2019-The Year in Travel

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One way or another, this year we’ve indulged in seven trips, which seems, on first reading to be self-indulgent [a view that is certainly hinted at by some]. I don’t like to call our pieces of travel ‘holidays’, because holiday is an ambiguous term that means different things to different people. A holiday to many [myself included when I was a proper working person] is simply a break from work, lolling on a sofa in pyjamas watching movies. To others it is somewhere hot, lolling by a pool in swimwear. For us it is a foray into learning about places-their history and geography, the art and the culture.

The first 2019 trip was in January-to Scotland in our camper van, which may appear a strange choice to some, but the weather, though cold [-6 at Loch Ness] was mainly crisp and sunny, ideal for seeing the dramatic scenery of The Cairngorms or the grandiose architecture of Glasgow.

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Next, in February, we made a self-indulgent winter sun visit to Barbados, a tiny, laid-back, friendly island, where we self-catered in a modest ‘apart-hotel’ and enjoyed the company of our fellow guests, jovial Canadians, most of them.

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In the spring we trundled off along the [extremely wet] north coast of Spain, a spectacular journey following the pilgrims route to Santiago de Compostela. This rugged coast includes many cliffside towns that would rival the Amalfi Coast, if only there was sunshine and dry weather. We continued on around the corner to Portugal, which defied our experience of always being warm and sunny to be cloudy and windy. There is not much left of Portugal we haven’t seen but it remains a favourite destination.

northern spanish coast

We undertook an early summer jaunt to Brittany, to cycle some of the Nantes-Brest canal. This was a spectacularly successful trip, the well-appointed, municipal sites along the canal cheap and conveniently placed by the towpath. But the temperature soared into the 40s, making cycling tricky even in the evenings. It was, however scenic, memorable and pleasant and we are likely to cycle some more French canal paths.

Brittany cycling

Later in the summer we stayed locally in a New Forest site by a small, handy railway station and a large pub, hosting a small granddaughter who had requested to come camping with us and fell in love with it all immediately, especially riding around on her bike, being surrounded by wild ponies and cows and eating outside in the fresh air.

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This was followed in the autumn by a visit to the outrageously gorgeous Italian lakes, starting with Lugano and continuing on to Como, Iseo, Garda and Maggiore-all very different but all breathtakingly beautiful-and new to us as a destination. The return drive over The Alps via the Simplon Pass was spectacular and I’ve no doubt we’ll return to the lakes at some point.

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Our last outing, in October,  was to visit Norwegian friends where they live overlooking a fjord near Aalesund. We were gifted with cool, clear sunshine and our hosts’ hospitality was lavish.

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So a brilliant year of travel; but where to in 2020? Well-weather permitting we’ll be sampling the delights of the Lake District, UK in January, then heading for long-haul sun in February. After that, who knows? Will European travel even be feasible? We can only wait to find out…

Oysters and Out

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Not everyone likes oysters. Common responses to questioning on the subject are ‘ugh’, ‘slimy’, ‘Yuk’ and so on. But I believe these are mostly people who haven’t tried them. There are also those who claim you must tip them down your throat without tasting them- which to my mind is sacrilege. I didn’t sample an oyster until I was in my fifties, considering it one of those activities that should be tried before I got much older. We were on the west coast of France, which could be considered oyster world and seemed like a great place to try. I was won over straight away. I love them. But they must not be cooked, or spiced, or covered in cheese, or drenched in anything but lemon juice and/or maybe vinaigrette.

Since that first go, I’ve rarely eaten oysters at home in the UK. But here in Polzeath, sitting in the Waterside cafe/bar, they are on offer. And I can’t pass up the opportunity. And they are completely delicious- soft and flavoursome. A great start to a meal!

While the Polzeath site has its drawbacks, like the strange showers that we had to pay for, it also has an abundance of friendly wildlife [a tame, young blackbird, the ubiquitous robin, bold rabbits everywhere] and is in a great position. Husband can stride off along the coast path and I can relax with a book in the sunshine. Having finally got the hang of my camera, he returns with some coastal shots- all very rugged.

