Living half a world away from her family, Cliona misses the everyday moments with her mum back home. On a trip around Crete, she and her mum escape the everyday and find out home isn’t always a place.
‘Okay, mum, how do you say, “cheers” in Greek?’
‘Yiamas.’
‘Nice. What about “good morning”?’
‘Calamari.’
I couldn’t keep a straight face. ‘You mean “kalimera”, right?’
‘That’s the one!’ The pair of us now creasing with laughter.
I’m en route to Heraklion with my mum for Intrepid’s Highlights of Crete trip. Sitting in the last row of the plane like two giddy school kids, we’re cackling away as we try to learn a few Greek words to kill time during a runway delay.
Reuniting earlier that morning was an emotional blur of tears and big, squeezy hugs. With me living in Australia and Mum in the UK, we only see each other once a year. These moments are always a bittersweet reminder of how precious our time together has become.
It was never my intention to move Down Under. I’d been travelling in South East Asia for six months and my savings account had almost bled dry, but instead of going home, I decided a working holiday visa in Australia would be more fun. I thought I would stay for a year or two, but life did its thing and I’m still here six years later.
Living on the other side of the world to my family, I’ve had to make peace with my heart being tugged in opposite directions. Time whizzes by faster each year, and I can’t help but question whether I should pack it all up to be closer to them. I miss the big milestones, of course, but it’s the everyday moments – like watching Netflix with my sister or popping around my aunt’s house for a coffee – that I yearn for the most. Perhaps a greater appreciation for the ordinary is a silver lining of living far away.
When planning my visit to the UK this year, I asked Mum if she’d be keen to go on an adventure. We’d never been away just the two of us, so it’d be a great chance to have quality time together. ‘That sounds great, love,’ she replied. ‘I’ll let you decide where we go. I just don’t want to feel like I need a holiday after the holiday.’
Fair enough, I thought. As someone who rarely goes on holiday to rest (I’m working on it), my idea of spending my annual leave wisely involves a pair of hiking boots and plenty of early starts. A trek was off the cards for Mum as she has arthritis in her knee, and we also wanted to go to a country neither of us had been to.
After hours of browsing different Intrepid trips, we landed on Highlights of Crete. Starting in Heraklion and ending in Chania, we’d spend a week eating our body weight in olives, meeting local artisans and lapping up Crete’s sun-kissed scenery.
Meeting the group and our ‘Greek mum’
Strolling into the hotel lobby for our welcome meeting, I felt a flutter of excitement about meeting the other travellers – as I always do. But this time it was mixed with nerves. I’m used to travelling solo, and it would be my first time navigating a group dynamic with someone who knows me inside out. Would Mum share any cringey stories or crack any inappropriate jokes?
I thought Mum might also be a little nervous as it was her first time doing small group travel, but she was totally relaxed about the thought of spending a week with strangers – which makes sense given that she chats with dozens of people every day at her salon.
Our leader, Evelina, introduced herself as our ‘Greek mum’, and from that moment, it became a running joke that I had two mums. We took turns sharing our names, where we’re from and why we chose this trip, and there was a collective ‘n’aww’ when we revealed we were mother and daughter.
The last person to speak was the only man in our group. ‘Aren’t you lucky!’ Mum said with her cheeky smile. Laughter rippled throughout the group and I couldn’t help but join them. It didn’t take long for the mum jokes to start, so surely it was only a matter of time before an embarrassing childhood tale came out of the woodwork.
Letting the mountain air go to our heads
I’m privileged to have spent much of my adult life travelling. From teaching English in Vietnam to working at Intrepid, travel has always had a way of weaving into my personal and professional life. It was a different story for Mum; she had me quite young and sacrificed some of her dreams to raise me and my sister.
This trip was as much of a holiday as it was a chance to make up for our time apart. While we could’ve gone for a sun, sand and sea getaway, I wanted her to experience the travel style I’ve fallen in love with. One of my favourite things about Intrepid is staying in offbeat accommodation that I couldn’t find myself. Such was the case with our guesthouse in the remote village of Agios Ioannis.
Hidden in the foothills of Crete’s White Mountains, the guesthouse is a total sanctuary. Each room faces the mountains and is filled with furniture handcrafted by Antonis, the owner, with wood from the surrounding forests. As we walked down the lavender-lined path to our room, Mum’s face was beaming as bright as the afternoon sun. We dropped our bags and sat on the porch in silence, listening to tinkling bells and bleats of nearby goats before breaking into laughter when we realised they sounded like humans in hysterics. Perhaps the mountain air had already gone to our heads.
I wandered inside to grab some water, and when I returned, Mum was still fixated on the view, her body unmoved apart from her hand which was now cupping her chin. ‘This is just so beautiful’, she repeated.
We regrouped for dinner on the terrace that evening. Golden hour light trickled through a canopy of vines as our hosts brought out platters of creamy fava bean dip, Greek salad, slow cooked pork and barbequed goat. Everything was made by Anna, Antonis’s wife, with ingredients from the property or the village. Next came dessert –a syrup-soaked semolina cake washed down with raki, a local spirit made from distilled grapes. It was easily my favourite meal on the trip.
After dinner, two local musicians treated us to a folk music performance. Always one to get the party started, and perhaps spurred on by the raki, Mum and another woman from our group shimmied over to the patio-cum-dance floor while trying (and failing) to recruit the rest of us on their way.
The following morning, we discovered that our alarms would be replaced by cockerels and goats. Mum rolled out of bed and opened the door to the mountains. ‘It’s just so beautiful,’ she said. It was only day three when she told me this was probably one of the best holidays she’s had.
