Driving West at sunset

Driving West At Sunset

I drive west, still thinking of my time with my brother.  We had an impromptu lunch at his lovely home of stuffed vegetables (Gemista) and a nice chat. It was a special interlude and I felt rested and happy. I had no intention to do anything other than to drive back to ‘our’ village which lies towards the East and is a fair distance from Heraklion.  Instead, something compels me to drive in the opposite direction and a little adventure. I intended to visit a little monastery that I love.

My first surprise was only ten minutes’ drive away, under a long and dull motorway bridge. Paleocastro or Old Castle.This is one of my favourite bits of Venetian engineering on Crete. A few kilometres west of the capital, it just blends into the Rock face and simply defies logic. I have always admired it. Today I decide to follow the sign to what I discover is an absolutely stunning beach beneath the cliff face. Only locals were swimming there, as no tourist would ever think there would be such a diamond of a find under a motorway bridge. Warning: If you decide to visit, however, and you meet a man that tells you there is a nice path up to the ruins....don't listen. He is insane. Oh, and once up there, put your pride aside and crawl down on your arse. Also, should you decide to follow his advice and take the precariously positioned crumbling cliff-edge path, bring a Bible or equivalent holy book and pray. Pray hard as you descend, and for pity's sake don't look down. Lovely view, frightening sheer drop.

Once I had climbed and entered through the vaulted entrance that is the only part that still stands, I was confronted, once again with the sheer brilliance of Venetian architecture.
  

I climbed the granite up to what must have been the first floor of the fort. It is built in a diamond shape, its sharp corner an extension of the cliff face.  It stands there, the two outer walls facing east and west, its perfect corner like a ship’s bow. Quite marvellous.

I drive on for another 30 minutes, and I am now convinced that I missed the sign to my intended destination, when suddenly there it is.  When I set off on the way to the monastery, I could not recall with any accuracy the distance from Heraklion. I somehow remembered it to be just around the corner, but it was infact a fair distance away, and  my little drive took me into the next prefecture.

The Monastery of Attali or Bai is built on the hill of Agia Ypakoi, west of Bali, with panoramic sea views to the sea and close to the main national road connecting Rethymnon to Heraklion. The region was isolated till 1970 and monastic practice flourished until the construction of the highway.

The monastery of Bali is dedicated to St. John the Baptist. The complex is built on two levels.  As I enter the complex, I see a middle-aged monk on one of the benches.  He appears lost in thought, as he looks at the sprawling landscape beneath us.  I guiltily take a photograph of him.  It is unusual to see a monk in the main visitor space.

There was apparently a heavy door guarding the only entrance to the complex. It is doubtful looking at the layout and the height of the walls that a gate could have stopped an onslaught, but one must remember that when it was built, there would have been steep rocks and hardly a path to be seen. With the construction of the motorway and the Monastery becoming of interest to visitors, a narrow winding singletrack has been built leading to the site. The Bay of Bali was one of the key points for supplying the rebels with ammunition and for communicating with liberated Greece. Turkish troops tried several times to occupy the area, causing severe damage to the monastery. In Sifnos, there exists another eponymous Bali monastery, which is believed to be the place the sacred icon of Our Lady was transferred to protect it from possible destruction.

I have visited the monastery a couple of times before, but this time, the wooden door leading to the upper level was unlocked. I run up the narrow stairs and wondered quietly in the beautiful narrow courtyard, formed by the narrow blocks of the monk cells and a room labelled ‘Trapeza’ or ‘bank’. There are large stone arches joining the sides of the living quarters. The colours of the materials have aged beautifully and the doors and windows are framed with suitable plants that can withstand the dry summers. 

I took some time just looking at how the weather has mellowed the colours of the stones and the plasters and looking for clues of the monastery's history. Parts of the upper block had collapsed at some point and although these did not detract in any way from the sense of order, I wondered why they had not been restored. I spent a long time looking at the surrounding mountains and the view in front of the little garden that frames the church. Then, as it was nearing closing time and everything had been secured, I reluctantly descended the steps back to the car park and drove back to the motorway.

There cannot be a nicer view that that that greets you as you descend down from the monastery of Ioanni Prodromou (St. John the forerunner)   The vast expanse of  cerulean and cobalt blue sea  of Bay of Bali  and beyond, is held like a baby by the massive range of the Talea Mountains.

Continuing my way down the winding single path, I see the monastery handyman’s van precariously parked near the sheer drop.  He is sitting above the chasm, his feet dangling over the edge, smoking. He turns to face me and I am too absorbed by my thoughts to greet him in time, and I continue down to the motorway. As I re-join the newly built road, I realise that I did not pick the best time to drive west. The sun is descending fast and the road is begging to glow a bright, blinding gold.