A blazing sun over Athens cut through a light haze as Elena dropped us off at the port and then we stepped into the towering, box-like ferry that was to take us to Crete. An enormous drawbridge at the stern rested on the dock, part of which had recently been bought by the Chinese in the midst of Greece's financial crisis. People and cars entered, and then we left. I stood at a railing high up and waved to Elena, standing by her pea-green car, glinting in the strong sunlight. I turned around to find Oshan sitting morosely at a table smoking. We were stressing the night before about leaving Athens and weren't talking, so I went up to the top of the ship to look at the 'animal village', a row of white cages where a small white dog was throwing a fit in its cell, barking incessantly as the owner tried to calm it. Soon the sea turned to a deep azure, such as I had never seen, and the wind blew across the deck. Tired from late nights, hot weather and drinking raki, I got my sleeping mat and lay on the shaded side of the ferry near a man and his brown dog that had a crooked leg. I was not happy. I wondered why things had sometimes to be so complicated between people and tried to sleep a bit as the ship hummed beneath me.

From Chania

When I woke we were nearing Crete, and within an hour we docked at Souda, the port of Chania. We got off and jumped on a bus to the old town. I love to look back at those first moments in the places that I come to know well. I had no idea what Chania would be like, we had no idea where we would stay and no idea if we could make any money. I left Athens with almost nothing. And as we arrived at the old venetian harbour where tourists thronged along the pavement past the old ottoman mosque, and all the sprawling restaurant terraces I felt a sense of relief, it looked so good for busking and terracing. Perhaps too good to be true. And somehow it turned out to be so. But within a month I would be far past the other side of Crete in a most magical place so extraordinary that it hardly belonged in the tapestry of modern day reality.

We played backgammon and drank frappe before looking for a pitch to play, but caution got the better of us, it would not do to jump in and get a bad name with the police right at the start. So instead we sat a while by the mosque and chatted with people before playing a little for fun without putting out the case. And soon we met the twins, who we knew from Thessaloniki. We had a place to stay with their friend and things looked to be going our way as we headed off to see some student rock bands playing on a campus. Later we went home and slept in the oppressive heat that just got worse as the sun rose and baked the roof of the flat. I awoke in a sweat. We had arrived in Crete.

And so Oshan and I started to work. It was hard but soon Steele was on the case, arriving from turkey by train. Amber, his girlfriend, had gone on ahead and Steele fancied making some money and playing some spoons with us, and we started right away terracing. It took a while to work out the best times and spots but after a week we had a good system. We woke late in the the afternoon and drank coffee in the old Ottoman square that stretched over the top of an ancient cistern that used to be a hammam for the wealthier Ottoman Turks in Chania. Next to a church that still sported a big chunky minaret, several restaurants and cafes played host to all the relaxed people that liked to come and do nothing but talk and play backgammon all day. We sat and did as you would, if in Rome, and the hours passed nicely until the evening when we would amble over to the church square and lay out the case with CDs and play for a few crowds. Once we had the timing and place right we did really well and had no problems with the locals although apparently one shop keeper at the church square wanted to call the police, but he was brought into line by the other shops that liked out music. The sun would set and paint the baroque church in golden light as we stomped on into the night. After a couple of hours we would head off to the harbour to try the restaurants with our Polish hat girls.

From Chania

Terracing is a strange job. You feel like a door to door salesman as you stand in front of the tables and play to holidaymakers, with no idea if they are in the mood or not. Sometimes they aren't but sometimes they will call you over to ask for a few more pieces. But that is just part of an interesting and strange job. Chania in the summer is very busy with people from all over europe, but especially it seems, from scandinavia. The usual charicatures wend through the terraces, young children with baglamas, and Roma musicians, fat-bellied accordion and violinists thrusting their tambourines under the noses of the indifferent.

From Chania

At first I hated the atmosphere, the dark sound of money, lots of it, flowing behind the scenes. Inflated prices for mediocre food with a harbour view. Rooms, boat trips, souvenirs. It confused me to see myself divining the harbour for the small springs of euros that would sustain us, looked down upon by the greedy restaurant owners. Busking had felt so clean compared to this and it unnerved me to see that money could be god, the universe, life itself for people. Could it really? And for me? I wanted to walk away from it when noone listened. Past a thronging bar we sidled to reach the middle of the harbour, women and men drinking, laughing and barely catching breath between mouthfuls of drink and chitchat. High heels, handbags, tobacco and alcohol. Emptiness. Bad house and techno and still the tills gorged themselves behind the taps and ashtrays and shitty brown vinyl upholstery.

I may sound puritan, but it isn't that I feel any of this is wrong. It's all human. I have had a load of stuff in my life, drunk and smoked my fair share and talked more than the average amount of nonsense. But back in Thessaloniki I saw people with fear etched on their faces, their wages cut, guilty for taking the bus every day and not paying for it, because the price had doubled. It was so apparent there that there is something wrong in Greece. But it isn't just a simple case of a financial crisis, because even there on a weekend the bars were packed. Why do we choose to escape? Is the party over yet? I remember Gaetans' prophetic and apocalyptic vision of a post-crisis world. Best be a potter or a doctor. We will always need plates and doctors, he said as he stood in the line to enroll in medical school. And I wondered where I would fit with my violin. The party is over, get ready, he said. Well now I read the news in England and I see it isn't just Greece.

From Chania