It was March 2020 and I found it all so amusing looking at how everyone on television and the media in general seemed to be losing their sh**t over this strange ‘novel’ flu that those lovely people – the Chinese Government – had discovered.
With my two Irish-based French friends Jean-François and Christophe, we had packed our bags and were heading off to the island of Crete for a week of walking, talking, eating and drinking. We try to make this an annual event. Normally, it’s JF that chooses the location and organises it, but the objective is to choose an island and go for a week’s walking. It’s a simple plan and it usually works brilliantly.
Our first night was a strange one. The drive from Chania was challenging enough in the dark. On the good roads, the markings were a bit hit-and-miss (like Ireland) but as we got nearer to the destination, there was a distinct lack of tar and approximately 40 million goats, who would reluctantly move out of your way only when your bumper almost touched their lazy hides
The village of Livaniana where we were staying was like a famine village in Ireland – i.e. with sparse crumbling structures but almost completely devoid of humans. One human who was really conspicuous by his total absence was Constantine – the guy who owned the place along with his brother. The house was a new construction – all bright and Cretan. We found a guy next door, who seemed equally puzzled at the absence of yourman. He didn’t seem to mind being summoned to his door at 10pm.
We were exhausted but the location was, even at night, stunning. The full moon showed us that we were perched on a hillside with the Aegean Sea sparkling and vast before us way down below. A dog showed up. He was quiet and shy and had a vague look of rabies about him to our tourists’ eyes. Constantine hadn’t left any note or welcome pack or bottle of wine. He hadn’t even made the bed. It was like he too had suddenly taken flight for fear of the dreaded Chinese plague. At the car-hire place, the guy had told me that there were lots of cancellations. Were there any cases in Crete, I asked. “No,” he said and then added with a wink, “At least not officially. Not offically,” he had said a second time for emphasis.