One of the things I enjoy most on holidays is hiking. I have been up and down (actually down and up) various trails in the Grand Canyon, around a four day hike in the Himalayas, along the Inca trail and round and about in more places than I can count. Although I am older now, and knee problems have reduced what I can do, I can still make the easier walks. I was younger and fitter when I went down the Samaria Gorge, which downhill is a relatively pleasant and easy stroll.
The Samaria Gorge is 18 kilometres long and runs from a ranger station at Xyloskalo to the Iron Gates at Agia Romeli. It is not merely the longest gorge in Europe it is also the most visited. Some guide books claim that in ancient times the Cretan people avoided the gorge believing it to be populated by demons. Looking at the hordes of tourists that race down it every day it's hard not to reach the conclusion that they were probably right. Most of these tourists are ferried in by bus in the morning and picked up in the evening at the bottom by the ferry. Some do it the easy way and start at the bottom, walk up the gentle last kilometre to the narrowest point, the so-called 'Iron Gates', take a photograph to prove that they were really there and then walk back to Agia Romeli for lunch.
Doing it properly you begin at Xyloskalo which sounds like a planet out of Doctor Who but is in fact a word meaning 'wooden stairway'. However before you start there are the park rules to be memorised, for the Samaria Gorge is a Greek National Park. My helpful Guide Book lists them.
The use of auxiliary paths is only permitted on presentation of a permit from the Forestry Commission of Chania.
Strictly forbidden within the National Park are
Camping, overnight stays, lighting fires and swimming.
Destroying, disturbing, collecting or in any way interfering with geological formations, plants, animals, historical monuments, signposts or other constructions. Also forbidden are hunting and the grazing of flocks.
The free circulation of any pet accompanying visitors.
The dumping of rubbish in any place other than rubbish bins.
Smoking except in the special rest areas.
The consumption of alcoholic beverages.
The possession of firearms, traps or snares.
Hunting and fishing.
Radios, singing, the throwing of stones or other disturbing noises.
Violators of the regulations will be prosecuted and will incur the penalties laid down in articles 268,275,276,277,280,283,285,286 and 287 of Legislative Decree no. 86/1969, concerning the Forestry Code and according to the statutes of Legislative Decree 9061/1971.
With these dire admonitions and not a little curiosity about the contents of those carefully enumerated articles rattling around in our heads we began then at Xyloskalo and for a hundred or so metres of descent went down a series of uneven steps, not wooden but rock and gravel. Already I was beginning to notice the strange footwear that some of the people there had. Our party was unusual in that we all wore boots, as recommended. By far the most common footwear was the ubiquitous training shoe, varying from cheap canvas pairs to expensive designer labels that would almost certainly be useless for much else when the walk had ended. There was also a sizeable minority who considered such items as flip-flops, sandals, slippers or ordinary shoes to be suitable. I didn't see anyone in high heels but I'd be willing to bet that there were some.
The quickest that I believe it would be possible to descend the gorge, drinking on the hoof and not hanging about to look at anything, is about four hours. We took a more leisurely pace, beginning at about ten and finishing at around five. It would be pointless to try to describe the walk in detail. As long as you keep on going down it is impossible to get lost (even for someone like me, who once got lost on the similarly simple Inca trail) and soon our party was scattered along a couple of kilometres. We would meet up and walk together in various combinations for a while before separating again. There are a number of areas designated as rest areas where at least a few of the party were usually to be found. At one such area I found Linda with her boots off having somehow managed to blacken her toes as I did last year in Peru. Cory, our resident doctor who was probably wishing he'd claimed to be a window cleaner, performed a quick bit of field surgery, piercing the nails with a hot needle to allow the pressure to be relieved, and we set off again. At the same stop there was a small church and after about ten minutes of trying I managed to take a picture without any people on it.
Further down, perhaps a little short of halfway is the deserted, except for tourists, village of Pano Samaria. You cross a small bridge to reach it and here we paused for a lunch break and a rest. A man with a horse with a distinctly uncomfortable looking wooden saddle was there offering, for a fee, to give rides down the remaining 9.5 km to anyone too injured or too weary to go on. The saddle looked so much like a medieval torture device that he found few takers even among the walking wounded whose numbers were by now mounting.
Soon we re-crossed the bridge and continued down. Later the horse passed us carrying a young woman with a badly grazed leg and a heavily bandaged ankle. She looked as if she could not decide which was more unpleasant - riding or walking.
