Samaria Gorge - a long walk
In a shop in the old part of Hania, I found a pair of shoes I really liked. Or rather, one shoe … the left one! The other one was in the shop, at the top of a steep flight of stairs. That particular day, I was trying to avoid stairs. But they were really nice shoes, so I lurched up them with all the grace of Frankenstein's Monster. The shop assistant was all concern, until Lorraine explained everything with one word. Samaria!
However, in spite of the aches and pains, I was glad I’d ‘done’ the Samaria Gorge, because, almost exactly a year ago, I was in hospital, wondering if I’d ever walk any distance again. And, at that time, I couldn’t have managed those shoe-shop stairs if there’d been a willing brunette with a six-pack at the top of them.
At about 18 km. long, Crete’s Samaria Gorge is the longest in Europe, and maybe it’s not a wise choice. Because, once you’ve descended into the gorge, the only way out is by way of Ayia Roumeli, at the other end, either on your own two feet, or, in emergency, on the back of the Ranger’s donkey. Unless, that is, you’re prepared to climb up the steep, stony zig-zag path up the side of the gorge. A daunting prospect, which is why most people choose to walk the gorge downhill, to the sea.
On the plus side, about an hour behind, was Patricia, our Guide, equipped with a first-aid kit and a radio.
You can walk the gorge by joining one of the tours operated by the tour companies and hotels on the island. But don’t take the first one offered to you - shop around, and decide on the best deal. Or, if you want to travel independently, you can catch the ordinary service bus to Omalos, at the start of the walk. You can only get from Ayia Roumeli by boat, but you can get a bus back to the main holiday towns from either of the ports to which the boat will take you.
But let’s get back to the cold, grey dawn at Omalos, high in the Lefka Ori mountains. The start is at Ksiloscalo (Wooden Steps) where we bought a ticket to enter the gorge. We’ll need to show this at the other end; it's the authorities’ way of checking everyone is out of the park by nightfall - and they told us that if we lost it, we’d have to go back and get another.
Then, down the Ksiloscalo, through pine forests, down to the floor of the gorge. The wooden steps are, actually, logs laid across the path, to prevent the stones from washing away.
The path then winds along the river-bank for most of the length of the gorge. The river itself is clear and potable, but the bone-white boulders in its bed gave some idea of the force with which it can flow in the wet season - naturally, the gorge is closed at this time.
All the way down, we saw numerous small cairns. Surely, they weren’t necessary, I thought. The worst navigator in the world couldn’t get lost in a ravine … although one family group we saw were trying their best. But, a ranger later explained they were necessary. The path often got washed out by the winter floods, he said, and they needed to show the volunteers who rebuilt it in the spring where it went.
By the trail, I saw something familiar yet alien. The ‘Dragon’s Tongue’ flower is so obviously a relative of the cuckoo pint (or ‘Red Hot Poker’, ‘Lords and Ladies’, Wild Arum, ‘Jack in the Pulpit’ or whatever it’s called in your area). But, this one has a striking, deep purple leaf. Another familiar shape was close to hand; the wild cyclamen - an easily recognisable shape, but much smaller than the variety you buy at the garden centre.
About halfway along the route lies the abandoned village of Samaria. The villagers were moved out and rehoused at Ayia Roumeli, at the mouth of the gorge in 1962, when the Lefka Ori area was declared a National Park. Some of the houses remain, although in a ruinous state; here there’s a spring and toilets. And here many people, arriving about midday, like to eat their sandwiches in the overgrown but tree-shaded plateia, or village square.
The Iron Gates are the narrowest part of the gorge, and as we approached them, we began to meet people who had taken the easy option of a short out-and-return walk from Ayia Roumeli. They’re so called because of the iron in the rocks, which turns them a distinctive red colour.
At Ayia Roumeli, we were to meet up with the guide in one of the many cafés, where she'd issue our tickets for the boat, which left at five o’clock. That left me over two hours to kill, and there isn’t much to do in Ayia Roumeli. But Carl, with whom I had been having a sporadic conversation all day as we passed and re-passed on the way down the gorge, solved the problem.
‘Two beers, please!’ he said.
I thanked him.
‘Get your own’ he grinned ‘These are both for me! And, the first one, I’m going to pour over my feet!’
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Photo Credits: 1. The author in Samaria Gorge (photo by Carl Hagerup) 2. The Ksiloscala, Samaria Gorge and Ayia Roumeli copyright Keith Kellett