“Teach me to Dance!”
he cried to Alexis Zorba, drenched in failure but enlightened by a freed
spirit. Stiff and scholarly Basil
finally succumbed to Alexis Zorba’s exuberance and would now begin to pursue
life in a way he never thought possible.
I have watched that movie Zorba the Greek about two dozen times since
it came out in the early 1960s, just as I was finishing high school, and to
this day it is one of my favorite movies.
So, this past summer,
on our way to spend a few days on the island of Crete, I downloaded the book
upon which the movie was based, Nikos Kazantzakis’ Zorba the Greek, and read it
on the plane. As we were circling to land, our plane passed directly over Stavros Beach, where Anthony Quinn as Zorba had attempted to rig his ill-fated transport system to bring mine timbers down from the forested hills above. It is the beach that Zorba wanabes still visit to dance, barefooted and full of ouzo, like Quinn did to “celebrate” his engineering failure; and his life. This is perfect, I said to myself a we landed in late afternoon at the small, simple airport which serves Chania, the ancient but vibrant port city on the northwestern shore of the largest of the Greek islands.
Our good friends and hosts for
this Cretan visit, Georgia and Aris, hustled us directly to their home, ideally
perched on a hill overlooking the Mediterranean sea (more
precisely the Aegean sea, and even more precisely, the Cretan sea), and
immediately delivered on what they had promised us: Greek hospitality and
Cretan food, in this case roast goat and grilled octopus.
From this moment when
we sat on the veranda looking over the deep blue sea and dry hills dotted with
olive trees, for the next ten days, we experienced the fabled Xenia, a concept of hospitality that flows from Zeus and figures so eminently in Homer's Odyssey.
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| Chania |
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| Downtown Chania |
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| Central market in Chania |
Twice we meandered
through the streets of Chania; this cozy, colorful city “conquered” over the
ages by the Romans, the Venetians, and of course the Ottomans (as well as
destroyed by the Germans). During the
day the streets teem with tourists, artisans, and hustlers, the central market is replete
with fresh fish, lamb, cheese, honey, olives and more olive oil than you can imagine. Seafood restaurants ring the harbor where
locals and visitors blend together to enjoy an outdoor patio lunch of those fantastic and sometimes unidentifiable meze, fried marides(smelt) and gavros (anchovies), and of course an occasional ouzo to reset the palate.
I was born in rural upstate
New York, but I think it was meant for me to be from somewhere like Chorafakia,
the town nearest to Aris and Georgia’s house, or maybe even Vatolakkos, a bit
further into the hills where Georgia was born, where she and her siblings still
own land covered with olive and orange trees. As we explore Crete, I am tempted to imagine that with a slight change in fortune, I might have been born in the Mediterranean,
in fact, possibly in Italy where my maternal grandparents emigrated from around
the penultimate turn of the century, either in Abruzzi, or Sicily. But instead
I ended up living out my youth in temperate USA, Penn Yan, New York, in Yates
County and the Township of Jerusalem, a dry, alcohol free jurisdiction that
surely drove me to drink at an early age. I have since been fortunate to reside long periods of time in Italy and the Mediterranean climate of Chile, counteracting to some degree the slow start I had in developing my relationship with the grape, the olive, and sunny, dry days and nights.
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| Knossos |
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| Mosque in Chania |
My maternal Mediterranean genes (Simonelli/Encavo) began to kick into high gear as
Georgia and Aris introduced us to archaeological Crete (Knossos with its raging
bulls, and the renovated museum and palace in Heracleum), as we scratched the surface of
historical Crete with visits to the impressive Eleftherios Venizelos tomb with
its panoramic overview of Chania, the Turkish mosque on the Chania harbor now a
pottery museum, and Souda Bay with its allied WW II cemetery and its sheltered harbor used by myriad navies over the years and NATO forces presently.
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| Hora Sfakion |
A memorable day trip
over the mountains to the southern shore village of Hora Sfakion not only
exposed the natural beauty of inland Crete, but also a most remarkably lovely
seaside village with its layers of white-walled homes draped with multicolored
bougainvillea, where we dined at a shore side taverna on moussaka, grilled
garides (shrimp), supia (cuttlefish) stew, and pasta balls filled with shaved pork.
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| Goat being prepared at Lake Kouras |
Another trip into the
hills in central Crete took us to Lake Kouras, where the cones of white smoke
rising above the lakeside eateries led us directly to the Eye of the Lake Taverna and a delicious lunch of
roast goat, Greek salad, grilled sausage and warm country bread served with an
eggplant spread and deep green olive oil.
Pitchers of local wine made the time fly, but complicated a bit our
return home on the winding road leading to this beautiful lake.
