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| Christmas Crib out on the Pavement |
I seem to have taken a lot of bus
journeys this week which is not altogether a hardship. The timetable
between Heraklion and Chania is a good one with a comfortable bus
running every hour and they seem to be very reliable. The choice
between taking the car or the bus to a big town is not hard to make.
Towns are jammed with masses of vehicles, few parking places and are
always a bit terrifying for the unwary.
The French Government needed
confirmation for the third time that I was still alive (heaven knows
why they are writing and talking to me if I am not) , the first
Attestation signed by my Family Doctor and the second by Solicitor
had not persuaded them, so it seemed that the British Consulate would
be the only port of call, although the local Town Hall in Perama
would also have done but the Attestation Form had provided a
translation for every European language except Greek and I did not
think it right to expect our friends at the Town Hall to sign a
French form that they did not understand. So, after a year of
hassle, I was still battling on and a trip to Heraklion of about 35
miles was called for.
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| The Confectioners' Shop was all decorated |
The weather was wet, windy and a bit
gloomy that morning and I looked out over the sea from the Panormo
bus stop which did not have its normal lovely colour and looked
uninviting. Three Albanian lads were also waiting and, true to
Cretan form, started up a conversation. Where was I from, did I live
in Crete? They were searching for work in the big city. I
apologised that my Greek was not very good but we managed to
communicate and I could say that I knew the bus left the bus station
in Rethymnon at quarter to the hour, so it should be here in a minute
or two. We were glad to climb aboard when it did arrive because the
cold winds and cloud had lowered even further and the rain began to
fall down with vicious precision.
.
As we bowled along the national road,
it was good to be high up on the bus where I had a good view over the
hills, mountains and beaches. A little ahead, I could see a
waterspout out at sea and I noticed that the Greek ladies on either
side of me were crossing themselves energetically at each church we
passed and at any point in between at which they thought help was
needed from above. I joined in, in my own way! I was relieved to
get nearly into the hairpin bends which announce the approach to
Heraklion when we stopped at a long traffic tail back. The equation
of heavy rain + national road normally = accident. So the ladies and
I carried on with our devotions until the traffic started to move and
everyone except me on the bus stood up to take a good look at the
aftermath. Cretans are unashamedly curious about everything around
them and very voluble! It must have been a serious accident because
everyone had heard about it on the TV news.
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| Christmas at the Wool Shop in Iraklion |
I arrived at the bus station a little
late, but thankfully still not too late for my appointment and donned
hat and umbrella for the walk to the British Consulate. The hat
immediately blew off and the umbrella inside out – so I abandoned
all hope of looking respectable and hurried through the backstreets
towards the small square where the building houses the British Vice
Consul. It was a bit of a reverse culture shock! I stepped into
this haven of peace, efficiency, quietude and no crowds of jostling
people. The lady at reception took my papers, and with perfect
English explained what the process was and disappeared to see the
Vice Consul. 3 minutes later, she returned with my form duly
completed, now brandishing a large red seal, several stamps and a
signature. I do hope that the French Government are impressed with
it because I wanted to put it in a frame – and why not – I AM
ALIVE, so there!
Anyway, I needed a few comforts and set
off to Everest for coffee, lunch and a cloakroom. On the way there,
I passed an open portico full of children's voices, calling and
playing. Inside was a sale of children's art work to raise funds, so
I looked at calendars, decorated pomegranates (which seem to
symbolise a fruitful and prosperous New Year) and decorations made
from fir cones, nuts and dried fruits. The teachers behind the
stalls looked pale, thin and not very happy, so I chose carefully and
bought things in preparation for Christmas mentally wishing them all
a much better New Year than this has been.
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| Olive Branch! |
Meanwhile, at home, the new olive grove
provided us with a lovely bushy branch to decorate for our Christmas
tree. The fairy on the top looks a bit precarious, but otherwise,
from one viewing point, it looks reasonably festive.
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| .. or Christmas Tree! |
Wellington booted, we spent a very
happy hour in the Olive Grove in a gap in the weather at the end of
the week sorting out wood piles to prospective log burner fodder for
next winter and thinner clippings for a bonfire outside. Magically,
the sun came out for a lovely hour or two and it felt like heaven.
We had cleared two patches and planted a few rows of seeds which we
had had in the cupboard from last year. People wandered past on
their way up to the church or on their way back from their fields
with loaded wheelbarrows. All were kind, friendly and very curious
about who was working in the garden. As I stood up to tidy up, the
view over the valley to the hillsides, olive groves and farms in the
mid-distance were lovely with the shadows of winter sunshine. We are
so lucky to have this patch to work with which means olive oil in the
future and a healthy log pile. Such things are currency hereabouts
and a great gift in preparation for Christmas!
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| Tidying up in the Olive Grove |