But it’s time to move again and we’ve only a few days left before we must be back for appointments. We’re returning to Devon, to a farm site at Mortehoe on the north coast, near Woolacombe. I came many years ago. The bad news is that the weather is turning at last and as we drive through the narrow, pretty streets of Mortehoe, dark clouds are gathering. The site is large, with few tourers in. We can see right away that it’s going to be unmanageable for me to walk to the centre, where dining possibilities lie.

It begins to rain and becomes much cooler. We are, at least, not too far from the shower block so an early shower seems to make sense. By the time I emerge it’s raining in earnest and even in the short distance from the block to the van I get wet.

Before long, the rain has closed right in. The windows steam up and it becomes quite miserable. We’ll be catering for ourselves tonight and will have to prepare for a night in the van- which isn’t too much of a hardship as it’s cosy and comfortable and we have laptops and books to amuse us.

The real issue is that the site is booked for three nights. But there’s no sign of an improvement in the weather over the next few days. It’s disappointing, but it looks like we will have to bail out early. We’ll come back another time. And we’re not done with trips yet!

Novels by Jane Deans [Grace]: The Year of Familiar Strangers and The Conways at Earthsend. Visit my website: janedeans.com

Surfer Heaven

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Some years ago [well- quite a few years ago], Husband took to body-boarding. This was, in part, due to our living by the sea and a perfect, flat, surfy beach. He had wetsuits and all the paraphernalia. Someone asked me if I went out to watch him enjoying this activity, which I found profoundly amusing. [He certainly doesn’t sit and watch me gardening]. Anyway- this is all in the past now.

But my point is, much of Cornwall’s coast is famed for surfing. Indeed, Newquay is surf city and alive with night clubs and the rest, resulting in an altogether rowdy summer scene.

Polzeath, near Padstow, however, is a relatively quiet spot with a small beach, although still hosts crowds of everything surfy: tuition, board hire, wetsuit sales, wetsuit hire, outdoor showers, an explosion of pizza vans and kiosks and anything else surfers need. The small town is just about walkable for me- down through an adjacent site, along a lane and we’re there. Among the pizza places and board hire vans there are one or two useful outlets for us- a Spar supermarket offering most items and a lovely-looking bar/restaurant facing the beach.

To re-enter our site at this lower end, we have been given a fob. We set off [slowly in my case] down to the gate. At this point there are still a fair number of tourers and tents on our end of the site. I like to see tents on a site. We were tent campers for many years before we succumbed to vans and I missed it to begin with.

We’ve got down through the gate and have begun the descent through the steep chalet site on our way to look at the town and buy a few groceries when Husband realises he doesn’t have the key fob to get back. He turns back, leaving me sitting outside the chalet site’s posh reception building, which has a handy bench. While he’s gone [and he has to gain entry to our site by throwing himself on the mercy of a fellow-camper] a robin keeps me company, coming to stand between my feet and staring beseechingly up at me while I chat to him/her. I don’t have any tasty titbits so eventually the tiny bird leaves.

After quite some time, Husband returns, although he hasn’t found the key fob and had to go to our site’s reception for a new one. But we can continue down to Polzeath, where we go down to the beach and get a drink in a rustic bar nestled between wetsuits and pizzas. The beach is mostly obscured by parked cars and vans in a vast car park, but we check out the Waterfront bar and restaurant for another night and trek [and hobble] back to our site, secure at least that we can get back in.

In the van, I find myself staring at Husband. ‘What’s that in your pocket?’ I ask him and he puts his hand into his pocket to pull out the ‘lost’ key fob…

Novels by Jane Deans [Grace]: The Year of Familiar Strangers and The Conways at Earthsend. Visit my website: janedeans.com

Gorgeous- [so I hear]

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So, Husband descends into Lydford Gorge and I make a slow ascent back to the National Trust cafe, where I have my sights set on a cup of tea in the tiny cafe. Since uphill slopes are a little easier than descents or flat, I get back up without too many problems, although I’d have liked a rest on a handy bench, which was occupied by a father and sons having a pic-nic lunch.

Back in the cafe, there are no empty tables but I get to sit with two very charming ladies and have a very lengthy chat- principally about health issues [we have a lot in common!] but ranging over many subjects. Like me, one of the ladies is waiting for her husband to return from the gorge and I welcome the company and the chat.