Towards the end of the Gorge there is the narrowest points, the Sidheresportes - The Iron Gates. Here the walls rise above you with a slight overhang so that they appear to be closer at the top than the bottom. They are a mere eight feet apart and the bed of the river runs through them They would be a good deal more impressive without the six inch wide hose that has run, mostly invisibly, down the length of the gorge. Here it is an obtrusive line down the centre of the ravine
From the Gates there was only a little way left and soon we were assembling at the exit gate, taking pictures and drinking cans of Cola bought at the shop. Once outside it was a short and pleasant stroll to the town of Agia Romeli where, unlike the majority of walkers we were to stay for a couple of nights. We sat outside a bar on the corner of the main street sipping cold beer and watching the survivors limp in.
My Guide Book describes Agia Romeli as 'completely characterless and solely geared to earning its income for just a few hours each afternoon when the walkers arrive'. There is some truth in the description but it is over harsh. The locals are friendly enough, if you take the trouble to talk to them and staying on for a night or two after the walk is a far more civilised way of doing things than mindlessly catching the ferry and then a bus back to Khania or wherever.
This poem wasn't written for the Samaria Gorge, it was written, as the title suggests, after a very tough day's hiking uphill on the Inca Trail. I think it captures the feeling.
On the Inca Trail
One step after another.
Raise a foot. Swing it forward.
Slam it down.
Breathe hard.
One step after another.
Back foot pulled from sucking mud
Clears the ground.
Breathe hard.
One step after another.
Stop.
Breathe hard.
Look up the hill at the miles to go.
Don't look back, no need to know
How little's gone.
Look at the rapidly receding back
Of the fastest fittest hiker on the track,
And then go on.
One step after another.
Try to keep a steady tread
Of laboured paces.
Breathe hard.
One step after another.
At every one you wish you were
In other places.
Breathe hard.
One step after another.
The Samaria Gorge is 18 kilometres long and runs from a ranger station at Xyloskalo to the Iron Gates at Agia Romeli. It is not merely the longest gorge in Europe it is also the most visited. Some guide books claim that in ancient times the Cretan people avoided the gorge believing it to be populated by demons. Looking at the hordes of tourists that race down it every day it's hard not to reach the conclusion that they were probably right. Most of these tourists are ferried in by bus in the morning and picked up in the evening at the bottom by the ferry. Some do it the easy way and start at the bottom, walk up the gentle last kilometre to the narrowest point, the so-called 'Iron Gates', take a photograph to prove that they were really there and then walk back to Agia Romeli for lunch.
Doing it properly you begin at Xyloskalo which sounds like a planet out of Doctor Who but is in fact a word meaning 'wooden stairway'. However before you start there are the park rules to be memorised, for the Samaria Gorge is a Greek National Park. My helpful Guide Book lists them.
The use of auxiliary paths is only permitted on presentation of a permit from the Forestry Commission of Chania.
Strictly forbidden within the National Park are
Camping, overnight stays, lighting fires and swimming.
Destroying, disturbing, collecting or in any way interfering with geological formations, plants, animals, historical monuments, signposts or other constructions. Also forbidden are hunting and the grazing of flocks.
The free circulation of any pet accompanying visitors.
The dumping of rubbish in any place other than rubbish bins.
Smoking except in the special rest areas.
The consumption of alcoholic beverages.
The possession of firearms, traps or snares.
Hunting and fishing.
Radios, singing, the throwing of stones or other disturbing noises.
Violators of the regulations will be prosecuted and will incur the penalties laid down in articles 268,275,276,277,280,283,285,286 and 287 of Legislative Decree no. 86/1969, concerning the Forestry Code and according to the statutes of Legislative Decree 9061/1971.
With these dire admonitions and not a little curiosity about the contents of those carefully enumerated articles rattling around in our heads we began then at Xyloskalo and for a hundred or so metres of descent went down a series of uneven steps, not wooden but rock and gravel. Already I was beginning to notice the strange footwear that some of the people there had. Our party was unusual in that we all wore boots, as recommended. By far the most common footwear was the ubiquitous training shoe, varying from cheap canvas pairs to expensive designer labels that would almost certainly be useless for much else when the walk had ended. There was also a sizeable minority who considered such items as flip-flops, sandals, slippers or ordinary shoes to be suitable. I didn't see anyone in high heels but I'd be willing to bet that there were some.
