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Harvesting Grapes on the Island of Crete

I am spending long but flavorful hours in my ancestral home perched atop the highest point in the village. This structure is a building that dates back to Venetian times and served as a palace to the local aristocracy. Recently the Archeological Society of Crete unearthed an intricate tiled floor that, they estimate, dates back to the 15th century. How exciting! The villagers call it the “psifithoto”, meaning floor mosaic.

The smell of jasmine flowers permeates the dry dusty air. Fig trees are in full, juicy, purple ripeness. This morning, I took part in the harvest and stepping of the grapes at a local vineyard. I was ankle deep in grape juice that looked as thick and as dark as blood. It was an amazing feeling squishing those little grapes; I imagined I was crushing little brains in a way that was very therapeutic.

The crickets are singing away in their daily symphony, no rest for these creatures, day and night. A sure sign of scorching heat. Saturday night I will be attending a traditional Cretan wedding: outdoors, under the connect-the-dots stars, casual wear, goat and lamb on a spit, and pilaf rice. Then will come watermelon and white wine for desert, in time for some live musical entertainment and dancing on a rough pavement full of pebbles and dust. Gunshots are sure to follow, knowing that townspeople will become more and more drunk as the night goes on with a local drink called Raki. I think I’ll stick to wine, and hope to be enchanted by a tall, dark and handsome “palikari” (strapping young man).

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A Cuban afternoon sky

To come…