I stood at the back of the beautiful, ocean-side restaurant, as trays laden with plates of delicious homemade Greek food flew past to be enjoyed by relaxed evening diners. Surrounded by twinkling lights and the gentle sound of waves lapping along the pebble shore, I was totally lost in the theatre of this happy scene.
Suddenly, an ear splitting shriek interrupted the atmosphere. My 16-month-old son, Atlas, who had also been enjoying the action going on around him, had decided to join in. They weren’t shrieks of pain or unhappiness, but the loud exuberant shrieks of a very happy child finding his voice. All the same, they were very loud, and I felt the attention in the whole restaurant shift towards us.
I knew this restaurant well – run by two tall, handsome Greek brothers – it was always heaving, but did takeaway meals too which is what we’d been waiting for. One of the brothers came striding over. In true British fashion I started to hurriedly apologise, but the stern looking man addressed my son, “What is your name?” he said. “Atlas..” I muttered, but instantly felt a little relief as the man looked up at me with surprise, “Atlas?” he said, and I nodded – it wasn’t the first time one of the locals had been impressed we’d named our son after the famous ancient Titan!
“Well, Atlas! Shout more. You always must shout and never be sorry. Shout because you are alive!”
He still didn’t smile as he turned to walk away – this was serious life advice he was delivering – but he totally put me at ease, and in that moment I was reminded of why I love Greece, the Greeks, and why it was I’d chosen Loutro in Crete, as my first place to come on holiday as a solo parent…
When my husband started to talk about a 7 week work trip to Greenland, I suggested that Atlas and I might go on an adventure of our own. I really didn’t know if I had it in me at that stage; I would veer haphazardly between feeling a confident mother who could go anywhere with my little pal, to someone holding back exhausted tears as I failed yet again to make it to a class or meet-up, following yet another long night. That’s just mum-life, but the idea of going away with Atlas was both thrilling and terrifying.
I knew almost straight away we would go to Loutro. Nestled in a natural harbour on the southern coast of Crete, this ancient fishing village had been discovered by my parents and become a regular holiday destination for our family. I had later nervously taken Aldo – the man who famously cannot sit still – to this quiet, relaxed enclave, and watched, overjoyed as he melted into a sunbed and found a peace I’d not seen in him before. It seemed like the perfect, obvious place to take Atlas!
It is a long travel day to get to Loutro – especially for a baby – but it’s a journey I know like the back of my hand. As I rolled over and stopped my alarm at 4am in a friend’s spare room near Gatwick I honestly felt sick with nerves, but a new defensiveness too; ‘yes, I know I’m mad, but I’m bloody doing it!’ I already felt like I’d achieved something huge as our taxi pulled away and we started the perpetual motion of the airport; check-in, security, battle through the crowds at Pret, then coffee – lots of coffee – endless walking to the gate, knowing looks, surprised looks, ‘are you on your own? Gosh, that’s brave!’, sweating – lots of sweating! Once on the plane, I sank into my seat exhausted!
I am incredibly lucky, Atlas is generally a very happy, chilled little boy, but I had no idea how he would find this 4.5 hour flight. I’d clocked the lady in front of me and judging a book by its cover, had decided she wasn’t the sort of person who would take kindly to a distressed baby… I started feeding him, hoping to catch his natural morning nap window and he was asleep before we took off. He woke up just as we started landing and was peaceful and happy until we got stuck on the runway at Chania airport, waiting for the steps to disembark. As he started to fuss, the scary lady in front of me turned around, “Has he been there this whole flight?” she asked. When I said he had, she was seriously impressed and I combusted with pride!
As we got off the plane and the sun hit our faces I started to get properly excited for the first time. We were there! We’d done the scheduled bit and now we were in Crete! Me and my boy – mums and sons on tour! I knew we had a taxi waiting for us, but tried to surrender into taking as long as Atlas needed to get through the airport. He’d done so well and little people can smell stress from a million miles away. I relied heavily on the kindness of strangers as I searched high and low for our missing pushchair and spent plenty of time going around in circles while trying to keep an eye on Atlas and 3 bags (I’ve since learnt to pack MUCH lighter).
