Finding the Right Spot

A few nights ago I was walking with a new friend to a taverna that is a 15 minute walk through olive groves just outside the village. She was from Portland and visiting a friend of mine that lives in Kritsa for a couple weeks. We had a lot in common and so spent several days hiking together and this was my last night with her.

While walking I get a phone call from my car rental company. They say that I need to move my car because I am blocking someone’s house. I am indeed parked on the street in front of someone’s house. In Crete, you can do this anywhere for free, as long as you’re not blocking a driveway. So I tell the employee that I’m not blocking anything, but I will move the car in about an hour. And if it’s an emergency, they can call my number directly.

So I continue with my friend and we each order a beer each and they bring us meze on the house— olives, beets, and tirokafteri which is like Greek pimento cheese. We have a lovely conversation and head back after the sun sets.

When we go by my car, I see there are a couple of people outside across the street so I let them know that I have to get my keys and then I’ll be back to move it. They are polite, but quite serious about it needing to be moved.

After we go up the hill and back down again with the keys, I see the man holding a bag of something and offering it to me. He tells me it’s cheese that they made themselves. And in his other hand he’s got a container of some kind of hard cheese and he offers us a couple of wedges to try. It tastes amazing and we are doing our best to express this and our gratitude with our limited Greek.

And then he asks us if we want some raki. It isn’t really a question, of course. Once it’s offered, there’s no turning back. So we step inside with him and his wife and a few minutes later he’s got his daughter there translating for us, going through photographs, and inundating us with more food gifts.

We learn that they make the cheese themselves from their own goats and sheep— they have around 1500. The sheep that live in the village belong to them. Also the ones, that I see shepherded in down the hill in the evenings belong to them. Also the ones I see when I hike near here, most likely belong to them. And they make all the cheese there in that house and across the street, which is why they need that parking spot as they’re often transporting heavy things. They show us a video of what the father spends hours each day doing— he’s leaning over, with a belt that hangs down from the ceiling to go under him to support him, milking the sheep and goats quickly and efficiently.

The other cheese they offer us is a soft cheese— I haven’t been able to find the name of it yet. It looks like ricotta or cottage cheese, but it takes quite salty and bit sour. It’s wonderful and not like anything I’ve tasted before.

They also give us bread that they’ve baked for dakos, so it’s like hard stale bread made from barley. They usually put juicy chopped tomatoes over it with either feta or perhaps this sour cheese they gave me. The juice settles in and makes the bread a perfect texture and this simple dish is heavenly.

I often feed the two sets of chickens that live on either side of them. I know the man who keeps one set, so I ask about the other. They tell me those are their chickens! So I let them know I’ve been bringing my vegetable scraps to them this past year. I noticed that the chickens recently changed, because they no longer greet me when I walk by, and they respond that they have indeed gotten new chickens as the others were very old. And as we’re talking the mother brings out eggs for me and apologizes that they only have so few to give me.

We enjoy their company for maybe an hour and then we head out as they bring us one final very heavy bag of fresh pears. These are without a doubt the most delicious pears I’ve ever eaten, by the way.

My friend and I say our goodbyes and walk back feeling so much gratitude about what just happened! Instead of a bitter conversation about who was right and who was wrong regarding the parking space, it ended up being a delightful evening and a new connection with a local family. This is why the Cretan hospitality is so famous.