Other places in Crete

Chania region Heraklion region Lasithi (Eastern Crete) Rethymnon region Tympáki

So discreet in Crete

From the Daily Mail
There was a time when Crete, to me, was loud clothes, clubs and loadsa ouzo and lemonade to wash down the pizza. But that was then. Today I'm two decades too old for the club scene and I've reached that stage where I no longer need the sun to sizzle. Just warm enough to sit outside eating yoghurt and fruits for breakfast will do nicely, thank you.
Nowadays I own walking boots and a book on wild flowers. So hello middle age; holidays in April and May and, hello Western Crete. Arriving was good. Hot afternoon sunshine and a little girly hire car to get my partner and I over the White Mountains to the south coast for the first part of a two-week holiday.
You know those charity boxes where you place a penny at the top and watch it zigzag to the bottom? Well that's what the fenceless mountain road to the tiny hamlet of Kapsodassos is like, with roadside shrines to those who didn't make it every mile or so just to make it a little more unnerving. But we made it to Nikita's House and the tension and stress dripped away.
The house is surprisingly un-Greek, with large rooms and a plain plaster exterior. Behind us a tiny white church and mountains with snow on top. In front, nothing but goats and olive trees on a plain that slopes down to the sea which extends to Libya. We are on the extreme southern edge of Europe and there's definitely a brushstroke of Africa about this coastline.
I am bowled over by the wild flowers. There are so many, everywhere. Yellows, whites, reds and blues. All frilly and dancing alongside the lanes and up the hills. I have always loved the silvery romance of olive groves. But these wild Cretan spring flowers transform the groves into a heaven I wouldn't have believed possible.
We would regularly picnic in the fields, or on our terrace where the only noises are the purr of the fridge and the goat bells. Twice a day, the herd nibbles its way up from the coastal plain, through our garden, along our lane and back down into the olive groves.
On Easter night, we can hear the priest's voice from a distant church across the hills and at midnight we can see candles in the distance and fishermen's flares substituting for fireworks along the coast.

Read more in our destination guide to Crete.