Time is marching on. And I can’t say I’ve done an awful lot in the time that has passed since I arrived in Crete. Other than acclimatise. And begin to make sense of this idea of being ‘back in the world’ after feeling so happily sheltered and horribly far away during the last six months in New Zealand. I’ve got to grips with my jet lag, day being night and night being day and all. And I’ve basked plenty in the late summer sun, so happy to have those beams warm my bones again. I’ve discovered the perfect (short and mostly downhill) sunrise run that takes me to Chiona, a sandy beach, where I sit and meditate a while and practice a few sun salutations. Although I can’t get over feeling incredibly self-conscious about that. And there’s absolutely no one on the beach at that time but me. It’s clearly an area I need to work on.
I’ve rented a tiny house in the village of Palaikastro, close to Ma’s spiti, and she and I have (re)discovered Scrabble and often play a game in the evening. We’re talking about taking it to the cafe on the beach for a post-lunch game. But aren’t too sure how we feel about people looking over our shoulders and spotting words that we don’t. Which is ridiculous, given we’re playing a word game in English in Greece. You see, an area to work on. We’ve also found our spot, under a tree, on the beach. So we almost always know where to find one another. There’s a rhythm developing. And it feels good.
And then on Friday, I broke the rhythm, as perhaps is my way, and came in search of some diving. It’s hard to believe, but it’s been two and half months since my Jacques Cousteau dives in Tutukaka, so it was definitely time. And I’ve been thinking a lot about what Charlie said. I met Charlie on a tiny aeroplane from Cebu to Dumaguete in the Philippines. She works as an occupational therapist in palliative care in the UK. And, as I had felt with so many people who have crossed my path this last year, I couldn’t help but think that she had been carefully positioned next to me, by the universe, to tell me that she dives ‘to remember who I am’. Because those words stuck with me. And I know exactly what she means.
So, on Saturday morning, I made my way to the dive centre in the port town of Agios Nikolaos. For my 52nd dive. Agios Nikolaos is less than 100 kilometres west along the coast from Palaikastro. And I’ve found a very cool, bright and airy apartment in town. Just a short walk down a very steep hill from the seafront. At the dive centre I met with Manu, the manager, and Eleni my dive guide. She had recently returned from New Zealand so we had lots to talk about. There were four other divers on the boat that day, who were doing certification dives with Manu. So Eleni and I were able to explore on our own. It was perfect. And as soon as I was back in the water, just as expected, I came flooding back. The ocean, or the sea, makes me feel small in the best kind of way. And I remember my breath. And for that 50 minutes or so, it’s almost as if that’s all there is.
The water temperature was 26 degrees, which sounds really warm. And although it’s close to double the temperature of the South Pacific in winter time, it’s 3 or 4 degrees colder than the Philippines or Indonesia. So I was happy that Eleni had put me in a 5.5mm wetsuit and told me that she too feels the cold. Everything went swimmingly. Literally. There is a clarity to the water in the Mediterranean that although I know about as a beach-goer and sea-swimmer here, I hadn’t really contemplated from the perspective of a diver. And it’s just beautiful. I’ve subsequently discovered that there aren’t the necessary nutrients in the water to support the growth of much phytoplankton (algae), which muddies the water. It’s also super salty, because there is more evaporation than rainfall. But whether these two things are linked is beyond me. I just know, that it made for some pretty special diving conditions. And that’s enough for me.
I also hadn’t considered how Greek the world underwater would be here. Which when put into words sounds ridiculous. But it really didn’t when it was just a thought. Of course the underwater topography reflects the landscape in quite obvious ways. Which is something I’ve thought about a lot as I’ve wandered along coastlines, studying rock pools, when I haven’t had the opportunity to dive. But it’s more than just that. We were diving in coves and inlets of what was an ancient port and the sea bed was strewn with huge bricks and rocks that would have once been ballast for old cargo vessels. And also not just with shards of old pottery, but some of these terracotta pots almost completely in tact. It really was so very Greek. There were also two World War 2 aircraft engines, complete with propellers and nearby, exploded bombshells inscribed with the date 1940. It was really quite something. Greece is a land, and sea, of antiquities.
But my favourite thing of all was as we were making our gentle ascent. At perhaps 8 or 9 metres, I looked up. As I always do. It’s important to know what’s above you. And there is something about sunlight filtering though water that just makes me grin. But on this dive, and I’ve never seen this before, I watched the waves crash against the rocky shoreline. From underneath. It was stunning and I was completely mesmerised. The way the water churned and frothed against the rocks before fading away. Just like waves do. But upside down. And silently. Peacefully.
I’ve been diving again today and will dive again tomorrow. And then on Wednesday, I’ll make my way back to Palaikastro. And Scrabble with Ma.
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