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| Georgia, Dave, Aris, Alexandra, and Ximena at Manousakis Winery |
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| The old Manousakis home |
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| Dave in the Manousakis winery |
Georgia’s home town,
Vatolakkos, is a short drive from Chania, in the Lofka Ori hills, and on the
outskirts of this quaint town is the Manousakis Winery, owned by Georgia’s
brother. We visited several times, for
it is the epitome of the concept of “Terroir”, that special place where people and the land
meet. The old stone house with
vine-covered terraces where the Manousakis wines are tasted is so welcoming you
wonder, upon visiting, what on earth could be more important to make you ever want to leave this heavenly place. But what is even more enticing about this
little winery is the magnetism of Alexandra (Georgia’s niece) who manages the
winery and provides the hospitality visits at the winery. Alexandra, beautiful, engaging, and a perfect
hostess and representative of the Manousakis family just by her presence makes
the place feel warm and exciting. The
winery guide and tasting director, Afshin, with his exuberance for the
intricacies of wine and his knowledge of the Manousakis wines, provides texture
and depth to a visit.
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| Lunch at the Winery |
The Manousakis Winery
produces under the label “Nostos”, another Homeric concept meaning “welcome home”, or "homecoming", and from which the modern concept of "nostalgia" is derived. The winery and the old family home is certainly laden with nostalgia, while at the same time it exudes a huge dose of optimism as the winery expands and grows. Under the guiding hand of winemaker Kostis,
they produce a dry white Roussanne, a Syrah, a blend named Nostos Manousakis, a
dry rose made with Grenache and Syrah grapes named “Pink”, and a delicate blend
of Syrah, Mourvedre and Grenache grapes named appropriately “Alexandra”. If I could only drink one of these wines, it
would most likely be the Nostos Manousakis blend, but the others have their
place especially on warm, sunny, dry days to accompany lunch. Manousakis claims his wines capture the
flavors of the vegetation that grows in this region: rosemary, thyme, marjoram,
sage, lavender and chamomile. It seems to me that it is absolutely true,
especially as you sit under the arbor on the veranda of the old house sipping
these wines. “Terroir” is partly mental.
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| Afshin presenting a tasting |
A tasting with
Alexandra and Afshin, highly recommended for anyone visiting Western Crete, usually includes a lunch of stuffed vegetables (tomatoes, green and red
pepper, zucchini flowers), beef and squid stew, and fresh hearty local bread, brought to with winery from the Taverna Pemptovsia located in the neighboring town of Alikianos.
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| Lunch at Taverna Pemptovsia |
As our stay in Crete
drew to the end, I had yet to sink my bare feet into the sands of Stavros
beach, to pay homage to Zorba. Being attracted
by Zorba’s personality is not a frivolous fancy. When Nikos Kazantzakis was
asked which of all the characters he had written about would he most like to meet in real life, including those in his
Report to Greco where he journeyed through the world visiting the souls of
Christ, Buddha, Lenin and Odysseus, he responded: Alexis Zorba!! There is, at least to some of us, something
truly magnetic about Zorba, whom someone (who knows who or why) referred to as "a violent man of action who reveled in deliriums of flesh and freedom".
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| Stavros Beach |
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| Dave...doing his Zorba thing |
So my hosts,
nowhere near as attracted to Zorba as I, finally took us to the Stavros
beach. We stood on the beach and gazed
up at the hills where the timber transport was built, and I could feel the earth rumble, imagining those huge timbers travelling down the hillside only to gather so much speed they would destroy the entire operation after only one run. The bar that was until recently across from
the beach, where one of the Academy Awards the movie earned had been exhibited for years, is
now gone, destroyed by a fire I was told, and the award along with it. The beach area that day was almost deserted,
although the Taverna Zorba was operating and we had a nice dinner there of grilled
pork chops and lots of Cretan wine. I was finally at the epicenter of that
great movie, Zorba the Greek, and I was satisfied.
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| Aris dancing in Chania |
My host, Aris, who is
not Cretan but rather from the mainland (as was Alexis Zorba, for that matter),
was, I think, motivated to distract me from my infatuation inclination with
Zorba, so on one of our last evenings in Crete, he and Georgia took Alexandra, Afshin, Ximena and me to a dingy taverna
on one of the narrow streets in the center of Chania for dinner. He knew there would be a group playing Greek
music, and sure enough, well into the evening after much ouzo, wine and tsikoudia,
Aris got up and danced. He jumped
(leaped, really), slapped his heels, squatted several times, and pranced around
to the applause and delight of everyone in the taverna. Georgia finally joined Aris in this very
personal and individualized Greek dance, since she sensed Aris was tiring and may need
support. Like with Zorba, I believe dancing
was Aris’ way of celebrating life that night and showing his love and deep respect for his presently troubled
Greece.
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| Dave and Aris, doing what they do best |
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| Ouzo and gavros |
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| Georgia's sea bream |
The last night in
Crete, we were treated by Georgia, as was the case the night we arrived, to a Cretan
dinner on the veranda of Aris and Georgia’s lovely home: broiled fresh tsipura
(sea bream), gavros in olive oil, and our last few glasses of cold Cretan wine.
Xenia! There is no better word to explain how Georgia
and Aris, aided and abetted by the Island of Crete and her Cretans, wrapped our
ten-day visit up in layers of Xenia. But Xenia is a two dimensional concept; host treats guests well, without qualms or questions, AND guest does not burden the host. Fair enough. It was time for us to leave, so we departed, but with an invitation to return, and a promise that we would do just that.
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| The last supper |
Zorba, Xenia, and Nostos; Alive
and well in Krete.
Posted in Leesburg, Virginia on August 18, 2013
