Balkanalysis.com

By Christopher Deliso

In Homer’s Odyssey, the wandering hero is slowed down for a time in the land of the lotus-eaters, a mysterious people who remain indefinitely in a pleasant, drug-induced trance, free from all ambition and responsibilities. Of course, in the story, Odysseus is able to wrest himself free and go on to bigger and better things. But would he have been able to extricate himself from Plakias?

There is something very strange about Plakias. Once a completely isolated fishing village on the south coast of Crete (the largest and most varied island in Greece), it was halfheartedly discovered by tourism in the 80′s, but remains much less crowded than the bigger beach towns on the north coast. Set between two windy gorges, at the bottom of lonely, rugged mountains, it is a small town boasting only a handful of restaurants and shops, a few rooms for rent, one bar and one nightclub. Perhaps there is something in the air, some breeze of listlessness or languor, because Plakias is the perfect place to do nothing at all, and to do it in style. And as such it is the perfect place for the Plakias Youth Hostel, a sprawling, flowery place tucked into the olive groves on the outskirts of town.

Particularly clean and well-run, thanks to its hard-working manager Chris Bilson, the hostel has a capacity of about 65 (including outdoor bunks), costs about $4.50 a night, and is open usually from the beginning of March to the end of November. The hostel prides itself on having no rules, other than common courtesy and respect, and its laid-back visitors spend much of the day lazing in hammocks, swimming at crystal-clear nude beaches, or traipsing through waterfalls in the woods. It’s really too hot for very much exertion in the summer, and so the guests (like the locals) don’t really swing into action until after dark. That’s when the more infamous goings-on occur.

Plakias’ infamy has to do with the fact that so many of its visitors return- again and again- to enjoy the non-stop party in the endlessly sunny south of Crete. Between June and October the hostel fills up almost every night. The manager, Chris, is especially active in promoting hostel-wide activities like barbeques, full moon beach parties, river walks, and usually in the evenings a large group or two will head off to one of the excellent restaurants on the Plakias waterfront, before stopping by the local watering hole (there’s only one), the jazzy Ostraco bar, with an outdoor second-story veranda and an endless supply of the latest Euro-American dance hits. The fact that the same songs are played every night, which would seem so disconcerting somewhere else, doesn’t even faze you here.

After all, this is the town where bearded Greek elders dance beatifically to Robbie Williams, where 107-year-old widows scheme and plot for free loaves of bread, and where doing a tequila ‘suicide’ shot involves snorting salt up your nose like cocaine and squeezing the lime into your eyeball, all as an exclamatory prelude to the Mexican firewater.

I myself am a veteran of the tequila suicides and the maddening full moons, of the endless days at hidden beaches and the endless nights under the spell of Tom Jones. Most of what I have encountered in this bizarre land of the lotus-eaters must be passed over in silence, out of respect for the incriminated. And so, less eloquently and less extensively than Homer, I can only say that, if you are inspired by the thought of lazy afternoons in hammocks and beach-blankets, or by the rich taste of octopus in wine sauce, or even by the sight of a drunken Scotsman head-butting a metal post, then it’s safe to say Plakias is the place for you.

The hostel that time forgot owes a lot of its appeal, and its spontaneity, to its diversity. All nationalities are represented in Plakias. While the majority of the non-hostel tourism comes from England and Germany (including, yes, a middle-aged German all-nudist-all-the-time hotel down the road), the Plakias hostel itself is a real mixed bag of people from all over the world, and of all ages. Garrulous Australian yobs, SoCal hipsters, not-so well-behaved Irish girls, Belgian vixens, retired mechanical engineers, Yorkshire boys who can drink 155 shots of beer in just as many minutes, and whole families with little children all combine to create one of the most eclectic groups you’ll ever come across.

Indeed, it’s this variety that gives the hostel its relaxed, friendly air. On any given day you will meet people from all over the globe and from all walks of life. There is something a little funny, some mysterious charm, about the place; people seem to come back. One guy from Wales ended up staying four months; another family from France had been coming for vacations three summers running. Mention “The Bavarians” in Plakias and you’ll be met by knowing glances and snickers. It’s just that kind of place.

The Plakias Youth Hostel can even be credited with nurturing starry-eyed romance. “I know of two couples who got married after meeting here,” chuckles Manager Chris, “and a third who are engaged.” Why? “I think people who come here- well, we attract a certain kind of person to begin with- but people who come here are able to open up, relax, and just be themselves. The goal is to make it fun for everyone, so that we can all have a good time.”

Having a good time is certainly the focus in Plakias, and try as you may to resist its strange charms, it will suck you in. I saw many a traveller who stopped in “for two or three days” and ended up staying two or three weeks. Fortunately, you can also do a ton of interesting stuff in the area, like visit the beautiful Orthodox monastery and palm beach of Preveli, or hitchhike in the back of a farmer’s grape truck to the magnificent beach of Frangokastello (the one with a 13th century Venetian castle overlooking it).

The hostel favorite, One Rock Beach, is a secluded, clothing-optional cove, its bluegreen waters teeming with multicolored fish. You can hike up through the olive groves to the little village of Myrthios, and unwind over a lazy Greek lunch at the superb home-cooked restaurant Plateia, and stock up on your local olive oil and dazzling traditional Cretan rugs across the way at a very cool shop, Myrthios Local Products. And if you rent a car or a moped, you have free run of the mountains and beaches of Southern Crete; you can explore the jagged gorges above Plakias, or head up into a mountain village like Spili (‘the cave’) to drink fiery raki and ouzo while the old men shout and sing old Cretan sea shanties. With enough of the firewater, I’m told, you actually become an honorary Cretan.

Plakias, languid and serene as it may appear, is a stranger place than you might expect- even after having read this cautionary tale. It’s the sort of place that, well, you really need to experience for yourself. One thing, however, is for sure about Plakias- no matter what happens to you, you probably could not have expected it.