They’ve only just left when Husband turns up and hands me the camera, eulogising over the delights of the waterfall, [The ‘Whitelady’ Waterfall]. I cast an eye on the photos. Hmm…He’s taken some interesting videos of his feet on the path and various other confusing scenes. But he has got one or two snaps of the falls. I realise I should have given him a tutorial on the camera before he went. Although, it is very simple to operate. Turns out he was pressing the video button, thinking it was the shutter.

Lydford Gorge has two entrances. One for the waterfall and another for ‘Devil’s Cauldron’. We’re due to leave the site at Lydford but can go to the Devil’s Cauldron entrance on our way to our next stop. It’s early and the car park is mercifully free of vehicles, so we can park up, Husband can hike down to the bottom of what is the steepest gorge in the South West of the UK and I can stay put, have a read or something in the comfort and shade of the van. He knows better this time and returns, delighted with what he’s seen. It’s a more difficult walk that the waterfall and just as well I made no attempt this time.

Onwards, then, to Polzeath, a coastal village in North Cornwall, near Padstow, which has achieved some fame and popularity because of the celebrity chef, Rick Stein, who has a fish restaurant there. But we’ve stayed just outside Padstow before and it’s great to visit somewhere new. The site at Polzeath is a long, sloping strip, it’s lower end adjoining another site of chalets, which must be walked through before accessing the beach. The touring part of the site is a bit of an add-on but has the advantage of being at the lower end and therefore nearer to the beach access and the small town. A disadvantage is that the shower block is dated and strange and showers are not free- requiring a 50 pence coin in a meter. This seems unfair on top of the site fee [not cheap]. Another odd thing is that in the ‘ladies’, the coin slot meter is inside one of the cubicles, so that someone wishing to use the other shower would have to wait until the coin-slot shower was empty before they could use it! How odd!

But here we are…

Photos courtesy of Husband!

Novels by Jane Deans [Grace]: The Year of Familiar Strangers and The Conways at Earthsend. Visit my website: janedeans.com

A Tavistock Trip

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Having ascertained that there is a regular bus service from the road near our site at Lydford, we opt to go and visit Tavistock, a Dartmoor town with some quaint features. The heatwave has continued apace and, having reached the bus stop [an achievement in itself] I’m glad to see there’s a shelter. Inside the stone shelter there are two windows, which is fancy, but no proper seating- only one of those perching planks. This strikes me as odd.

Although the shelter is on a steep bank, when the bus turns up [on time!], the lowered entrance is in the exact position level with it, which is impressive. I/m starting to notice these things.

The bus winds through the villages and up over some of the moor before getting to Tavistock. We get off at what looks like the centre, opposite the church. Here, most of the buildings are grey stone, including a huge, posh hotel. Across the road there’s a market entrance, flanked by a beautiful plant stall, which I peruse while Husband queues up for an ice cream.

The market is impressive, some outside and a lot inside a vast, stone market hall. I’m taken with the hat stall [I love a hat] and Husband [in the manner of husbands] is drawn to the tools, where he buys some screws for a van job. We wander a bit more until the hip protests, then Husband leaves me on a bench to explore a bit more until the bus comes, although there’s not a huge lot more to Tavistock.

The cab to the pub is booked. At the appointed time, we go to the site gate and it’s there- with a lady driver who turns out to be very lovely. When we chat about my dodgy hip she confesses to have had a replacement hip joint and assures me that ‘I would never regret it’ even though I haven’t actually been offered a new hip.

The pub, [The Dartmoor Inn] is lovely and rustic and has a great menu. We’ve allowed two hours and, sure enough, our lady driver is there to collect us. It’s a family firm, with her husband and son also taxi drivers.

On day two we’re going to Lydford Gorge, which is just up the road but we’ll still need the bus, which can drop us at one of the two entrances; one for the waterfall and one for the ‘Devil’s Cauldron’. We’re heading first to the waterfall and I’ll need to ascertain how difficult the walk down is. Having chatted to the National Trust lady I determine that I can get down and up, although Husband remains sceptical.

