Canea, Crete

Canea's Venetian Port

The Bay of Skouda

We drove along the indigo and turquoise sea under a sun that would be devastating were it not for the stiff, relentless wind, along the irrepressible rose blossoms of laurel and heaping mounds of bouainvilleas. Russet and chalky soil supports pines and tall full umbrellas of eucalyptus, blossoming cacti, and full palms, carved into order by the rocks and the sea. We stopped at Kalami overlooking the Skouda Bay where Byzantine and medieval fortresses still more or less guard the entrance to the gleaming waters, where purest white hovering gulls seem to reflect the flecks of white in the violent blue waters, where a hawk hovered just beneath us, a perfectly still crown of feathers over the rust-colored land. I ate cooked greens and stuffed vine leaves that we fed to a black and white cat, a dead ringer for my dear recently deceased Shiva, but lean and muscled with a full set of testicles. He had Shiva's thumb, and was careful not to scratch us but pawed the ground. Signs warned us not to take pictures--the military are still there. We drove on to Canea on an unpromising road of car dealers which led to a gorgeous sight: the ruined bastions of the Venetians overlooking the pristine sea, the russet stone againt deep indigo. We walked into the old town's winding streets--and were shocked, for a moment or two, by a sudden rush of tourists--and then calmed by the leisurely cafes that perfeclty cradle the harbor where Venice once built her redoubtable ships.

View from the terrace

Canea

Canea had been the site of a Neolithic settlement, and later the wealthy Minoan city of Kydonia, which has revealed Minoan graves (1700-1500 BC), frescoes and pottery. Mosaics have been discovered from Hellenistic times. Canea took her present form in the 14th c. when the Venetians built the harbor and the medieval city where we walked. Then Byzantine churches became mosques under the Turks in the 17th c. We were on a home exchange, in an old house in the former Jewish quarter. Our terrace overlooked Canea's rooftops of rich tile and crumbling concrete, water tanks and solar panels, hillocks of flax and green rumpling in the wind, before the snowy mountains of the west. Up there the wind whistles, birds chirp incessantly, and swallows swipe by your heads at dusk.

Our home

Around the block was the recently restored Synagogue Etz Hayym. In 1944, once the Nazis had arrested and murdered the Jewish Community, the Synagogue was stripped of its religious artifacts and squatters moved in. Tombs of rabbis were desecrated and buried under rubble. After 1956 it was used as a kennel for stray dogs and the front courtyard became a chicken run. But later in the century Etz Haayyim came to be listed by the World Monuments Fund as an Endanered Monument of Greece, and was restored with international funding, although in 1996 an earthquake brought down the roof. On 10 October 1999 400 persons assembled to witness the installment of the Torah. Unfortunately, its history was not finished. Twice the Synagogue was restored, and twice set fire by vandals. Today it is beautiful, and guarded with cameras and fences.

Canea's immense 19th c orthodox Cathedral is decorated with outsized Greek saints and a chubby long-haired Christ with the slightly helpless look of many of these Greek men. Across the square is a tiny elegant Venetian church, all simplicity. We wandered through the old aristocratic quarter, where flowers cannot be prevented from blossoming under so much sun, now converted to hotels and rooms for let, up to a summit where a jumble of squash blossoms and olive trees and irrepressible flowers ensconce a neat farm house, and then down to the harbor's majestic stone walls cradling a small church which has become a Byzantine museum of Cretan art. It is an utterly spare and elegant late gothic church that contains frescoes from the middle (11th c) and late Byzantine. The Cretan Renaissance brought a more expressive Byzantine style, a blend of icons and a more natural plasticity.

Excavation of Minoan city Kydonia at Canea

The golden walls of the Byzantine Kastelli enclose the remains of Kydonia, the Minoan center. Along narrow streets utterly decayed houses of exotic Venetian architecture border restored houses that have become hotels, "antique shops" charging outrageous prices for cast off tourist items, and goats' bells made in India. And of course the endless restaurants solicit your business mercilessly. 

Along the russet Venetian wall at the water's edge--and along the periphery of Crete--several shacks were surrounded by chicken wire and voluptuous blossoms. We followed the Venetian wall back to the harbor where large, dusty dogs at the feet of old men narrowed their eyes in greeting, and sun weathered waiters waved at us in the stiff wind.

At Canea's Anthropological Museum, filled mostly with finds from the Minoan era, a woman in the rose ruin of a cloister was holding a bright chat with her own reflection in the glass. Finally budged by my presence, she continued speaking to herself, her refined face drawn back tight in a beautiful smile. Back inside the museum she held up a hand to the stone statue of a Roman philosopher, approaching him with her salute. Then she moved among us, her voice melodic as a lyre. I wondered, is Crete--home of Europe's first great civilization--like Jerusalem? Do the ancient stones upset one's sanity?