baby and a stroller helps us and we reach a happy bustling restaurant filled with Greeks. A perfect choice. The waitress, who looks like Cecilia Bartoli, the opera singer, says, when we ask, “They’re still here because of the economy.”

The restaurant calls us a cab, and we’re delivered safely home to our lovely hotel, with elevator, ramp and a beautiful suite. These are a few photos: http://www.flickr.com/photos/siric/sets/72157635079484316/