Floating Down The Lazy River

Wednesday, 22nd July

It's now a twenty-eight shrine drive to the water-park. Every journey in Crete can be measured by the number of roadside tributes to the dead, and each year the number goes up. They vary from antique rusted tins, not unlike the post-boxes, but with a musty glass window, to marble Byzantine palaces, depending on the wealth of the deceased - or, at least, their relatives. They contain photos, gifts that represent the dead person's hobbies, and often a bottle of Coca Light, as refreshment for the journey to the afterlife. Mine would contain lip gloss, a mobile phone, a pair of Jimmy Choos, and a large Chards. Although some of these shrines are at the front gate, the vast majority are roadside, a terrifying reminder of the way that Greeks drive. Some are placed in clusters - perhaps a whole family wiped out in one fell swoop. Installing them must be hazardous in itself, given the lack of pavements, winding roads, and the locals' propensity for driving as close to the edge as possible. It can't be all that uncommon for a grieving relative to be taken out by a lorry, in the midst of refreshing the diet beverage.

In any event, the shrines are more frequent than the road signs, and represent one of the most potent reasons why I won't drive here any more. The only way to get through a car journey with any sanity, is to close your eyes, and keep a tight grip on the seat. So, in Crete, I leave the driving to the professionals, today Costas and Stelios, the taxi-driving twins whose parents presumably named them with as much Cretan irony as they could muster.

We got to Limnoupolis shortly before four. Despite Stelios’ reservations, and suggestion that we should go early, and spend the whole day there, it was the perfect time to go. The crowd of tourists had abated, and the queues were minimal, if present at all. The lifeguards were demob happy, and sailed down the slides clutching each other, without the benefit of a dinghy, and often head first. Two hours is more than long enough to spend in these God-forsaken places, although I have to admit that I was rather enjoying the Black Hole, until I pulled a muscle in my right calf. So I contented myself with floating repeatedly round the Lazy River, until it was time for the hair-raising journey home.

Troy was already at Nikita’s, with all the supplies we needed for the evening, just as Perry had predicted.


Thursday, 24th July

A relatively early start. The man from the boat trip called, to say that there was a weather warning, so he wouldn’t be taking the boat out today. The roof terrace was tolerable by late afternoon, especially with the wind that has sprung up over the last couple of days. And if you’ve got a roof terrace, who needs a cozzie?