There’s a small cafe at the entrance, where we’d expected to get lunch. The only offerins, however are sandwiches or a pasty. We get pasties and sit outside on a rickety bench [it’s still very hot] where I share my pasty with a scruffy robin.

We set off down the slope. And inevitably, we get so far and it begins to be clear it will be too challenging for dodgy hips. Goodness! This is the easier of the two walks! We sit and have a conflab, with Husband urging me to abort and finally convincing me. I pass him my camera and prepare to go back up, which is a little easier than the descent. It’s bitterly disappointing…

Novels by Jane Deans [Grace]: The Year of Familiar Strangers and The Conways at Earthsend. Visit my website: janedeans.com

Fingers Crossed for a Van Jaunt

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We return home from Crete. The weather at home cranks up into heatwave mode. We get busy unpacking plus preparing for my visiting Offspring 2 and Grand-offspring 3, coming for a weekend. During this time, the jab I’ve had administered as a temporary measure to get me mobile, wears off- sadly, having been successful for all of one month. Nevertheless I decide to cope and hobble about the best I can- which I do. And it’s delightful to able to introduce my newest grandchild to the joys of the seaside and the discoveries of the garden because she’s only visited in the winter months before.

Once they’ve returned, we turn our thoughts towards another trip. I’ve resolved to make the best of my lack of mobility. We need to make a ‘tryout’ trip, following the depressing debacle of our last year’s French jaunt: [https://gracelessageing.wordpress.com/wp-admin/post.php?post=8132&action=edit]. We’ve done what we could to ensure there will be no problems this time, by getting the garage to give the van a health check. But you never know!

For the tryout, we’re sticking to the UK and we fancy a visit to Cornwall, where we haven’t been for a long time. The heatwave has continued. We prep the van with our lightest bedding and stock the fridge with salad items, although we’ll eat out when opportunities crop up of course!

Cornwall is the most south westerly corner of the UK and should, by rights, have a mild and pleasant climate, although these days we can no longer expect weather to be predictable. We’re not travelling to Cornwall in one journey but will break it up by stopping over in Devon, which is between our county, Dorset and our destination. We’ll spend a couple of nights at Lydford, where there is a wonderful gorge, tended by the National Trust.

It’s a long, hot journey and in a reminder that our van is wearing out along with myself, the air-con has given up the ghost. This is not life threatening, however, as we can cope with the windows down and slugs of water along the way.

The site at Lydford is good, although sites in general have become much more expensive now. It’s still hot when we arrive and we’re led to a pitch quite a way from the showers etc but we do have a patch of much needed shade. There are only a few others- a Dutch motorhome with multiple dogs, a German motorhome and a couple of others. We’re on Dartmoor, an iconic part of Devon, and will be able to get a bus from the end of the road.

Once we’re installed, Husband goes for a reccy, to see how far the village is and where there might be a likely pub, which is not all that much of a chore for him because pubs are some of his favourite places! The good news is that there are two. The bad news is that I’m unlikely to get to either of them. Husband looks smug. He spotted a taxi service in the village. One of the pubs looks nicer than the other and is a little further away so a taxi is the answer. Sorted!

Novels by Jane Deans [Grace]: The Year of Familiar Strangers and The Conways at Earthsend. Visit my website: janedeans.com

Open Top Ending

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Isn’t it strange how a holiday trickles along until half way and then gushes away in a flood as the last day approaches? But we appear to have done most things in Chania now, except for a carriage ride [which hardly seems worth the money and the horses are bad tempered] or a boat trip. We’ve looked at the boat excursions, but most look to involve going out- leaping into unknown waters and returning, rather than visiting anything. I’ve written about my lack of enthusiasm for swimming before…

There is, of course, a ‘glass-bottomed’ boat, also a small submarine, nether of which appeals to us.

There is, though, something we haven’t done. From our car park view balcony we’d watched as a double decker bus became marooned before the road junction, hemmed in by parked cars. Frantic passengers leaped out to make suggestions and give directions; Americans anxious that their cruise ship- moored by the quay and threatening to leave, would abandon them. Strictly speaking, it wasn’t an open-top bus because it had a roof, although the windows are glassless.

