About Crete and oh, oh Cherso

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As a seasoned globetrotter, an unpretentious getaway should be acceptable, right? Hence, a jaunt to Crete. I'd already been to Heraklion, Knossos, and Agios Nikolaos (cruises) a few times, but the inland? Undiscovered yet. Luckily, a brand-new concept of villas had hit the market, at a reasonable price, and it was just a stone's throw from a charming Greek village called Piskopiano. So, off I went, booking a flight with the Greek airline SkyExpress (food and drinks on board were payable) and returning with Brussels Airlines. Alright then! More about our accommodation and other interesting facts later.

Because oh, oh boy, you won't believe it. Our spot is two kilometers from Chersonissos. Perhaps this rings a bell, because that's the place for partygoers and night owls on the island. Not really my thing, you know. Cherso (as it's often abbreviated) was also the location for the RTL5 TV program "Oh, oh Cherso," which also aired on a VTM channel. It offered a glimpse into the lives of dimwitted, decadent youngsters drowning in an atmosphere of excessive alcohol consumption, drugs, and shameless sex. A truly banal spectacle! I happened to watch it for five minutes and was stunned by its pointlessness and triviality.

In short, as for my well-known stance on the downsizing of culture, the infantilization of tourism, the tasteless commercialization, and the decline of authenticity, genuine quality, and discovering a different, real world while traveling... all of that is right there in front of me. Ready to be savaged. No to the Disneyification and McDonaldization, rhyming with globalization and plastic, single-mindedness .

Cherso is a Dutch enclave. "Go wild in Chersonissos!" shouts the local "Hof Van Holland." They also have "Friet van Piet" (Fries from Piet). And how about a local brasserie called "Leidseplein"?

Besides the classic Greek dishes, meat croquettes, frikandels, cheese soufflés, and bitterballen (meatballs) are also sneaking onto the menu. And Amstel beer reigns supreme. But you can even find Duvel, for a mere 8 euros, please. During an afternoon stroll along the boulevard, "The Strip" is indeed a string of taverns, bars, strip clubs, discos, and even a pirate ship as a tourist boat tour attraction. And everywhere are those giant TV screens showing international football. I can just imagine the nightlife here, because the main target audience is young people aged 19 to 24. And there are also many bachelor/bachelorette parties. The movie "The Hangover" immediately comes to mind.

Our "hotel" is mainly Dutch and occasionally a few Belgians, but it's a more refined and relaxed

crowd, and that's exactly what I like. As you venture a little deeper inland, everything becomes much quieter, more pleasant, more authentic, cheaper, and friendlier. This also applies to our accommodation, apart from the fact that there was construction going on everywhere nearby, with all the sounds of a construction site. And our accommodation was supposed to open on May 1st, but in reality, it wasn't ready until June 1st, barely five days before our arrival. Teething problems guaranteed. The owners said, " You're the first! " and asked for honest feedback on anything that could be improved. I almost didn't dare submit a list of improvements, even though everything we asked for or that was missing was quickly resolved.

In the end, it doesn't really matter to us. Friendly owners, by the way.

The most incredible and striking side effect in Cherso is the car rental companies. The parking

lots for rental cars at the airport are already enormous (we had the new Fiat Panda at Hertz), but here there are definitely more rental cars than locals. And quad bike rentals are booming too. It's quite annoying and ridiculous to see (and hear!) those tough, often half-naked, and heavily tattooed guys roaring past a quiet village pub. And then there are buggies, scooters, and so on. No wonder parking is the number one problem here.

This clearly puts Chersonissos in the same league as Albufeira, Magaluf, Playa del Bossa, Rimini, Lloret de Mar, El Arenal, Salou, and so on. Nevertheless, we decide to take a two-hour tour on a mundane tourist train, a trip called "Villages and Beaches." A pointless torture for our backsides, with hardly any legroom. The commentary, delivered in five languages, proved unintelligible. Nothing special to see. Just the bustling main street of Chersonissos, endless hotels and tourist resorts, and ordinary beaches.

Sometimes even areas with hotels that reach the coastline, complete with swimming pools, but no beach and only annoying, dangerous rocks. Well... And every now and then we have our reservations about "cheaper" Greece. Because I suffer from severe back pain, I go to a Thai massage parlor, five euros more expensive than in Belgium. Not so.

But we still enjoyed ourselves. Our village is small, charming, and cozy, with no fewer than seven tavernas, a few bars, small supermarkets, and shops. The same goes for Old Chersonissos, with its charming central square where we had a delicious meal at "Sofas." Like a perfectly grilled, super-fresh sea bream. We went back three times. We also discovered a dish called "pitakia" for 8.50 euros, which looks like a taco but is filled with slow-cooked pancetta, tzatziki, tomato, and much more. Wonderful! That's how we became friends with the waiter, Costas, a beautifully aged Greek character.

We're talking about food quality and the tasteless trends of international cuisine. Two tourists ask him, " Do you make sandwiches ?" Shocked, he directs them to a supermarket where they sell pre-packaged sandwiches. Costas listens to us, mumbles something about never being able to have a decent conversation with tourists and about friendship. And then his eyes start to swell. An emotional moment. We say goodbye and hug.

Even in the typical family restaurant called "Gevski," a friendly and affable older woman with white hair enthusiastically discusses her dishes. We call her "Babouchka."

With my limited, but occasionally rediscovered, knowledge of Greek and a sense of humor, you always win hearts. Everywhere we go, we get an original dessert and a spicy raki on the house as a bonus. Think, for example, of a creamy, full-fat yogurt with caramelized quince , a raw, inedible, pear-shaped fruit that proved a revelation here.

A day trip via the seaside resort of Lamia takes us to Sissi (also sometimes spelled Sisi), a truly lovely, peaceful place where you can relax with a drink in soft armchairs, right next to the sea. An idyllic highlight. The drive is also quite pleasant. Through the mountains that offer far-reaching views of the coastline. And we also indulge in fifteen minutes of soaking our feet in a pool teeming with tiny fish, eagerly devouring our nibbly, dead skin.

Koutoulofari, barely 500 meters from us, is a similar village where you can enjoy a pleasant stroll and lunch. But for four evenings, I make a real Greek salad with feta and tzatziki, tarama, and bread in our modest kitchen, washed down with delicious local retsina, and often preceded by a refreshing ouzo. It was lovely on our terrace. The evening sun. It doesn't need more than that. And since everything inevitably gets thrown away after we leave, I donate our leftover food and drinks to our neighbors to the north, who receive it like manna from heaven.

The return trip proved rather unpleasant. Arriving at Heraklion Airport three hours early with a dire shortage of seats and even standing room… not pleasant! It was almost impossible to wade through the crowds. Some people stood for hours. There was also a dire lack of clarity and information signage, albeit doused with constant, unintelligible " Pling Plong!" announcements in various languages. Still, flying over Venice and its lagoon was a minor highlight (!).

Yassas! Whoa! ευχαριστω