Tales Of Crete -- Damnoni's Cave Man -- 2.

Tales of Crete© Damnoni’s Cave Man By Jack Schimmelman Upon first glance from the edge of a cliff, Damnoni appeared to be heaven. It was an isolated beach bordered by crystal clear azure waters which lazily lapped upon the shore. There was no paved road leading to it, so I made like a goat and moved myself down to the beach, finding small rocky paths to enable my descent. I had walked more than 60 kilometers in a week and was bone tired. When I finally reached the beach, I saw that set back away from the water were two cafes (one with a roof and the other outdoors), which were bordered by green fields and groves of trees. One of the cafes had an outside shower; ice cold, which wasn’t a bad thing considering the average temperature that summer would be 100˚F (37-38˚C). I sat down at one of the tables at the outdoor cafe when I heard a voice say, “You look like you’ve been walking through hell. Welcome!” I turned to see a group of people sitting at a long wooden table who, in the ensuing months, would become my intimate friends. The voice belonged to a 28 year old Argentinean named Jorge. He and I instantly recognized the other. “You have no idea,” I managed to respond. “Oh, I think I do,” he assured me. Jorge means earth worker. And this is what he appeared to be. Not that he looked like a construction worker, but rather a sinewy black skinned man with chiseled features who walked in a permanent slope. A man of the Earth. He was unassuming. I discovered later he created beautiful, fine jewelry from shells. Next to him sat a beautiful, dark, short young German girl whose name was Margot. Next to her was her boyfriend, Werner and still next to him was a woman who could only be described as a Nordic Goddess, whose name was Anke. She had long blonde hair, a magnificent body with intense blue eyes. She, too, was German. In fact, most of the people I would meet on this beach that summer would be German. I would be the sole American. Jorge decided to be my tour guide. We walked to the edge of the Libyan Sea and with his arms waved north south east west, all the while accompanied by a narrative explaining in his inimitable fashion each area of our immediate environment. With his back to the water, he began. “On your right is the first mountain that leads to the second beach. We never wear clothes on that beach. Way too hot. After that is the second mountain

which leads to the third beach. Very few ever make it that far. And further down from there is the legendary ‘Prevelli Beach,’ which is the only part of Crete that is populated by Palm Trees. There is a tropical current from Alexandria, Egypt that laps against the shore and creates the soil for growing Palm Trees in this incredibly arid environment. You can only get there by swimming. On this beach, we sometimes wear clothes. We do that so we don’t offend the café owners who are Greek.” Then we walked to our left. He introduced me to the joys of living in a cave. He showed me where his cave was and said I could have the one next to his. He told me that it was a good thing I had arrived so early in the season (May) for I would have my choice of caves. He was my cave broker. I contemplated my introduction to cave life and realized that I would probably become Damnoni’s first Jewish caveman. I used to be a VIJ – Very Important Jew. Now I was a VIC – Very Important Caveman. Jorge’s cave was just 5 feet above sea level. He proudly pointed to the cave next door, which was about six feet above the sea. Unlike his, my cave would only have 2 walls, without a roof; i.e., an open cave, subject to the elements. Jorge assured me that I need not fear elements at Damnoni. I had no idea how true that statement would come to be. I looked at the sky and not one single cloud could be seen. Only blue and a bright yellow sun, which appeared to be almost directly overhead. It remained that way for most of 6 months, interrupted by 4 days of rain. It was hot. It was dry. Those two sentences would become Damnoni’s mantra. After Jorge ceremoniously introduced me to my new home, he returned to the café and I walked in to inspect my “apartment.” Clean rocks, cleaner sand and a view one could die for. It was the best home I ever had. If I live 10,000 years, I will never have anything better. And it was free. The sun was setting behind the mountain. My body begged to sit down and I obeyed. I laid out my sleeping bag and sat down to watch the first of untold pleasures unfolding on the water as yellow turned to orange turned to red turned to aqua turned to blue turned to black, accompanied by the eternal sounds of sand and sea dancing with the wind. I lay down on my back to look at the incredible glittery deep. I was home.