The most guarded treasure on the island of Crete

A young man wearing oversized baggy pants, his cap in a backwards fashion and holding a Gatorade offered me his hand and a broad smile. His calm yet firm handshake and a spark in his blue eyes betrayed a seasoned traveler who was to be my personal guide to the Samaria Gorge.
It took us about half an hour to get to the Omalos plateau from where we start our descent as high as more than 1200 km. The height is dizzying and the daunting task of walking the 16 km footpath tickles my stomach in anticipation.

The Samaria Gorge or Farangas as locals call it is found in West Crete in the White Mountains. Although the winded walk is well supported it is so steep you will feel your legs for days. And as the idea of making the trip came to me spontaneously and I had no hiking shoes my moccasins were in sorry tatters already in two hours. It usually takes twice as much time to finish the journey at a quick step.

Though every stride grows more and more tiring the breathtaking beauty of the Samarian nature in all its glory feeds me with its palpitating energy. I can perfectly see why neither the scorching relentless sun nor the length of the walk prevents tourists all over the world to tackle this mountainous challenge. Almost every Cretan in his or her life passes the Samarian gorge and I am not surprised to find a five-year-old child bravely following his parents on his own feet. His parents must feel proud for him.

Much of Samaria’s vibe, in addition to its majestic landscapes formed by nature for millions of years, comes from its unique historic legacy. And as Ivan tells me about all the momentous events that impacted the future Cretan generations I easily imagine them playing vividly against the white scorched walls that soar endlessly into the sky. During the Second World War the gorge served as a passage for the Greek government fleeing to Egypt. It harbored the Resistance soldiers and saw the last rebels of the Greek civil war.

When we reach the seaside village of Agia Roumeli we take my time and enjoy the sun plunging into the warming waters of the Libyan sea, the gentle waves kissing the shore and caressing my sore feet. Soon after we are parting our ways and wishing each other good luck, I ask Ivan, “What’s your dream?” He takes a good swallow of still water and smiles his broadest smile.

“I am going to Spain to pick oranges”.
“Fruit picker?”
“Orange picker. That’s a big difference”.

Great dream.