I spotted the stop where the bus starts on an earlier walk. An open-top bus trip would be a great way to spend some of our last afternoon and we may get to see things we’ve missed. There’s no timetable for the bus- which makes things tricky- so it’s a case of wandering along to the stop and taking pot luck. And we do get lucky, because as we approach the stop we see the bus there waiting. There’s about half an hour until it’s due to begin, which is fine since it’s cool and shady on the upper deck. Husband goes off in search of an ice cream but returns empty handed.

Then we’re underway, the first few streets uninspiring- past building sites we’ve seen previously. Instead I become fascinated by the Chinese couple in front of us as she has a habit of tweaking his ear when he is cheeky to her. She is also wearing some very flamboyant footwear- yellow Crocs adorned with bunches of flowers.

After a few minutes the bus leaves the shopping streets and travels beyond the town and up into the hills, which affords us brilliant views as it ascends. The higher we climb, the cooler it becomes and there are some expensive looking properties up towards the top, nestling in shady undergrowth.

The bus zig-zags down the other side towards a bay housing a cruise terminal then enters it. A smallish ship is moored there and most of the bus passengers [including the Chinese couple] disembark and make for their ship. We head back towards town, past a commercial area with, of all things, an IKEA!

Soon we’re back in familiar territory- the park, the redundant market hall and returning to our stop.

For a last evening, we go to the harbour and settle outside a lovely looking restaurant to have Greek salad followed by kebabs- all far too much, of course, then it’s back to the hotel for a last drink.

Goodbye to Chania and Crete. It was all lovely except, perhaps for the hotel…

Novels by Jane Deans [Grace]: The Year of Familiar Strangers and The Conways at Earthsend. Visit my website: janedeans.com

Winding Down

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After a couple of days of cold and gales, I wake, pull the curtain and the sky has returned from iron grey and angry to blue dotted with fluffy clouds. Crete’s weather has regained its sunshine and we can go back to our routine of late, leisurely breakfast, read in the sunshine, walk, coffee, relax, drink, dinner. Except that we’ll leave out the read as it isn’t quite unbroken sun yet and everywhere is puddled and damp from the previous night’s storm.

Walking out, it’s a novelty to see how green and verdant the parks and gardens are. There’s a park on the way to new town, shady and pleasant with fountains and statues.

Each time we walk in Chania, we find different streets and pathways we haven’t travelled before- an intricate network of narrow lanes housing gift shops and cafes, tables squeezed outside in spite of the narrowness.

During this time, I’m capitalising on a temporary measure that’s allowing me to walk pain-free, whilst being aware that the chance to walk is finite, but it’s a treat to be able to wander freely like this. So we go further around the bay and as far as the larger of Chania’s two beaches, passing a huge building site as new developments of hotels or apartments with sea views rise up. The coastline is rocky between beaches and there are stretches of wildflowers plus one or two bizarre statues and shrines.

When we arrive to the beach, the seafront bars are busy with lunches but we’re able to get a drink and sit in the breezy sunshine. There are a few striped huts for changing and some rows of sunbeds. Returning through the old town, I’m struck how people have created shady courtyard gardens from the tiniest of spaces. One street has some ancient Minoan ruins, partially excavated, where we stop to look, wooed by a friendly [for once] feral cat, winding itself round our legs but unwilling to pose for photos.

Growing wild along the streets, nasturtiums cascade down from slopes and walls in a riot of colour and prickly pears are already sprouting pinkish fruits. While I know them to be delicious when carved up, I’m unwilling to pick any, having attempted to on previous occasions and experienced their brutal spines.

Throughout the day, horse and carriage rides continue, the horse clopping round on the cobbles and running the gauntlet of traffic jams which build up as the day wears on. The horses look glossy and well cared for but one I try to make friends with bares his teeth at me in a menacing way and I back off!

