Whoever visits Crete ...

... is not a cretin, and neither is anybody living there.  At the end of March, I had the opportunity to visit Crete, the largest island in Greece and the southernmost of the Mediterranean islands. On this island with an exceptionally rich history, what I appreciate most as a biologist is its extraordinary natural heritage.

 

Since spring is – or should be – the time when birds are migrating from their overwintering grounds in Africa towards their nesting grounds in Europe via one of the Mediterranean trails, and given that the western part of Crete is one of the intermediate stops of this migration, I was all the more enthusiastic about the trip, and my expectations were rather high. Moreover, Crete is also a paradise for botanists this time of year: the blooming of numerous orchids of the Orchis and Ophrys genera, tulips, and other Mediterranean botanical attractions provided an additional reason for my excitement. 

 

However, when I arrived in Chania, the second largest city in Crete, and looked out the window in the room of my hotel overlooking the port built by the Venetians in their relatively long period of rule, I was actually quite shocked. There were black swifts and swans flying over the church combining the remains of the Muslim mosque, a reminder of the long-term Ottoman rule in Crete, with the even older Christian basilica, renovated after the Turks left (in the spirit of ecumenical brotherhood, the minaret was left standing); the high mountains of the Lefka Ori mountain range dominated in the background, their slopes covered in more snow than we have seen in the Alps during the entire winter. I immediately felt like cross-country skiing down one of these slopes but quickly abandoned the idea: we all know that the mighty Cretan mountaintops are only meant to be enjoyed by the gods, of which I, obviously, am not one. 

 

 

Long story short: at an altitude of about 1,000 metres, Crete seemed like a winter wonderland, which was not the best prospect for my nature-related excursions of the island, and turned out to be at least partially true. The winter in Crete was extremely harsh this year, with lots of downfall and storms; in addition to covering the higher regions of the island in snow, these weather conditions also provoked numerous landslides which made many a road completely impassable and destroyed, even as late as the end of March.

 

During the first three days, the weather was nice, and as my wife was dealing with her congress-related obligations, I was able to enjoy some ornithological and botanical trips. Unfortunately, I was a little disappointed: in two relatively well-known ornithological areas, there were either no birds or I only managed to see some completely ordinary species that I could have also seen on a walk taking me 10 minutes from my house. The migrating birds were nowhere to be found. The same also happened on the northern coast; the Akrotiri peninsula, however, provided an interesting botanical experience with its numerous monasteries, typical Mediterranean “garrigue” (dry landscape with shrubs and grasslands), and the cultural landscape surrounding them.

 

 

 

 

 

 

On the second day, I crossed the hills to get to the still extremely wild southern part of the island that one can also reach by taking one of the numerous footpaths leading through deep, narrow gorges (the most famous of many being the Samaria gorge); this time around, however, these footpaths were closed due to the abundance of water and falling rocks. I had to make do by driving from one desolated tourist town to another. Usually, the tourist season in Crete begins at the beginning of April; the last week of March, however, only a handful of waiters had just begun cleaning what was left of the previous season from the tables and bars in various beach cafés.

 

The southern coast of the island is definitely picturesque. This time around, its extremely steep and often inaccessible slopes were in full bloom, exploding in mostly yellow hues of especially asphodel and Greek spiny spurge, plants which cannot be found on the Adriatic coast. However, there were no birds either: not unless you count six whimbrels and two little ringed plovers on the sea dune in front of the Venetian fortress of Frangokastello, who quickly left the ground and flew out to sea. Since these species of birds are generally not very timid, their reaction was probably a consequence of the negative encounters they’ve had with people on their migration trail.

 

 

 

As I was leaving to go back to the northern part of the island with a somewhat long face, I experienced a new shock. The closest route through the Kourtaliotiko canyon was completely ruined and closed for traffic due to winter rainfall and storm waters. The road itself was blocked with a metre-high barrier consisting of clumps of earth; when I saw two locals successfully circumvent it with their cars, I naturally imitated them. But I didn’t get far: there were enormous quantities of rocks on the road that the two locals managed to zigzag through, but the right part of the road suddenly went missing, and I could see it lying some hundred metres below us, in the canyon of the river. This discovery did nothing to stave off the crazy locals; as for me, I drove backwards for about 200 metres, since it was impossible to turn around from the point I was at. I had to make a 30-kilometre detour through various country roads to get back to the northern side of the island.

 

 

I was lucky, however: as I was coming back to the parking lot at the entrance of the canyon, I saw two griffon vultures descending into the canyon before rising towards other vultures who were circling high in the sky. All in all, there were about 20 large birds, flying over the canyon and flowing through the air without any effort. Because the road was impassable, I was unexpectedly granted the opportunity to be able to snap some really good photos of these endangered scavenger birds. Even though I'd already seen these birds on “our” Cres, I’d never seen them up close and under such an angle, let alone been able to take a photo of them. Thus, the day ended in superlatives. 

 

 

 

In joyful anticipation of the next day, I started making new plans. However, the weather deteriorated overnight, and an extremely strong gust of the illustrious Meltemi wind, a distant cousin of our Bora wind, provoked 3-4-metre-high waves in the Venetian port, hitting the lighthouse and the defensive wall of the old port with considerable picturesqueness.

 

 

 

Winter had come back, and my nature trips were more or less over. Not completely, though: on the last day, when my wife’s congressional obligations were over, we managed to visit one of the most important botanical curiosities of Crete – a mere two-square-kilometres of grassy hillside located on a plateau rising at an altitude of around 800 metres above the town of Spili in the interior of the island. We were lucky to be able to see hundreds of blooming orchids, including bee orchids, while the wild tulips were rather late this year due to the cold winter, and had not opened up their petals just yet. There wasn't much to prompt them to do so, either: during our visit, we were greeted by sleet and extremely cold winds. It was really cold, to say the least, but the experience was nevertheless pleasant, even though we did not see any specimens of the bearded vulture, the most endangered vulture species. We heard that about two dozen of them were still picking clean the bones of dead animals at the slopes of the Oros Idi mountain range, but we didn’t have the time (or the weather) to be able to stay on the lookout for these majestic birds.