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Working Off the Farmer's Tan, Cretan Style
by Gary Singh
For about a year or so, I was scared to take my shirt off
in public because I didn't have a real tan. I had a farmer's tan. I developed a
paranoid fear that everyone was laughing at me behind my back. Something had to
be done.
When I found out that I would be taking a 10-day jaunt to
the isle of Crete, I was overjoyed. I envisioned white sandy shores, clear
aquamarine water, blistering sunrays, and hordes of American tourists, all with
farmer's tans. I would not be alone.
Before I knew it, a friend and I had survived an overnight ferry ride from
Piraeus and a short bus trip, landing us in Hania, Crete's second-largest city
and its former capital. The time was 7 a.m., and it was already hot. I realized
immediately that Crete was the place to work off my farmer's tan.
Hania is a gorgeous old town on the northern coast. With
my shirt off, I spent an afternoon walking through the old Venetian quarter,
where a labyrinth of narrow cobblestone streets, colorful facades, and
crumbling ruins took me back to the 14th century. Many of these older
buildings have been renovated and converted into restaurants, hotels, and cyber cafés. Children were playing in the
streets, backgammon gamers were in
full force, and sunburned tourists were snapping photos left and right.
I tanned slightly that afternoon, but not enough. A trip
to the beach was in order, because the beaches on Crete are world-renowned. We
skipped the ones near the cities, which were always jammed with tourists.
We chose to investigate the
southern coast, and to get there from Hania, we had to drive through the Lefka
Ori (White Mountains), an utterly spectacular drive. The road snakes its way
through uncompromising peaks and tranquil valleys, all of which are populated by
various breeds of goats. One minute you smell the stench of a billy goat, and
the next minute aromas of sage and wildflowers take over. The myriad of flora
and fauna constantly change. One minute we were bisecting a plateau spotted with
dark green shrubs, the bushes evenly scattered like polka dots; the next minute
we were moving along a steep precipice of nothing but silvery gray rock. For one
mile we scooted along a flank of bright reddish mahogany, and a mile later we
were suddenly reverberating from a symphony of wildflowers - some cherry
colored, some bright yellow, and some lavender.
Our mountain road led us to Sougia, an isolated beach town. Catering mostly to
locals and backpackers, Sougia is a hidden treasure. It's surprising that it
hasn't been taken over by tourists yet. Since the beach wasn't crowded at all,
we were able to choose a roomy spot for me to work off my farmer's tan.
Nudism is prohibited on all of Crete's beaches, and there was a glaring sign
that told us so. However, once we got down to the far end of the beach, away
from the warning sign, we saw that about half of the people were in the buff. I
was too scared to take all of my clothes off, since the only time I've ever been
nude in a public place was when I lost my virginity - and that was a long time
ago. So I decided to get tan everywhere except my loins and derriere.
There are two ways to go about this tanning thing: (1)
Spend many days at the beach, about two hours a day, with adequate amounts of
lotion, and even out your farmer's tan safely and gradually. This option is
suitable for those sedentary types who go through life thriving on security
and predictability. (2) Sit out in the blazing sun all day long with no lotion
and roast yourself like a pig. You've gotten your major tan in just one day,
but then you have to wait two weeks before the burns go away and all the dead
skin falls off. This plan suits those impulsive, spontaneous individuals who
like to go high on the hog and take their punishment later.
As you can probably guess, I chose the second option, and
boy, did I get sunburned. I was beet red from head to toe when it was all over.
The next day I could barely roll over in bed because it hurt so badly. About a
week later, after I had returned home, I wound up shedding dead skin all over my
apartment for days.
Despite the extreme masochistic
nature of this endeavor, it did not ruin the rest of my trip in the slightest
bit. I immersed myself in the quality of Cretan life, and later that night I was
drinking tsikoudia to excess and dancing to traditional Cretan music on a
rooftop overlooking the harbor. And I gorged on enough lamb chops and souvlaki
to feed three people. Why? Because my faith was back. I knew I could return home
and waltz around town with my shirt off.
Now winter is upon us, and I am happier than a Cretan pig in soft dirt. No one
will laugh at my farmer's tan anymore. No one.
Until I get naked,
that is.
Gary Singh is a
freelance writer, musician, and social nomad who surfaces most often in the San Francisco Bay
Area. As a scribe, he specializes in art, technology, and travel, and has published in a variety of
venues,
including IEEE Computer Graphics, The San Francisco Bay Guardian, and Chess Life (mail Gary Singh)
Images and text on this page can be reproduced with written authorization of the publisher and as long as the source is referred to as "(published in STIGMES, the magazine of Crete)" and linked to http://www.stigmes.gr with credits to the writer and/or photographer
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