We’re past the half way point and heading down towards the last days. In the evening we go to the quayside and find another restaurant, where I cannot resist yet another Greek salad. The meals here are huge- a starter alone is generally enough. We are now familiar with this place and seem to have done most things, but we might yet get to see something new…

Novels by Jane Deans [Grace]: The Year of Familiar Strangers and The Conways at Earthsend. Visit my website: janedeans.com

Cold Crete

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We’ve got into a routine by the end of three days: lazy start, late breakfast, read in the early sunshine, midday saunter into town to get a coffee, longer walk, return for later afternoon sun, out for an early evening drink followed by a search for somewhere we fancy eating. We can go close- to the bars and restaurants near our hotel, or wander further to Venetian Harbour, where the wide sweep of the quay is fringed by restaurants. In addition to this, there are many, many more places lining the network of lanes behind the harbour.

On day four though, I wake and twitch the curtain to see a gloomy, cloudy sky, also it isn’t warm. Horrors! Our entire routine is founded on warm sunshine- heat, even. Hmm…

It’s not raining however, so we can still walk if we wrap up. We skip the post breakfast read and set off. If we turn left out of our hotel instead of right, the road takes us straight into the modern centre of Chania, a big contrast to the old town of course. We use our map, provided by the hotel reception. The main road passes a grand, if not old, building set back behind the tourist information booth [firmly closed, boarded up and fenced]. This, then, is the market. There’s nothing to explain its closure. I’m disappointed. I enjoy looking round a market, especially in a different country.

We plough on. It’s quite an extensive shopping centre and there are what feels like an out of proportion number of pharmacies. We need a couple of items and some advice so we step into one. The pharmacist speaks excellent English and the service is super efficient.

We come to the old town and wander the tiny, narrow backstreets. The cathedral square is an elegant space and we enter the cathedral but I’m not allowed to photograph its interior. Nearby should be the archaeology museum but in spite of much searching and use of our map, we can’t find it. Then we’re told it is closed.

Backtracking to the quay, we go along to the maritime museum at the end where we can escape the cool breeze for a while. The first exhibits date back the longest time and are absorbing, as Crete has a rich, mixed culture from being colonised by several different civilisations. Moving further into the museum it is mostly second world war memorabilia, with a huge number of model battleships and upstairs, a collection of uniform pieces and various items in cases, one of which is a ‘German soup bowl’- a white, ceramic, oval plate covered in holes. ‘I don’t think much of this German soup bowl’, I tell Husband, who replies that it’s no wonder they lost the war, as they must have been starving. I feel an overwhelming urge to laugh, which I have to stifle rather than destroy the gravitas of the war relics, so it’s time to leave.

We return to the hotel to relax a bit, but it’s tricky. Outside is windy and cold, our room is not conducive to relaxing [except for sleep] and the hotel bar area is furnished with some of the most uncomfortable sofas I’ve ever sat on. But I can make do if I use a pillow from our room, so we sit and read there for a bit.

We opt to go local for dinner- just down the road, In the meantime, the weather worsens into a deluge of wind and rain and we are to learn that this is the coldest May day in Greece for seventy years. The rain hammers down on the restaurant’s enclosed awning as we share the space with a family celebrating a birthday. Ho hum…

Novels by Jane Deans [Grace]: The Year of Familiar Strangers and The Conways at Earthsend. Visit my website: janedeans.com

The Lie of the Land

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The first couple of days in a new location are all about orientation. The best way is to walk, although there are horse and carriage rides and bus tours in Chania, but no ‘Noddy Train’ which is a surprise.

We’ve opted for early sun then out to explore and find late morning coffee. Since I gave up most dairy products I’m always on a hunt for non-dairy milk- either in a cafe or for use in our hotel- which provides no dairy alternatives. I like oat milk best but soya will do. Our nearest mini-market only stocks almond milk and even then the carton looks a little dated.

We stroll down the road to the front- Venetian Harbour. The wide sweep of the harbour is home to swathes of cafes and bars and, judging by the hoards of tourists, all must do well. I am to discover, though, that few offer non-dairy milk. Once I’ve managed to get some oat milk, I decant some into a water bottle and carry it with me.

The vibrant blue of the sea and the sky, together with the curving bay and the lighthouse make for a gorgeous view anywhere here by the harbourside. There is a terrace of old warehouses and a few other old buildings beside the wide promenade. I’m taken with a gift-shop boat moored up, offering keepsakes and trinkets besides shells and sponges.

