|arched door with vine, Crete (July 2016)|
The older Crete villages are flecked with colorful household doors, mostly in shades of Mediterranean blue-green. Walking around the hillside villages, I encountered lovely doors, some arched, some square. The paint was often weathered and flaking and may have had a rusty metal ring attached, adding to the charm. Some doors were ajar, cracked open in the blazing-hot mid-summer, yet nothing could be seen from the alleys into the blackness within. Outside one door, I heard the sounds of chickens squawking.
Small-town Greece, when viewed from a passing tourist's peripheral, outsider lens, reveals more of an absence than a presence, more mystery than story. It was hard at times to tell much difference in population between the ancient Minoan settlement ruins and the old whitewashed hill towns. In the midday heat, people were off at work, perhaps, or sheltering away from the fierce sun, not strolling the streets like an American idiot. And yet when walking through the towns, snapping photos, I felt myself watched, my steps witnessed by invisible eyes—a tourist performing for an audience of locals.
|blue balcony door with grape vines, Crete (July 2016)|
|wooden window shutters, Crete (July 2016)|
|rusty gate, Crete (July 2016)|
|rusty metal door ring, Crete (July 2016)|
|peeling door paint on door ajar, Crete (July 2016)|
|blue & green arched door, Crete (July 2016)|
|red door with blue gate, Crete (July 2016)|