Going bleating mad in Agia Irini Gorge
Crete is one of the most rugged islands in the Mediterranean, with hundreds of gorges, canyons and caves cloaked in ancient history. By day four, after indulging in all the food and wine, we were ready for a seven-kilometre hike through Agia Irini Gorge. Mum had a few reservations as she’d recently recovered from a painful arthritis flare-up, but she decided to join after a reassuring safety briefing from our mountain guide, Anna.
We arrived at the gorge just after sunrise to beat the crowds. The sage-scented morning air prickled my arms with goosebumps. The first half of the trail led us through a shaded forest of pine, plane and cypress trees. Anna plucked a few strands of wild oregano and passed them around the group. ‘This was traditionally used for dental hygiene,’ she explained. My tongue tingled with its peppery taste.
A large maroon-coloured flower stood out among the greenery. ‘This is the dragon lily, or corpse flower, which smells like rotting meat to attract insects,’ she revealed. ‘We dry the seeds to make medicine.’ Shortly after, she pointed out carob and fig trees. Mother Nature clearly blessed Crete.
In addition to its biodiversity, the gorge played a significant role in the island’s history. It was a hideout for rebels and an escape route during the Ottoman occupation. Shepherds also took refuge here, using the fluffy Sideritis plant (also used for Greek mountain tea) as a bed.
The forest eventually gives way to a dried-up riverbed that had us scrambling over boulders as big as us. As we stopped for a breather, two kri-kri, endangered Cretan goats, darted across the rocky ridge. Mum then blurted out an exceptionally good bleat which got a response from the passing kri-kri and an enthusiastic ‘wow’ from Anna. Childhood memories of baaing and mooing our way around the countryside came flooding back.
A bit like driving for hours on a quiet highway, there’s an ease to chatting on a hike. It opens space for reflection. ‘You know,’ Mum said, ‘I thought my hiking days were over, but I’m fitter than I thought I was. I’m feeling inspired to be more active when I go home.’ Knowing how down she’d been about her knee, I couldn’t help but get a bit teary-eyed when she said this.
Pastries that pull at the heartstrings
One thing to know about Irish mammies is that they’re feeders. Even if you say you’re not hungry, they’ll bring out a ‘light snack’, AKA a platter of sandwiches, a tray of biscuits and steaming pots of tea. Mum has always loved hosting get-togethers for our large Irish family, waking up at the crack of dawn to bake cakes or peel spuds to feed twenty hungry mouths. Hospitality is her love language, which is why I think she was so moved by the baking workshop on day six.
When we arrived, I was surprised to step out the taxi into a residential street where two smiley, apron-clad women were waiting to greet us. ‘Kalimera, welcome!’ I grinned at Mum. There was no going back from the calamari incident.
The workshop was run by lifelong friends Anna and Eleni in Eleni’s mother’s home. They ushered us to a veranda where a table was laden with herbs; the smell of parsley and mint hung in the air. Although we’d just had breakfast, an empty pocket suddenly opened in my stomach. As we drank fresh lemonade that made my eyes squint with its sweetness, they explained that we’d be making kalitsounia, a crescent-shaped Cretan pie filled with cheese and herbs.
I went inside to wash my hands, noticing the family portraits and keepsakes dotted around the kitchen, before joining the group to start preparing the kalitsounia. As we stood around the table chopping herbs, in someone else’s home miles away from where we both live, I almost felt like I was home. It made me remember the countless times I’d linger around the kitchen, trying my best to offer my skills as chief taste tester while Mum cooked. I couldn’t remember the last time we did something so ordinary, so familiar.
Once we had a full bowl, Eleni poured an eyebrow-raising glug of olive oil and raki. ‘The more raki, the crispier the pastry,’ she said. We dug teaspoons into two fat mounds of myzthra and anthoryro cheese before folding them into the herby mixture and rolling it into little balls.
Sealing the dough was easier than it looked. Mum was a natural; me, not so much. Eleni and Anna took our creations to the oven before returning with an array of snacks and beverages to enjoy while they baked: spoon sweet (a syrupy fruit preserve), Greek yogurt, biscuits and coffee. Apparently Irish and Greek mammies have a similar notion of what a snack is.
It wasn’t long until a delicious, doughy smell drifted from the house. Eleni marched out of the kitchen with a plate piled with kalitsounia, wine from her father’s vineyard and raki. I turned to her and asked what time it was – by my watch it was only mid-morning. ‘Time for raki!’ she announced.
As we said goodbye, I saw Mum lift her sunglasses to wipe her eyes. ‘That was just so wholesome,’ she said. ‘I’ve done cooking classes before, but never anything quite like that.’ My two cents is that she was so moved by the experience as she was on the receiving end of what she so openly gives to others. ‘Let’s invite the family around when we get back home,’ she said. ‘We’ll make kalitsounia.’
The moments that matter
Our reunion would’ve been special no matter where we were, but taking time away from everyday life allowed us to be fully present with each other. It gave us space to share new experiences and have those deeper conversations that don’t always happen over Facetime.
As we walked to our farewell dinner through the narrow alleys of Chania’s Old Town, Mum and I reflected on our favourite moments from the trip. It wasn’t just the landscapes or delicious meals that stood out, but the small moments in between – standing around a table chopping herbs, laughing at Mum’s brilliant bleating skills and sharing stories and tears over coffee or beers. You’d think these things wouldn’t bear so much weight when you’re on a gorgeous Greek island, but they made me feel like we were making up for the everyday moments we miss out on.
Mum had said we’d make kalitsounia when we got home, but life, as it often does, got in the way. But maybe it didn’t matter. Making them in Eleni’s mum’s home was a reminder that home isn’t so much about where you are, but who you’re with.
Cliona travelled with her mum on Highlights of Crete, one of many itineraries to choose from in Greece.