Cats are everywhere, as always in Greece, semi-feral, opportunistic as they weave their way through the tables of diners hoping for titbits. They are, however, well cared for by the locals, cat food containers and small heaps of dried food commonplace in the streets. When I first began visiting Greece and the islands, the wild cats were in poor shape, skinny, mangy and often with diseases like eye problems etc. Nowadays they are sleek, glossy and smug as they prowl the restaurants. Sometimes they are friendly and welcome a stroke but mostly they retreat from any attempt at physical contact. On our first night, I donated my sardine heads and tails to a hopeful black and white one, who left me as soon as the meal was finished.

On the busy harbour front there are hoards of tourists of many nationalities, the restaurants touting for business all the way round, most often trying German on us. It’s not the first time we’ve been taken for Germans. There are a surprising number of Americans, presumably doing their ‘Europe tour’, as well as French, Spanish, Italian- and possibly Russians, although I’m unable to identify Eastern European, Russian etc.

After walking and coffee, we return to the hotel for some later afternoon sun. The small pool is surrounded by high, concrete walls which make for a sheltered crater of heat without a breeze. The sunbeds are limited to the smallish space and the sunshades, with their concrete bases, can’t be moved, so it’s a case of careful selection and changing when necessary.

Later on we’ll return to the harbour to choose a place to eat- and we’ll be spoilt for choice!

Novels by Jane Deans [Grace]: The Year of Familiar Strangers and The Conways at Earthsend. Visit my website: janedeans.com

Outbound at Last

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Back we go to Crete, where we enjoyed a warm, sunny holiday in October 2024. This time we’re in Chania, which looked picturesque in the brochure photos.

We land at the small airport and descend into a balmy, sunny evening. Arrival is quick and easy with a quick perusal of passports and the luggage comes with no trouble. Greece has yet to adopt the new, digital scans etc due to wanting lots of British tourists!

Out in arrivals, we’re soon identified and join just one other couple in a minibus- a vast improvement on the unwieldy coach of last time, which took us all down and back along narrow lanes it couldn’t manoeuvre, for hours and got us to our hotel at midnight. This time it’s only half an hour to our hotel, a smallish, four storey, nondescript building on a corner at a crossroads.

After check in, we go to our second floor room, which is, to say the least, snug. There is a small wardrobe, a bathroom with a minute shower cubicle, some shelves and a fridge [which is, at least, cold] a TV, twin beds and a very narrow balcony with two uncomfortable chairs and a little table- all only just fitting and with no sun. Our room and balcony overlook a car park. So far so unimpressive then…

Nevertheless, there’s enough time left int he day to explore a bit. Outside the hotel and to the left, down a short road, there is the sea, together with a few very promising bars and restaurants, some still bathed in late afternoon sun. It seems churlish to waste the evening so we get a drink at an outside table then decide we’ll eat here. Greek salad- lovely salty feta cheese on top of fresh salad greens in an olive oil dressing. Hooray! This is a reason to visit Greece- delicious fresh food in the sunshine.

Back at the hotel, there’s a small bar and some extremely uncomfortable furniture. A large screen is showing…football. It’s quiet and a little lacklustre and I wonder what the barman can find to do…

The hotel does breakfast only, which suits us fine, and better still it goes on until 11.30am, which is great. We don’t need to hurry down to the dining area on the ground floor. Again, breakfast is adequate, although there’s tinned fruit to go with the [delicious] yoghurt and we are to find the cooked items are a little repetitive.

After breakfast we decide to get some sun and a read by the small pool, which does have a few sunbeds. It soon becomes too hot. The pool is surrounded on three sides by tall concrete walls.

It’s time to explore the town and the famous Venetian Harbour. Another advantage of the hotel is that most places are in easy walking distance- which is good news as I’m only just walking again after months of being barely mobile. Today, the sky is blue. There are scarlet Jacarandas tumbling over rooftops and when we get to the quayside, smart motor cruisers lined up in their moorings on the azure blue of the harbour. Little wonder the Greeks have adopted blue and white as their trademark colours.

The holiday stretches ahead of us…

Novels by Jane Deans [Grace]: The Year of Familiar Strangers and The Conways at Earthsend. Visit my website: janedeans.com