I didn’t have the good fortune of vacationing in Greece on a regular basis, nor did I grow up spending summers in Crete. While I’ve been there seven times, it was over a 30 year period. So I only spent one night in Therisso, and that was in the summer of 1981.That year I travelled through Europe with a friend of mine, Mike Woos, on a Eurail Pass. We spent 10 weeks visiting Germany, Austria, Switzerland, Italy and Greece. Mike guided us through the German-speaking countries, I handled Greece. We were on our own in Italy.

Mike liked to hike, a lot! We hiked up the Alps many times, until my thighs burned and I was gasping for breath.  I thought those days were behind me when we got to Crete. But Crete has its own mountains and Mike wanted to explore them as well. So the one full day we had in Therisso was spent climbing the mountain towards Lefka Ori. But Mike’s plans for a healthy hike were interrupted though, as even in the wild mountains above Therisso, the gracious hospitality of the Cretan people endures.

We started our trip passing through a grove of Maples, fed by a mountain spring. We met a shepherd who invited us to join him in a small meal. Food was the last thing on Mike’s mind, but I stressed that to refuse would be bad manners. It was a simple meal of bread, Greek salad and some soft mizithra cheese, kept cool in the mountain spring. After our meal we were directed to the next leg of our journey where another shepherd continued us up the hidden mountain path. He walked ahead of us at a clip that was hard, even for us, to maintain. All the while, a cigarette dangled from his mouth. No filtered cigarettes for this guy.

Shortly after he left us on our way, we got lost and were trekking through some pretty rough undergrowth. This was not tennis shoe and shorts territory. After 10 minutes or so, we saw a small structure, looking like an igloo made of stone, on a level clearing about 20 feet above us. At that same moment, a shepherd, seeing our miserable situation, called down to us and asked if we were xeni (foreigners) or Greeks. I said we were Greeks and he invited us up.

When we reached the hut, called a “mitato,” there was no one in sight. We looked into the mitato’s small doorway and saw three men and a boy of about twelve sitting on a circular arrangement of benches and chairs, peering out of the darkness. The only light coming into the hut was from the doorway and a small hole in the roof.  It was an intimidating scene. With eyes gazing at us as if we were Martians, we entered the hut and sat ourselves down.

One of the shepherds broke the uncomfortable silence and asked who we were and how we came to be there. I said I was a “Therissiano,” someone from Therisso. Now they were even more curious and I would suspect a bit suspicious. How could some strange person in tennis shoes and shorts, lost and wandering through the mountainside, say he was from their village? They asked again, who I was. I simply said four words, which to this day Mike can still repeat in perfect Greek dialect,” Eime tou Roka Manouso,” meaning I am the son of Manouso Rokakis.  The reaction was instantaneous and in unison to the man. They jumped up from their benches in excitement, gave a yell and started hugging and shaking hands. We were overwhelmed. Such a response for the son of a man that was gone from the village for 30 years! It spoke volumes about the bonds between fellow villagers, and more importantly about the respect given my father. What a blessing to be Cretan, to be from Therisso, to be the son of Manouso Rokakis!

We celebrated the moment by eating again!  For Mike, this was now the second meal in an hour, on what was to be a healthy a hike through the mountains. This was a hard lesson for him to learn. When you make plans to do anything in Crete, always make time for celebration, companionship, and food.