Crete's Coastal Path by Amar Grover
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It was, as omens go, blunt. At the edge of western Crete on the eve of a week-long hike, I was found to be of impure soul, a sinner. At the Monastery of Hrissoskalitissa - the 'Golden Step' - perched atop a knoll overlooking the sea, I saw merely grey concrete steps, dazzling white walls and an eggshell blue roof. That little band of gold, reputedly visible only to the pure, proved elusive.
But within an hour of setting off next morning, thoughts turned from the spiritual to the sensual. The glassy, aquamarine waters of Elafonisi beckoned; I kicked off my boots, most of my clothes and wallowed in a warm lagoon ringed by creamy sand. This set a pattern for the rest of my week, with the Libyan Sea a kind of soothing temptress almost every step of the way.
I had come to southwest Crete to walk part of the E4 path, one of eleven European Long Distance Paths stretching from Ireland to Ukraine to Turkey. The E4 runs from Gibraltar to the eastern tip of Crete, mostly on old established local trails some of which had fallen into disuse. The rugged southwest coast, wild and lonely in parts, is dotted with idyllic bays and a handful of restful villages. Except for one notable stage, most of this section is well way marked and obvious.
With the wind in my hair and the sun on my face, I set off for Paleohora. The trail arched gently around a broad bay towards Krios headland, the corner of Crete, and a tiny chapel whose whitewashed walls gleamed like a beacon. Below nestled a shingle cove of limpid water and fearless little fish, qualities that tend to bring the boy out of the man. After a picnic lunch and an undeserved snooze, I headed up and over the headland past wary goats and their timid kids, the air veined with sage, rosemary and thyme.
Paleohora straddles a peninsula protruding from scrubby hills and in ancient times was known as 'Kastel Selinou', Castle of Selinos. Faint remains of a Venetian fort lie crumbling on the hill above the old quarter. Though hardly brash, this is as close as southwest Crete comes to having a resort. I was delighted with the bakery, tickled by the open-air cinema and the bars were friendly and cheerful. But the sensible walker will, if at all, leave boutiques for the end of the road.
Next day's 17km stage to Souyia proved wilder and more remote. Anidhri Gorge, the first of several which wind down through the mountains to the coast, funnelled into the sea by a long shingle beach. Soon I was climbing away from the surf and onto a plateau tinged yellow with broom and cradled by stark hills. A sharp descent and a cluster of eerie barrel-vaulted tombs announced the site of ancient Lisos, a city-state which endured for two millenia until the 9th century. Today only a healing temple and patch of mosaic floor remain.
Souyia proved another low-key mix of tavernas and bars fronting a pebbly beach. Nudists hang out by the eastern end - known locally as the 'Bay of Pigs' - and there's no doubt some gruesome sights leave clothing to be desired. I was warned, too, of the next notorious stretch of the E4. Though not especially difficult, it is long, isolated and, critically, one can never be sure of finding water en route. Gaining the ridge above town alongside folds of snorting sheep, I was grateful for the breeze of a cloudy morning.
It was a path as varied and satisfying as any in Crete. There were level parts contouring along the hillside where I sauntered past brilliant wildflowers or sharply aromatic herbs. The first stiff climb emerged on a saddle by a ruined Turkish watchtower, with spectacular views up and down the coast. Beside a chapel at the mouth of Tripiti Gorge, caves doubled as pens and the trail snaked improbably between boulders as waves broke at my feet. Backed by a sheer wall of pebbles and rocks, Mavri or 'Black' Beach was enticing even in the rain. It vanished amidst late afternoon mist as I climbed toward a forest, and only then did I yearn for a glass of raki and a cosy taverna.
It was the far side of dusk when Ayia Roumeli appeared far below, and thoroughly dark by the time I arrived. Crete's most popular gorge-walk, Samaria, ends here and only weary legs like mine could judge the glut of restaurants, pensions and souvenir stalls to be, well, perfect. Scolded for being so late, locals then plied me with drink, toasting walkers in general and my journey in particular.
Continuing east the E4 resumes a gentler course, rarely straying from shore. I paused at the 11th-century chapel of Ayios Pavlos, its tiles and masonry mottled and weathered by centuries of windblown salt. I bathed in a turquoise sea and lazed on silvery sand. After lunch beneath the pines and a rest in the shade of an old carob, I headed on to Loutro, keen to make this gem of the south coast well before sundown.
Seven years after my first visit, Loutro remains as beguiling as ever. Tucked into a small bay and backed by steep hills, it is as tranquil as it is picturesque; even the food seems finer and the retsina crisper. For a few slothful days, it felt as if the Golden Step's augury wasn't far off the mark. Hikers as well as idlers are particularly blessed, with sublime day-walks and longer trails soaring into the White Mountains. Utterly content, I strode off along the narrow path for the final short leg to Hora Sfakion.