On the way to Lassithi, the plateau in the mountains of Crete, my wife, Andrew and I stopped to take some photos of the surround countryside.

Almost 100 feet later there was a church and we stopped again, because we could not resist the temptation to take a picture of a Church in Greece. I one-upped the one church quota with this two church shot …

The windmills themselves are nothing but ruins, relics of an era when wind was used to grind grains.

The view from the top of the ride is spectacular and most definitely worth stopping to check out.

Once we entered the plateau it was somewhat of a disappointment. As a child the plateau made a tremendous impression on me because it was the only bit of flat land I had ever seen on a Greek island. I suppose, when I was a child, I had found the notion that in the middle of these mountains there would be something flat to be very disturbing.

But in the end, a plateau that is used to farm, is just that, a plateau that is used to farm. I suspect if you stayed in this area for a month, you would notice some very subtle rhythms that seemed to speak out to me, but were ultimately lost in our rush to get in and get out.

After our hike up what we thought was Karfi, we were very hungry. The oranges were very tasty, but somewhat insubstantial.

The guide book offered a few places to go eat, but I wanted to check out what was available before I committed to anything.

We parked in front of a house that belonged to an old widow that I could not resist taking a picture of.

Our walk around the town made it quite clear that the right place to eat was at Taverna Kronio.

A small tavern that had been in business since 1965. The current owner, pictured below,  was a local who had married a French woman which explained why the wait staff (husband and son) spoke perfect French and the menu was written in perfect French cursive.

When we arrived at the restaurant, I was very hungry and demanded to start ordering. His reaction was funny. He goes:

Sit down, relax, this is not a Mc. Donald’s. There is a pace to how you will eat here.

He started the menu with an aperitif offering ouzo. I told him that I was a designated driver, and he gave me a priceless reaction:

Spare me. Soon we will be like Denmark. One little drink will not hurt.

And so we ordered food, chastised for being in a rush, and told to drink and if we needed to wait for the alcohol to be digested to sit and wait because there was no rush.

Across the way from us was a Kafenion with a set of locals who were drinking their coffee. Their mustaches and their looks were quintessentially Cretan.

Their patience and willingness to take their time to drink their coffee did much to convince this hurried man that he should slow down.

The food was very tasty and very colorful. What I find most interesting in Crete is how vivid the food colors are. The stifado is very red. The yellows/green of the artichoke was very yellow/green. There is something to be said for organically grown produce.

As we were about to leave to head towards the cave where Zeus was supposedly born, the owner warned us to not go. He said, there is a cave, and there is a fee to park, a fee to enter, a fee to smile, a fee to exit, a fee to frown, and if the local bureaucrat smiles he made decide that your car is a fee. With that warning, we decided to turn around and head back to Xersonissos.

Andrew had remarked the other day that he liked the oranges in Crete, and wondered if we could could buy some. Since the kinds of oranges he wanted could not be bought in a supermarket, I had to find a street side stall or a farmer’s market. Fortunately on the way to Lasithi there was an older man selling all kinds of Cretan produce.

His oranges looked quite miserable. They were beaten up and dirty and small. Our reaction was to be disdainful of the whole affair and turn to leave. The Cretan noticed our disdain, noticed how we were gingerly picking through his produce, and in a fit of pique, reached for a bag, and began to fill the bag himself.

Convinced that we had offended his Cretan pride, we bought the oranges and headed out, convinced that we had been had. These dirty, small, beaten oranges could not be that tasty, now could they?

Boy were we wrong! These must have been the tastiest oranges we have ever eaten without a hit of the acidity. They were pure breathtaking sweetness. Just look at the orange…

Andrew heard me moan in pleasure as I ate my orange, and could not be bothered to completely peel his, removing enough skin to begin to eat.

And he attacked the orange with passion and energy.

Just look at how juicy the were…