The quickest that I believe it would be possible to descend the gorge, drinking on the hoof and not hanging about to look at anything, is about four hours. We took a more leisurely pace, beginning at about ten and finishing at around five. It would be pointless to try to describe the walk in detail. As long as you keep on going down it is impossible to get lost (even for someone like me, who once got lost on the similarly simple Inca trail) and soon our party was scattered along a couple of kilometres. We would meet up and walk together in various combinations for a while before separating again. There are a number of areas designated as rest areas where at least a few of the party were usually to be found. At one such area I found Linda with her boots off having somehow managed to blacken her toes as I did last year in Peru. Cory, our resident doctor who was probably wishing he'd claimed to be a window cleaner, performed a quick bit of field surgery, piercing the nails with a hot needle to allow the pressure to be relieved, and we set off again. At the same stop there was a small church and after about ten minutes of trying I managed to take a picture without any people on it.
Further down, perhaps a little short of halfway is the deserted, except for tourists, village of Pano Samaria. You cross a small bridge to reach it and here we paused for a lunch break and a rest. A man with a horse with a distinctly uncomfortable looking wooden saddle was there offering, for a fee, to give rides down the remaining 9.5 km to anyone too injured or too weary to go on. The saddle looked so much like a medieval torture device that he found few takers even among the walking wounded whose numbers were by now mounting.
Soon we re-crossed the bridge and continued down. Later the horse passed us carrying a young woman with a badly grazed leg and a heavily bandaged ankle. She looked as if she could not decide which was more unpleasant - riding or walking.
Towards the end of the Gorge there is the narrowest points, the Sidheresportes - The Iron Gates. Here the walls rise above you with a slight overhang so that they appear to be closer at the top than the bottom. They are a mere eight feet apart and the bed of the river runs through them They would be a good deal more impressive without the six inch wide hose that has run, mostly invisibly, down the length of the gorge. Here it is an obtrusive line down the centre of the ravine
From the Gates there was only a little way left and soon we were assembling at the exit gate, taking pictures and drinking cans of Cola bought at the shop. Once outside it was a short and pleasant stroll to the town of Agia Romeli where, unlike the majority of walkers we were to stay for a couple of nights. We sat outside a bar on the corner of the main street sipping cold beer and watching the survivors limp in.
My Guide Book describes Agia Romeli as 'completely characterless and solely geared to earning its income for just a few hours each afternoon when the walkers arrive'. There is some truth in the description but it is over harsh. The locals are friendly enough, if you take the trouble to talk to them and staying on for a night or two after the walk is a far more civilised way of doing things than mindlessly catching the ferry and then a bus back to Khania or wherever.
This poem wasn't written for the Samaria Gorge, it was written, as the title suggests, after a very tough day's hiking uphill on the Inca Trail. I think it captures the feeling.
On the Inca Trail
One step after another.
Raise a foot. Swing it forward.
Slam it down.
Breathe hard.
One step after another.
Back foot pulled from sucking mud
Clears the ground.
Breathe hard.
One step after another.
Stop.
Breathe hard.
Look up the hill at the miles to go.
Don't look back, no need to know
How little's gone.
Look at the rapidly receding back
Of the fastest fittest hiker on the track,
And then go on.
One step after another.
Try to keep a steady tread
Of laboured paces.
Breathe hard.
One step after another.
At every one you wish you were
In other places.
Breathe hard.
One step after another.
2 comments:
From thousands of feet to few on seashore of Libya, Crete’s Samaria George happens to be attractive, crude & adventurous trek on land of ancient civilization of Greece. By the time of the break comes, there is a worthy visit to 14th century old chapel of Osia Maria, origin of Samaria George. Its nature offers a delight of 450 rare vegetations & wonderful wild life, which includes famous natural goats; kri-kri.
The Samaria Gorge is certainly a visit that I'd recommend. It's only marred, like the various popular walks down the Grand Canyon, by the sheer numbers of people that follow it. I know it's a bit selfish of me to wish that the crowds weren't there, to want the pleasure of a solitary walk, but I'd love to make the same walk again when there was no one else there.
As I posted elsewhere, if you are in the area and have hiked down (or maybe up) the Samaria Gorge, you should also check out the Imbross Gorge, which is also lovely and has nowhere near as many people clutering up the view.
:D
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