At around 11 am I left the coach park, the sun loungers, and the hoards of tourists behind and struck out from Elafonisi along the south-coast trail. Within ten minutes I was hiking a sandy path through labyrinthes of eroded conglomerate rock formations that would not look vastly out of place in Utah. Nor in the original Star Trek series, which often used the sculpted rock canyons of this state as televisual shorthand for the otherworldly. My immediate destination was Kedrodasos, a quiet and picturesque beach where I had camped some years previously at the end of another long run down the same coast. The word 'kedros' in Greek is something of a false friend, for English speakers at least. I have often mistaken it for 'cedar tree', rather than correctly as 'juniper'. 'Dasos' means forest, and the whole habitat is a protected area, another rare example of coastal dunes stabilised by juniper trees, as the signs here proudly announce. In fact, it was on stopping fully to digest these signs during my first visit that I finally realised my life-long mistranslation, which was duly confirmed when I bit into one of the berries and was flooded with the unmistakable taste of gin.
On arriving at the dunes, the sun was at its zenith and beaming down from the clear hemisphere of the south. It was hot enough to seek out shade, and be thankful for the onshore breeze. A few like-minded souls lay on the sandy cove, none of them wearing much at all. I do not 'practise' naturism, in the same way that I do not artfully draw breath. However, when I find myself on a remote beach in temperatures which make clothing uncomfortable, I do not see sense in preserving my modesty, particularly when no one else seems so inclined. Besides, running through Crete, every gram on your back counts. And I really could not justify the burden of a pair of Speedos.
So I stripped naked and entered the sea, slowly at first until I could confirm that it was a comfortable temperature even though we had just that morning entered October. The south coast of Crete is blessed with the longest summers in Greece, and the first time I set foot on this island I spent almost the whole month of October camping on the south-west coast and its offshore island, Gavdos, often cited as the southern-most point of Europe. I barely wore more than a bathing costume most days, and nights I could not zip up my sleeping bag without overheating. As a young Scot as yet unaccustomed to travelling, I found it nothing short of magical that such a land could exist just 4 hours from the mist and drizzle of home. However, let it be known that when bad weather does come at this time of year, the wind can lift stones, and sheets of rain can turn those bone dry gorges into muddy torrents.
I emerged from the sea like an electric spark, vital and energised. Grabbing my hat, I lay down on my mat, covered my eyes against the glare and savoured the sensation of the sun gradually warming and loosening my muscles. I had felt my legs in particular quite stiff that morning after the long hard run of the day before. I'm not much of a swimmer; my elements tend to be earth and air, rock and light. But I like swimming precisely to the extent that I value the healing contrast in temperature between sea and beach.
As soon as the touch of the sun turned from warm to hot, I dressed and hit the trail once more. The path led on through lonesome sand dunes to another whitewashed chapel crowning a spit of land. Here in a thicket of hollyoaks and carobs, a spring gurgled into a marble basin, and a long concrete table flanked with benches lay empty in the shade, waiting for the feast day of the local saint. The path wound on eastward through scrub and burnished earth, at first clinging to the hillside with a sudden drop to the sea on my right, then dipping gently to a sheltered cove where lapping waves licked at toppled ionic columns. Fragments of pottery lay all around in the sand.
Climbing to a dirt road, I descended to another cove, but this time to a violence of sunloungers and baking bodies. I had hit the only strip of asphalt between here and the eastern trail head, 8 km flanked by clear plastic greenhouses, a peculiarly Cretan sight and the source of those huge and succulent tomatoes that find their way into most Greek dishes. I tightened the straps around shoulders and waist and broke once more into a run.
My destination was Palaiohora, lit. 'old village', a low key resort and laid back town that has a strong sense of community, the kind of place where farmers from nearby hamlets come to gossip over raki while their offspring splinter into the streets, some happy to be children others already trying on the phlegmatic poise of their parents. Here the asphalt stopped and the trail continued eastward clinging to the sea in the direction of a spit of land known locally as 'cape crocodile' on account of its silhouette against the morning sunrise.
It was by now 17.30 with just 90 mins till sunset. I had already covered around 30 km through all kinds of terrain, but only 2 hours separated me from the ancient site of Lissos, where I had once spent an enchanted night in another beachside chapel.
Situated in a narrow valley of olive groves just beyond cape crocodile, Lissos was the site of an ancient Asklepion, or healing temple. Nowadays all that remains are the four walls, chest high, and laid out around a mosaic floor depicting various geometric patterns and birds. On one side of the valley, you can explore some later Roman stoneu- built tombs, some of which have resisted ruin. Two Byzantine chapels complete the site, both built up from recycled temple blocks and decorated with frescoes old enough to have been vandalised during the Ottoman occupation, when it was the custom to scratch out the eyes of the saints.
Remarkably, the same spring that flowed two thousand years ago, and a vital ingredient of the cure, still flows today, though redirected with the aid of discreet piping to emerge at the site entrance under a huge carob tree. Here you will also find the keeper's kiosk, which I have never seen manned in 19 years of visits. You can range across the whole site at will.
It was around 2 hrs walk to Lissos, and I could not resist the prospect of descending into the narrow valley by torchlight. So I set off along the coastal path with cape crocodile looming ever larger before me, at first gold, then rose before fading into a vast colourless silhouette against the twilight. Rounding the cape, I began descending into the valley. The sound of the waves disappeared, then the touch of the wind. In their place, a few crickets stood out against the silence, and a pair of Scops Owls called out to each other across the gathering darkness. The path was rough and scattered with large stones. In the beam of my head torch hung suspended fine particles of dust, and every so often I had to correct my gait so as to avoid crushing one of the numerous jet-black millipedes that were now answering their nocturnal call.
Soon the familiar sight of an ancient stone threshing circle was before me, and thereafter the gurgling of the spring followed by a sudden scattering of goats hooves against loose stones. I had arrived.
Filling my water bottle, I took a long drink of pure, cool spring water, and made for the beach-side chapel, dedicated to the Virgin. Inside I lit a candle, and the long, painted faces of eyeless saints, flickered before me as I laid out my things to sleep.
