The Last Few Days
In the next few days, we went to Rethemnon and its fortress, and Chania, a charming town reminiscent of Venice, and went back to Heraklion and the Palace in sunshine. We talked to an American couple who were terrified of going anywhere without their tour bus - and realized that they were the first Americans (barring the drunken college students in Arachova) that we’d encountered. We shopped a little in Athens.
We flew back to Athens and did more sightseeing there, having tea with the young stylish set at Lycavittos, taking the one-day cruise to three islands and falling in love with Hydra, the tiniest, artist-colony one. I drank ouzo dipped from a vat while a young Englishman tried to seduce my blushing daughter; we revisited the tavernas we’d enjoyed the first time.
But it was almost Easter, almost the beginning of the tourist season. It was noticeably warmer. And the Acropolis, nearly empty that first shining morning, was becoming crowded. Our concierge at the Nefeli, Apostopolos, said that in two weeks the Plaka would be so full we'd never be able to sleep at night. So we returned home to reality - and to plotting our return. We have, figuratively, drunk from the Peirian Spring, and will never be the same.