I had arranged for a car seat to be in the taxi, and trusted the person who had arranged the taxi – but with an hour long drive over a high mountain pass to come, I held my breath as I opened the passenger door to see what Atlas would be strapped into… thankfully, the seat was not only there, but probably better than the one we had at home. From Chania we needed to get to Hora Sfakia – one of the main terminus ports of the ANENDYK ferry company that services the south west coast of the island. The road is truly spectacular, rising up along hairpin switchbacks, through olive groves and vineyards, high into the Lefka Ori Mountains – which in the winter months are topped with snow. The lush high plateau in the centre of the island takes you by surprise, filled with arable farmland and pretty valleys, before it drops suddenly and very steeply back down to the coast.
At Hora Sfakia I knew there were several boats a day, and decent tavernas to wait in if need be. I chatted to the driver about my love of Crete and coming for an adventure with my son, and he called ahead to check timings in the port and make the remainder of our journey smooth as possible.
On the boat, Atlas was transfixed by the exquisite, deep blue water and nearby dry, rocky landscape we sailed along. When you first leave Sfakia, Loutro is a white dot on the horizon, but you soon round a headland and quite suddenly you’re greeted by steep mountains tumbling down straight into the Mediterranean Sea. There, glistening in a perfect horseshoe harbour is a small collection of pretty white buildings accented by blue window shutters, date palms and bougainvillaea. There are no roads into Loutro and the terrain limits booming development; the only access is by boat or walking in, this makes it both quiet and safe. As we approached this familiar place I loved so much, I explained to Atlas what we were seeing, with the biggest grin breaking across my face – he responded with one right back at me.
Laden with bags we arrived at the small hotel on the beach run by Alison, a lady I’m lucky to have come to call a friend over the years. Atlas and I were hot, sticky and ready to drop.
I have enormous respect and admiration for Alison; a British woman who fell in love with a Greek man while leading tours of the famous Cretan gorges in the 70s, she moved permanently to Crete and has made a wonderful life there, running the most wonderful hotel. She is fearless and no nonsense, but one of the kindest people I’ve met. When she discovered I was pregnant with Atlas she rang me to congratulate me, but more importantly to give me advice, “Anna, this is an exciting time but you must keep your power” she had said, accenting ‘keep your power’ in a way that was so passionate it was almost hostile. I didn’t understand her at the time, but now I do.
Alison generally does not permit small children to stay in her hotel, but she had made a special allowance for us – maybe to help me keep my power! – and put us in a self-catered room that was far enough away from the main hotel to be private, both for ourselves and the other guests hoping for a child-free stay. She suggested I remove Atlas’ hot clothes and let him run around while I unpacked. She then disappeared and returned moments later with a shallow bucket full of water for him to play in. He was in his element, splashing around, then waddling about looking at ants and relishing the freedom from his travel clothes, making us both laugh as we watched him. Then just as I was about to start unpacking he squatted down in the middle of our veranda and relieved himself! I was utterly mortified; it felt like a huge privilege to be staying in this mostly child-free hotel and here was my son, letting rip in front of the owner half an hour after arriving! But Alison just shrugged it off and went to get another bucket of water and mop, “Stop worrying. He’s a baby – that’s what they do…” she said, then, “You better hold onto the mop!”
She disappeared once more and when she returned this time, she brought the best thing imaginable – an ice-cold Mythos beer! I pulled on a sarong and Atlas and I walked the 70cms from our veranda to the beach. We sat on the pebbles watching the horizon change colour, and the villagers’ small boats moving across the bay. With a cold beer in one hand and Atlas’ hand in the other, I felt my body unclench and a huge surge of joy. Two taxis, one plane and a boat, and we’d arrived at our home for the next week. We’d done it, we were here, it was going to be a great holiday!
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