Holy Hill Hole

Small fishing village.
Small temple.
Big impression.

Stairs to where?

It appears it was renvovated in the last year. Fresh mortar and cement. Proper drainage added recently, chalky white water stain scars a foot from the ground are still visible. Rain must have been a nightmare before the well planned gutter was put in.

Musk oil, cloves, incense and old moisture were thick in the air of this small cave.

The icon portraits glimmered in the faint light. Pencil sized candles burned in a small pit of pebbles.

Quiet and solemn but not welcoming to me. Not when the sun was shining outside this tomblike room.

Pagans, Christ and Lots of Chocolate

Happy Hopless Easter Bunny!

I've got nothing against eggs and bunnies. They are delicious. Especially in See's Candies form. I'd have a coop of chickens if they laid milk chocolates wrapped in pretty foil. That coop would be a shrine to the chocolate gods- See's, Godiva, Hershey, Seattle's Best...

Eggs. The Bennett clan has a brutal egg hunt every year. My Dad's eyes gleam while giddily dying a dozen eggs (of which only three dozen will reach the table in edible condition, the rest are mutiliated in the fight). The hunt is vicious- sprinting, slapping, shoving, screaming, stealing and lots of blatant greed. The little ones get a head start but are soon trampled by the adults as my folks stand on the porch and watch like Romans at a Gladiator show.

  

Year round, a large pink silk egg is kept in the kitchen hutch at eye level. It's from my Dad's family and contains the names of those whose basket held the most eggs that year. I'm proud to say this fat old lady has had her name in there a few times. Very proud to be there among names that have been recorded since the 50's. Very proud to have my name in there. Pride. Another sin. Dang.
Brian and I are bummed to miss that well adored tradition. Easter is always a blast at the Bennett's Greenbank abode.


But eggs and Rabbit are not Easter. They're blasphemy. Yep, I said it.

Blasphemy? What? Rabbits and eggs? Yep. Putting the symbols of laughable fertility gods alongside the greatest act of grace. Neon colored eggs, adorable fuzzy bunnies and glittering decor next to the Son of God who was battered to death and rose from the grave for us undeserving peons. Yep.

I know I'm a sinner. I'll even boldly say a professional. Despite my many, many, many, well-honed, hourly shortcomings, I am born again. Yeah, don't choke too hard laughing, I am what I am. I know what I know. Christianity is absolutely crazy. An insane fairy tale but it is true. 

One summer night, at the tender age of fifteen, that Truth became my reality. It is the only thing in my life that never wavers- that Truth. The rest ebbs and flows more like the tides but that Truth holds me steadfast.

I can't explain it so I won't try. I'd fumble more than preteen boy trying to undo a bra. See? Colossal sinner. sigh

Now (I say as I step off my humble soap box) here's something I cannot stop smiling over. Not one to handle blood and guts no matter how delicious the meat, I cannot help but like this butcher shop.

Those are rabbits hanging there. Evil zombie bunnies hopping through the haunted forest. Yum.

This is what I know about rabbit from personal experience:

1. They truly taste like chicken.

2. When cooked they look like chicken but have tiny drumsticks.

3. Their poop is perfect little balls of brown. They'd make great Christmas garland. Popcorn, cranberries and poop.

3. Mommy rabbits will eat their young if human hands touch them when they are very little. When I was a kid our adorable white furball destroyed all 8 babies in a day. One day they were there, the next day gone- just tufts of fluff and blood.

4. Rabbits scream like human babies when you butcher them. My Dad never touched rabbit again after that.

Living in Crete, I've added new knowledge:

5. See the picture above? See their feet? Yes. It is cold in the fridge but those bits of fur aren't to keep their feet warm. No. Now here's something to ponder: there are lots of cats in Greece. Oodles of them wandering aimlessly and fairly easy to catch. So much easier than rabbits. Yep. Butchers were selling cats. Once skinned they look identical. Except the feet, hence a law to leave them some toasty slippers.

I wonder if cat tastes like chicken. I'm not opposed to trying any animal flesh as long as it's not a gut, butt or nut. Here kitty, kitty.

Happy Easter. May you know the true meaning of Christianity despite my shining crappy example.

I've got to go crucify some chocolate bunny ears with my teeth.

Speaking of sins- Cindy, my sister, is a serial Peep killer. She loves to nuke them just to watch them swell. What a sinner.

Aptera. How many crumbly rocks can you look at before you can say you're bored?

Wow. Lots of old broken bricks.
Parts of this place were used as early as 400BC for worship of the empty calf kind and for a cemetary.
Big earthquakes shook people away a few times.

This is St Johns place.
Those windows have new shutters and doors. There's also power hooked up but it's all locked.
Is there treasure? More broken rocks?

Here's the square of St. John.

It was small but cool. I was surprised the doors were normal height. No reason, just surprised.

This is one third of an underground cistern. There's a larger cistern but its missing the roof.

Slimy dark water, dank stench and ancient brick made for creepy awed Bella Lugosi feelings. Very cool. Creature of the Black Cistern cool.

Oh bummer. I can't remember the name or age of the castle peeking through the arch.

This was one wall of the large public bath. The Roman solider's was twice the size.

Oh. By the way. We're up high.

Really high.

And now I broke the law.

This castle is across the island highway.

In 1959 it was turned into a prison and now seems to be a crappy, single manned Greek military station.

We drove up to it and there are signs posted that we're not to photograph anything.

We're cheating. I don't see any signs from here. And just wait until I get my killer lens. I'll get photos of the guy sleeping in the booth at the gate.