Collective memory is a concept that a tour guide in Acrotiri introduced us to as she opined the existence of Atlantis on Santorini. Atlantis first surfaced through the writings of Plato, in his Timaeus and Critias, the first 2 parts of his unfinished trilogy. According to one theory, promoted by our tour guide, Plato remembered the existence of Atlantis in his subconscious shared by generations before him in a collective memory passed through the layers of human history. In Crete, like Santorini, this geologically violent island exudes a collective memory that has created a sort of gravity, attracting generations of people since Neolithic times, exposing the layers of thousands of years of human civilization at once.
The ruins of Phaistos perched above groves of olive trees as far as the eye can see
Our base of operations, home if you will, is a great example of such a place. Located on the shores of the Libyan Sea, the southern part of the Mediterranean sandwiched between the north coasts of Libya and Egypt, and the southern coast of Crete, lies the Messara Plain and the towns of Pitsidia and Matala. Dotted throughout sublime olive groves and neatly cultivated vines of grapes, the land’s collective memory serves up ancient Minoan cities, Roman ports, counter-culture hippies and modern-day family farms simultaneously. With foreboding drama, we were treated to a primordial welcome from the depths of the earth with a 6.5 point earthquake off the coast of southern Crete within the first hour of arriving at our rental house. Sitting on the gently undulating pool deck, chandeliers swaying back and forth, we knew we had arrived in a very special place.
Otto contemplating what life was like 4,000 years ago
As we mapped out our global circuit many months ago, we hoped that this part of Crete would be a place we could just hang out, live, settle into a routine and discover a less-touristy part of Greece. Our villa is just outside Pitsidia and Matala, with our pastoral property bordering on an olive tree grove and watched by a vineyard suspended above our pool. We have several house geckoes, a Messara horse on the other side of the fence, and a rooster who has no concept of dawn, crooning at all hours of the day and night. Having a break from crowded city streets and clumps of meandering tour bus groups is nice, enabling us all to catch up on work, school, books and of course, the daily torture from Shaun T. The coastline in and around Matala has such extreme beauty, tantalizing beaches, aquamarine water, intriguing ruins and delectable tavernas, it’s hard to imagine venturing beyond the Messara Plain to see the more popular sites and destinations Crete has to offer.
The caves of Matala hanging on the cliff, nestling the finely pebbled beach.
Indeed, unknown to us, Matala is actually a global phenomenon that has become a living symbol of peace, love and understanding. In caves built over 4,000 years ago by Minoan denizens (check out Otto’s post to learn more), hippies from around the world discovered Matala and set up their own village amongst the ancient caves. Attracting international attention, Matala became home to American draft dodgers fleeing Vietnam, Germans seeking shelter from lingering European scorn after World War II, global travelers skipping between continents, and self-named “freaks” who were on permanent walkabouts.
Tuck and Jones channeling their inner hippie
As luck would have it, a documentary was recently completed chronicling the Matala experience, and an open-air screening of the film, called “Hippie! Hippie! Matala! Matala!” was presented last night in the public square. Watching the film as we gazed up at the caves carved high into the cliff’s above the town bathed in a prehistoric glow from flood lights, I was struck by the pride and connection the locals had as they sipped home brewed raki and ate grilled seafood. Laughing at themselves in pictures from 40 years ago, remembering past neighbors and reveling in the steeped history their corner of the world embodied, I was struck by the way these people embrace foreigners like us, taking us in as part of the community for the brief time we care to linger.
Watching “Hippie! Hippie! Matala! Matala!” with the whole town
The owner of our rental car company has lived in Matala his whole life, and serves as an example of what I’m talking about. His family owns over 1,000 olive trees nestled onto the Messara Plain, supplying olive oil for the entire family, friends and part of the community. He also is one of the sponsors of the film and an annual festival in Matala, inviting us to the screening and promising a bottle of the family vintage of olive oil. Like part of the family, he and everyone else in this town welcome us with no judgment and no exasperation, despite being at the tail end of an 8-month, non-stop tourist season. While some say Matala is not what it used to be, becoming more of a tourist spot than it once was, the locals seem to have a different view. At the end of the Stone Age, people were drawn to this spectacular stretch of coast. The Minoan royalty built summer palaces on the shores of what is now Pitsidia. The Ancient Greeks in Hellenistic times flocked here after the Minoans were seemingly wiped off the face of the planet. The Romans then conquered and built Goyers, where Brutus liked to vacation, hanging out in the same caves that our modern day hippies settled and brought the current tourist wave to this part of the world. Now it’s our turn, pulled in by the same gravity that our collective memory encourages and cajoles.
Sunset at Matala Beach
I looked at my own family tucked between Cretan families, engrossed in the story (despite two unnamed twins doing their best to disrupt), and realized, right now, right here… we’re exactly where we are supposed to be. Matala has a tagline born out of its counter-culture roots in the sixties: “Today is life. Tomorrow never comes.”
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